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 PENGUIN BOOKS
RAAG DARBARI

Shrilal Shukla was bom in 1925 in Uttar Pradesh, India's most

populous and politically important state, and brought up in the
village of Atrauli, a few miles from Lucknow. He graduated from
Allahabad University and joined the state's administrative ser-
vice and later became a member of the Indian Administrative
Service.
His first novel. The Sun of the Deserted Valley, was published in

1957, followed by a collection of satirical short stories and essays

in 1958. His major work, Raag Darbari, was published in 1968, and
has received the highly prized Sahitya Akademi Award in 1970.
Since then Shukla has written a number of novels, such as The
Broken Frontiers, The House and The Early Encounters, a biography
of the author Bhagawati Charan Varma, and several collections
of short stories, satirical sketches and essays.
Shrilal Shukla is now retired and still lives in Lucknow, not far
from the place where he was born.

Gillian Wright was born in 1957 in Hertfordshire, Britain, and

studied at the School of Oriental Studies of London University
from which she graduated with a first class honours degree in
Urdu, Hindi, history and politics and won the Rhuvon Guest
Prize for Islamic Studies. In 1975, she joined the BBC External
Services in London. She came to India for the first time in 1977.
At present she lives in New Delhi where she writes about
wildlife, culture and travel, and contributes to the BBC World
Service. She has worked with the BBC's Mark TuUy on his three
books, Amritsar: Mrs Gandhi's Last Battle, Raj to Rajiv and No Full
Stops in India.
RAAGDARBARI
A Novel

By
SHRILAL SHUKLA

Translated from the Hindi by

Gillian Wright

PENGUIN BOOKS
Penguin Books India (P) Ltd., B4/246, Safdarjung Enclave,
New Delhi 110 029, India
Penguin Books Ltd., 27, Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ. U.K.
Penguin Books USA Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York,
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Ontario M4V 3B2, Canada
Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd., 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand
FirstPublished in Hindi by Raj Kamal Prakashan Private Ltd, New Delhi, 1%8.
Copyright ©
Shrilal Shukla 1%8, 1992
This translation first published by Penguin Books India (P) Ltd. 1992.
This translation copyright ©
Penguin Books India (P) Ltd.
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 —

Translator's Introduction

Raag Darbari is not widely read in Delhi society and you'd be

hard-pressed to find anyone who had heard of it or its author at
the average dinner party. The latest English novels, on the other
hand, are a favourite subject for discussion. But no novel I have
ever read in English comes close to capturing life in an ordinary
north Indian village, whereas the smell of the earth of Uttar
Pradesh emanates from every page of Raag Darbari.
It's author, the retired bureaucrat Shrilal Shukla, has spent a

lifetime in Uttar Pradesh. His accurate observations of society and

keen sense of humour made Raag Darbari a bestseller over thirty
years ago when it was first published, and are responsible for its
continuing popularity wherever Hindi is read and valued. As a
bookseller from Lucknow's congested Aminabad area told me,
'Raag Darbari sells so well because it gives an absolutely correct
description of village politics and the working of government
machinery'
Politicsand government are the two main themes of the novel.
Uttar Pradesh is India's most politically dominant state and it's
often said that politics is the state's main industry. Shrilal Shukla
describes politics at the grass roots, but much of the factionalism,
nepotism and behind-the-scenes manipulation he portrays is
familiar to anyone who follows events through the national press.
U.P's highly developed bureaucracy, the author's other main tar-
get, is satirized for its irrelevance to the common man, inefficiency
and close connections with politicians. A senior official in the
government of U.P sought to explain away the book's appeal by
saying, 'You see, it's a sort of Indian, "Yes Minister" But Raag '

Darbari covers a much wider spectrum than the British television

series.
The title itself reveals the political emphasis of the plot. Raag
Darbari is the name of one of the most difficult raags of Indian
classical music, but Shrilal Shukla has taken its meaning literally
the melody of the court. In the novel it refers to the tune sung by
the courtiers of a latter-day local raja, that's to say a village
politician. The court of the title is presided over by Vaidyaji, a
Brahmin ayurvedic doctor who is the political mastermind of his
village, Shivpalganj. The story, set in the late nineteen-fifties,
describes his struggle for political control of Shivpalganj, a fictional
village typical of Rae Bareli district, south-east of Lucknow. Among
the novel's other main characters are Vaidyaji's elder son, the
village strong man, Badri Wrestler; his younger son, the student
leader Ruppan Babu; and his nephew, Rangnath, a graduate from
the town. Rangnath comes to his uncle's village of Shivpalganj
to recuperate from an illness and the novel covers the period he
stays there. During this time Vaidyaji, who controls the local
Co-operative Union and college, launches a bid for power over the
Village Council and faces a stiff challenge to his dominance in the
college from a group of dissident teachers backed by his main
political rival in the village.
When I met ShrilalShukla on the lawns of Lucknow's palatial
but crumbling Carlton Hotel, I asked him why the Co-operative
Union, the Village Council and the college were so important for
Vaidyaji to control. He replied. They are the three key institutions
in Shivpalganj because in the late fifties and early sixties, education,
co-operatives and panchayats were the three main planks of village
development. The fruits of large-scale industrial projects, the 'new
temples' of the Nehruvian era, had, by and large, not reached the
villages. So these three institutions were the three instruments of
change and also the institutions which dominant castes in the
villages soon learnt to master in order to perpetuate their control
of village matters. In Raag Darbari the main characters happen to be
Brahmins because in much of U.R the dominant castes in villages
were, and to a large extent still are. Brahmins and Thakurs.'
Shrilal Shukla, besides being a retired member of India's elite IAS
cadre, comes from a village not very dissimilar from Shivpalganj
and from a conservative Brahmin family. After graduating with a
B.A. from Allahabad University in ancient Indian history, English
literature and Sanskrit, he drifted into government service where
he was posted mainly in the areas in and around Lucknow, includ-
ing Rae Bareli district. At one time he served as Director of
Information of the state government under V P Singh who later
became Prime Minister. I naturally drew the conclusion that Raag
Darbari was a largely autobiographical work.
But the author emphatically denied that. 'It's true I am a
Brahmin,' he said, 'but I have never been conscious of my caste

VI
when I write, nor is caste particularly important in Raag Darbari, as
in politics, then, had not become the dominant force it is today.
it

Similarly Shivpalganj is not my village, and none of the characters

are based on individuals I know. Vaidyaji, for example, is a mixture
of characteristics from three or four different types of people. And
my being in the administration did not mean I had a special insight
into the way the government worked or that I wrote as a
bureaucrat. In fact I kept my official personality completely
detached from my personality as an author. Whatever I describe in
the book, for example the working of the Co-operative Union, was
the kind of thing that was common knowledge. In fact, one of the
criticisms of Raag Darbari when it first appeared was that it didn't
say anything new— it just described what everybody knew already.
What I do have is the equipment of any author, a wealth of ex-
periences on which I draw.'
While Shrilal Shukla relied on his experience to create his char-
acters, the novel's episodic plot is clearly the result of the way the
book was conceived back in the sixties. Then, during relaxed
first

lunchtimes spent on the lawns of the same Carlton Hotel, Shukla

related thirty or forty village tales to his friends who were them-
selves talented writers and journalists. 'The stories seemed good
over beer,' he me, 'but insipid written down.' However his
told
friends insisted there was something very unusual in these tales.
He told me, 'They said the stories had a natural iconoclastic attitude
which was the antithesis of contemporary Hindi writing on rural
life. That writing either emphasized misery and exploitation or

presented an idyllic rustic picture.' So Shrilal Shukla created the

loose plot which bound the episodes together. But the environment
of rural Shivpalganj remained the element which gave the novel
the most cohesion.
Few of the characters at home in this environment are prone to
much introspection, although most believe strongly in plain speak-
ing. Some of the most colourful are the wrestlers who repeatedly
make their appearance either caked with mud from the wrestling
pit or smelling strongly of their latest mustard oil massage. I asked
Shrilal Shuklahow close they were to reality. He replied, 'That sort
of collective exercise of wrestling at an akhara is now virtually
obsolete, but it was common in villages about fifty years ago and in
the fifties and sixties there were some vestiges
still of this village
institution lingering in central U.P The attitude the wrestlers rep-

Vll
resentis still very real, but nowadays people don't rely on straight

muscle power, there are other sorts of gangsterism in politics,

different kinds of wrestlers who rely on illicit firearms for their
strength/
One of the main and other characters
activites of the wrestlers
is imbibing bhang, the preparation of which Shrilal Shukla has

observed since his childhood. As he told me. Although Thakurs

have always taken liquor, alcohol was taboo for Brahmins and
Banias. Bhang was the only sort of socially permitted intoxication
and was important as a major socurce of relaxation and entertain-
ment. As a boy in my village, the bhang-making used to start at five
every evening. Now norms are changing as a result of closer
contact between towns and villages and other factors, and people
are not horrified by drink as they once were.'
Shukla's Shivpalganj is women. Apart
also strangely devoid of
from the daughter of the local moneylender who climbs over the
rooftops to kiss Rangnath, women only appear as passers-by or in
bedtime fantasies. I asked the author whether village women were
not part of his wealth of experience. Shrilal Shukla replied, 'Society
in Raag Darbari is a male-dominated society, and politics is still a
male-dominated field despite Indira Gandhi being the Prime Minister
for so long. And all the distortions of values that can attract satire
or irony come from men in real life. For example, defections. Very
few lady politicians indulge in floor-crossing. So male characters
are much more attractive if your aim is to satirize distorted values
in political life. I don't think a lady would have behaved like
Vaidyaji if she'd been in charge of the college.'
Even the distortions Shrilal Shukla sees in traditional social
values seem to be male-oriented. For example, he debunks the
concept of filial devotion, the great respect Indians have for their
elders. Two of the characters, Chote Wrestler and his father, are
constantly up in arms against each other, following a family tradi-
tion generations old. The author argues that this also represents
reality. But perhaps he is unduly cynical about the social system

which has given India a remarkably stable society for hundreds of

years. When I put this to him he replied, 'Am I too critical? What
else can you be? And then you must bear in mind that I was writing
in a mood of high comedy'
It is the book's lively humour which carries the plot along and

makes light of the flaws in the system which Shrilal Shukla high-

Vlll
lights. The and administrative system he describes was
political
inherited from the British who created it to run an empire. It is
therefore not surprising that it became strained when asked to run
a complex independent country like India. In fact, many of the
systems the British introduced worked far from perfectly even
during the Raj A favourite target of the author are the courts which
.

have been the cause of complaint for the common man ever since
the 1850s when the administrator Sleeman visited villages in what
is now U.R and found people confounded by the corruption and

complications of the newly introduced British legal system. The

courtroom scenes in Raag Darhari, starring amongst others the
village's professional witnesses, are some of the funniest episodes
in the book.
The author maintains that this humour is not unique to himself
and that the people of U.E, especially in villages, have a highly
developed ability to see the funny side of life. Their humour is
reflected in the richness of local dialects. Shrilal Shukla has written
Raag Darhari using a gamut of literary styles, but he has largely
relied on genuinely colloquial Hindi enriched with Hindi transla-
tions of expressions drawn from dialect. This technique is unusual.
Many writers on village life, for example Prem Chand, rely heavily
on dialect itself to add realism to their writing. Shrilal Shukla's use
of translated expressions gives an equally authentic rural flavour
to Raag Darhari, besides presenting the reader with some startling
mental pictures. For example, a person pleased with something
which is in fact going to prove a nuisance is compared to a man
with a tree growing out of his groin who thinks he's going to enjoy
the shade.
Shrilal Shukla himself is widely read in English as well as Hindi
and Sanskrit, and could easily write in that language. But he
believes that only one's mother tongue will do for creative writing.
He remembers the case of his uncle, a brilliant student who wrote
a book in 1913 with an English preface, and was roundly castigated
by his principal for the misuse of the definite article. 'My uncle
realized,' he said, 'that it was not his native language, no matter
how much he studied it, and he should not write in it.' So Shrilal
Shukla continues to write in Hindi, taking long trips to the hills to
painstakingly draft and redraft his novels.
His dry humour isvery much intact although he is
still

increasingly disillusioned with the way India has gone since inde-

IX
 —
pendence. That's partly because he remembers the days of the
independence movement when he was an idealistic student, and
finds contemporary realities do not measure up to his hopes. In his
opinion, values have degenerated even further since he wrote Raag
Darbari, rendering his novel outdated.
As he told me on the lawns of the Carlton Hotel, Tn the days
when I was writing that novel we were concerned about mild
distortions of the system, now you would have to write a fantasy
on the Marquez to begin to capture what is going
lines of Garcia
on. Raag Darbari has become quite irrelevant now.'
He believes that the government's performance since inde-
pendence has been 'quite dismal', and points to what he sees as the
virtual collapse of the co-operative movement and the fact that well
over half the population is still illiterate as proof of that. He sees
money-power and what's known as the local mafia playing a much
larger role in politics than before, and the administration weakened
by excessive political interference. Others share his views. As a
Lucknow journalist remarked to me, 'Corruption is now so ac-
cepted among politicians that it is no longer an issue, and if an
official accepts the set rate of a bribe and doesn't ask for more, he's

considered a very good, honest man.'

So Shrilal Shukla appears to be right in saying distortions in the
system have increased. But the system is still the same one inherited
from the British Raj and the problems it faces are of a similar nature
to those described in Raag Darbari. The only difference is that
they're bigger and will continue to grow until the system is proper-
ly adapted to meet Indian needs. Therefore I believe that Raag
Darbari very relevant. Moreover, many of the observations
is still

the author makes of everyday life in U.P are clearly as accurate as

they were twenty-five years ago. Families of domestic pigs still
jostle one another as they trot down the roads, truck drivers always
park almost in the middle of the road with the cab door wide open
so that no other vehicle can pass, and groups of village women can
still be seen squatting in the fields at dawn and dusk so that they

can defecate with some privacy.

Towards the conclusion of the novel Vaidyaji tries to re-establish
his influence by approaching politicians and officials in the town
a thinly disguised Lucknow. Here, too, there's much in the descrip-
tion which is recognizable today. Traffic has increased but a ve':"y
large proportion of it still consists of government vehicles, the most
impressive being the Ambassador cars with flashing red lights, and
miniature fans which blow air into the faces of the ministers reclin-
ing on the rear seats. English, understood by a mere 2.5 per cent of
the population, is still the natural language of the elite, and the best
schools are still English medium. English also continues to be the
—
language of shop signs in Hazratganj the bazaar originally built
by and for the British. Paan shops still spring out of every corner,
glasses of milky bhang can still be had, and no man ever seems short
of a place to pee. Officials and politicians still live in the greenest
areas of the city away from the noise and congestion, and
politicians' bungalows are still thronged by favour seekers and
representatives from various factions as politics becomes more and
more a business of patrons and patronage.
This is not to deny that some things have changed for the better
as well as for the worse. After all, Raag Darbari focusses on the
negative aspects of the system. There are positive aspects too. For
example, sections of society which were traditionally excluded
from power are increasingly demanding their due share in govern-
ment. At the time of writing the Chief Minister of U.R was a leader
belonging to one such backward caste. It's another matter that he
was an ex-wrestler and a former teacher at an intermediate college,
his brother headed his home district's co-operative federation and

—
a cousin the District Board proving that even the rising political
powers find these local institutions as important to control as they
were when Raag Darbari was written. Two of the Chief Minister's
—
main programmes promoting Hindi and providing latrines for
village women —
are also as necessary now as they were then.
But the ultimate proof of Raag Darbari s continuing relevance is
in its expanding readership. A second generation of Hindi readers
has discovered the novel, and translations into fifteen different
languages have made it accessible to people all over the country. It
has also been adapted for stage and television. And now, finally, it
has been published in English too. I have tried my best to capture
the spirit of the book in this translation, and if I have I am sure that
Shrilal Shukla will win his fair share of acclaim among English
readers too.

New Delhi, Gillian Wright

April 1991

XI
Translator's Acknowledgements

I would particularly like to thank Shrilal Shukla, for his patience

and comments on the manuscript, Dr Pratibha Arya who answered
my queries during the preparation of the original draft, and Satish
Jacob, Onkarnath Srivastava and Shah Ghulam Ahmed Ilmi to
whom I also turned for help and advice from time to time. I am also
grateful to Mark Tully who encouraged me from the very start of
the project, and to my mother whose confidence in me is a great
strength.

Gillian Wright

Xll
ONE

The edge of a town. Beyond it the ocean of the Indian countryside.

And there, on the edge As soon as you

of the town, stood a truck .

saw it you could tell that the sole purpose of its creation had been
to rape the roads of India. Like reality, the truck had many aspects.
From one point of view, the police could say that it was standing
in the middle of the road. Looked at another way, the driver could
say that it was on the side of the road. According to the dictates of
current fashion, the driver had opened the right-hand door so that
hung out like a bird's wing. This enhanced the truck's appearance
it

and made it impossible for any other vehicle to pass.

On one side of the road there was a petrol station; on the other
shops constructed of bits of rotting and rusting thatch, wood, local
know-how and various items of assorted junk. At first was
sight it

clear that the shops were too numerous to count. Nearly all of them
offered one of the favourite drinks of the Indian masses, which was
prepared from dust, dirt, tea leaves which had already been used
several times, boiling water and so forth. The shops also stocked
sweets, which battled valiantly day and night against the
onslaughts of rain, dust-storms, flies and mosquitoes. The sweets
demonstrated the manual dexterity and scientific expertise of our
native working men. They showed that even if we don't know how
to make a decent razor blade, we're still the only people in the world
who can turn rubbish into the tastiest of snacks.
The truck's driver and cleaner were standing in front of a shop
drinking tea.
Rangnath spotted the truck from a distance and immediately
hastened his step.
Today the railway had deceived him. He had left home thinking
the local passenger train would be two hours late as usual, but it
had only been an hour-and-a-half late and had left without him.
Having contributed to the literature of the complaints book and
made himself a laughing stock in the eyes of the railway staff, he
had left the station. Now, as he walked down the road towards the
truck, he began to smile.
When he reached it, the driver and cleaner were still sipping
their tea. Glancing around aimlessly and containing his smile,
Rangnath asked the driver in a disinterested way, 'Driver Sahib, is
this truck going in the direction of Shivpalganj?'
The driver had his tea to drink and the lady shopkeeper to look
at. Paying little attention to Rangnath, he said. It is.'

'Will you take me with you? FU get out at the fifteenth mile. I
have to go to Shivpalganj.'
The driver assessed all the possibilities of the lady shopkeeper
in one glance and then turned his gaze upon Rangnath. Aho! What
a sight! As the great God Vishnu stands head to toe like a pure lotus
flower, so Rangnath stood head to toe, a vision of white khadi
cotton, the homespun cloth popularized by Mahatma Gandhi. He
wore a khadi cap, shirt and pajamas, and over his shoulder hung a
bag of the kind used by the Gandhian 'land gift' movement. In his
hand was a leather attache case. The driver saw him and was
amazed. Then he thought for a moment and said, 'Please take your
seat, sir. We'll leave right away'

The truck shuddered into life and set off. Freeing themselves after
a while from the twisting, chaotic grasp of the town, they came
upon a clear and empty road. Here the driver was able to get into
top gear for the first time, but the gear lever kept slipping into
neutral every hundred yards, and since the driver had his foot on
the accelerator, the shuddering increased as the speed of the truck
decreased. Rangnath said, 'Driver Sahib, your gear box is exactly
like our government.'
The driver accepted this citation of merit with a smile. Rangnath
tried to make his statement more intelligible.
'No matter how often you put it into top gear, every few yards
it slips and goes back into its old rut.'

The driver laughed. 'You've said something very deep, sir.'

Next time he went into top gear he lifted his leg to an angle of
about ninety degrees and held the gear pressed under his thigh.
Rangnath wanted to say that the same technique was needed to
run the country but, thinking that this would be a deeper statement
still, he remained silent.
 The driver meanwhile returned his thigh to its proper place, put
a long stick against the gear and wedged the other end under the
dashboard. The truck kept up speed. Terrified at the sight of it,
cyclists, pedestrians, horse-drawn carts and all other vehicles for
several furlongs ahead drove off the road; to judge from the speed
at which the vehicles fled, it seemed they thought the truck was no
truck, but a wave of fire, a typhoon from the Bay of Bengal, some
foul-mouthed unleashed on the public or a gang of wild
official
Pindaris. Rangnath thought that they should have had an an-
nouncement made in advance to warn people to keep all their
livestock and children at home as a truck had just left the town.
The driver asked, 'Tell me, sir, how are you? It's a long time, is it,
since you've been into the country?'
Rangnath smiled, encouraging this attempt at civility
'What are you doing these days, sir?'
'Digging up grass.'
The driver laughed. By accident he nearly ran over a naked ten-
year-old boy. Safe, the boy dropped down on to a small bridge like
a wounded house lizard falling from the ceiling.
This had no effect on the driver. Putting his foot even further
down on the accelerator and laughing, he said, 'What a thing to
say! Go on, sir, tell me what you mean.'
'I told you. I'm digging up grass. In English you call it
research. Last year I did my M.A. This year I've started research.'
The was smiling as if he were listening to Tales from the
driver
Thousand and One Nights.
'So, sir, why are you going to Shivpalganj?'
'My mother's brother lives there. I've been ill and I'm going to
stay in the country for a while to recover.'
The driver laughed for rather a long time.
'What a tale you've made up, sir!'
Rangnath gave him a doubtful look and asked, 'What's made
up about it?'

At this innocent question the driver rocked around with mirth.

'What things you're saying. Very well then, forget it. Tell me,
how is Mittal Sahib is? What happened to the murder case in the

police lock-up?'
Rangnath was completely unnerved. Choking, he said, 'But how
would 1 know who this Mittal Sahib is?'
 The driver put a brake on his laughter. The truck slowed down
too. He took a close look at Rangnath.
'You don't know Mittal Sahib?'
'No.'
'Jain Sahib?'
'No.'
The driver spat out of the window and asked in a clear voice,
'You don't work for the CID, then?'
Irritated, Rangnath 'CID? What on earth do you mean?'
said,
The driver let out a long sigh and began to examine the road
ahead intently. Some bullock-carts were travelling along it. In ac-
cordance with the popular principle of stretching your legs
wherever and whenever you get the chance, the drivers lay on top
of their carts, asleep and with their faces covered. The bullocks, not
on their own initiative but as a result of long practice, quietly pulled
the carts down the road. The scene merited comparison with the
bovine public and its lethargic leaders, but Rangnath hadn't the
courage to say anything. He had been upset by the remark about
the CID. The driver blew first his rubber horn and then another
horn, which despite its was truly terrifying.
three musical tones,
The bullock-carts proceeded on their way. The driver was pushing
the truck on at a good speed and seemed to be about to fly over the
carts. But as he got closer he seemed suddenly to realize that he was

in a truck, not a helicopter. He braked, the stick which had been

wedged against the dashboard fell dowit, the gear changed and the
truck squeezed past the carts, almost touching them.
Further on the driver spoke to Rangnath with contempt. 'If
you're not CID, then how come you're wearing the khadi?'
Rangnath had been put in low spirits by these aggressive ques-
tions but he treated this one as a normal inquiry and answered
simply, 'Everyone wears khadi these days.'
'Come off it, no sensible man does. Only politicians, plain-
clothes men and fools.'
He opened the window, spat and changed into top gear. The
personality cult surrounding Rangnath was at an end. For a while
he sat quietly. Then he began to whistle. The driver nudged him
with his elbow and said, 'Look here, sit quiet. This is no place for
hvmn singing and such like.'
Rangnath shut up. The driver was annoyed.
 'This gear keeps on slipping. It goes into neutral. What are you
staring at? Grab hold of it and keep it in place!'
A few minutes later he said in the same tone, 'Not like that! Like
this. Keep the pressure up and hold it properly!'

For some time a horn had been blowing behind the truck.
Rangnath had heard it but the driver was paying no attention. After
a while the cleaner, who was travelling in the back, hung round the
side of the truck and began to tap on the window by the driver's
head. In the language of the truck- wallahs this action certainly had
some dreadful import because the driver slowed down immedi-
ately and pulled the truck over to the left-hand side of the road.
—
The horn belonged to a station wagon the sort of station
wagon which, thanks to foreign aid, is used by the hundreds for
the progress of the country and which can be seen on any road at
any time. The station wagon passed the truck on the right, slowed
down, and a khaki-coloured arm stretched out to signal the truck
to stop. Both vehicles drew to a halt.
An officer-like peon and a peon-like officer stepped down from
the station wagon. Two constables in khaki uniforms also got out.
Immediately they began to rob and loot in the style of the old
Pindari dacoits. Someone seized the driver's licence, someone else
the registration card; someone began to tap the rear-view mirror,
someone else blew the horn. They wobbled the running board,
switched on the headlights, rang the bell at the back of the truck.
Whatever they looked at was defective. Whatever they touched,
they found something wrong with. In this way in four minutes
those four men found forty faults with the truck and, standing
underneath a tree, they began to discuss the treatment which was
to be meted out to the enemy.
Rangnath could only make out that the stories of the principles
of karma and poetic justice were true. The truck was being checked
and God was taking His revenge on the driver for his insult to
Rangnath. He remained where he was. But in the middle of all this
discussion the driver found the opportunity to say, 'Sir, please get
down. What is the need to sit there holding the gear now?'
Rangnath got down and went to stand under another tree.
Under the first one the driver and the checking party were discuss-
ing every single point of the truck in detail. As he watched, the
discussion shifted from the parts of the truck to the general condi-
tion and economic chaos facing the country and in a short time the
individuals present had broken up into small sub-committees.
Standing under separate trees they began to ponder each issue in
their capacity as experts. After a lot of discussion a sort of open
session began under one tree and soon it became apparent that the
seminar was coming to an end.
Finally Rangnath heard the nasal voice of the officer.
'Well, Ashfaq Miyan, what's your opinion? Should we let him
off?'
The peon said, 'What else can you do, sir? How long can we go
on drawing up charges? If there were only a couple of faults then
we could charge him.'
A constable would be tomorrow morning by the time
said, 'It

we finished making out the charge-sheet.'

After talking around the point, the officer said, 'OK, Banta Singh,
you can go. We've let you off.'
The officer had been standing under a tree watching Rangnath
for some time. Lighting a cigarette he came towards him. When he
was close he asked, 'You were in the truck too?'
'Yes.'

'He didn't take any fare off you, did he?'

'No.'
The officer said, 'I guessed as m.uch by looking at your clothes.
But it's my duty to check.'
To annoy him Rangnath said, 'This isn't real homespun khadi.
It's mill cloth.'
The officer replied deferentially, 'Ah, sahib, khadi is khadi.
What's the difference between the real and the imitation?'
When the officer left the driver came up to him with the peon.
The driver said, 'Just give us two rupees will you, sir?'

Turning his face away, Rangnath answered harshly, 'What do

you mean? Why should I give you money?'
The driver took the peon's hand and said, 'Please come. Please
come with me.'
As he moved oft, he said to Rangnath, T got checked just because
of you. And you speak to me like this when I'm in trouble. Is this

how you've been educated?'

The present education system is like a pariah bitch lying in the
road which anyone can kick. The driver, as he went on his way,
attacked it with a sentence and headed towards the truck with the
clerk. Rangnath saw that evening was closing in, his attache case
was in the truck, Shivpalganj was still five miles away and he
needed people's good will. He approached the truck slowly. The
driver of the station wagon was blowing his horn repeatedly to call
back the peon. Rangnath tried to give the driver two rupees. The
driver said, Tf you're giving now, then give to the Orderly Sahib.
What will I do with your money?'
As he spoke, he began to sound like those religious ascetics who
never touch money themselves but only tell others that their
money is nothing but the dirt of their hands. The peon pocketed
the money, took a last puff at his beedi, threw its half-lit stub more
or less on to Rangnath's pajamas and set off towards the station
wagon. When he departed the driver started the truck, went into
top gear just as before and gave Rangnath the lever to hold. Then
suddenly and without any reason, he puckered his lips and began
to whistle a song from a Hindi film. Rangnath listened in silence.
Sometime later he began to distinguish bundle-like objects in the
twilight on both sides of the road. These were women sitting in
rows, talking contentedly and at the same time relieving themsel-
ves. Below the road there were heaps of rubbish and their stench
was making the evening breeze blow with the sluggishness of a
pregnant woman. From some distance away came the sound of
barking dogs. A curtain of smoke drifted in front of Rangnath's
eyes. All this meant there was no denying that they had come to a
village. Shivpalganj.
TWO

In the Shivpalganj Police Station a man was pleading with the

Sub-Inspector, his hands folded in supplication: 'Several months
have passed while you continually delay matters. Please don't put
off charging me any longer/
The Sub-Inspector was half-sitting, half-reclining on a seat
which must once have been some medieval throne but, now that it
was worn out, had been reduced to the status of an armchair. When
he heard the request the Sub-Inspector raised his head and said,
'You will be charged eventually. What's the hurry? What calamity
is descending upon you?'
The man sat down on a low stool near the armchair and said,
'For me it is a calamity. If you charge me, then the trouble will be
over.'
The Sub-Inspector started swearing under his breath. It soon
became clear that what he meant to say was that the amount of
work he had to do was making him thoroughly fed up. There was
so much work that he wasn't able to investigate crimes, couldn't
charge-sheet cases, couldn't give evidence in court. There was so
much work that all work had come to a standstill.
The stool slid towards the armchair. The man said, 'Sir, my
enemies have begun to say that there's gambling in Shivpalganj in
broad daylight. An anonymous complaint has been sent to the
Superintendent. And anyway the agreement is that you charge me
once a year This year you're late with the charge. If you file it now
then this complaint will also be done with.'
It was not only the armchair —
everything was medieval. The
raised platform for sitting on, the rag of a rug lying on it, the pen
stands, the pots of dried ink, the dusty registers which were turning
up at the corners —everything looked several centuries old.
For this police station the fountain pen hadn't yet been invented;
the only progress made in that direction was that the pens were not
made out was still a
of reeds. For this police station the telephone
thing of the future. By way of weapons there were some ancient
rifles which looked as though they had been used in the Revolt
of 1857. Anyway, for everyday use the constables had bamboo

8
staves, about which a poet had written. Tor crossing rivers and
canals, for hitting dogs and animals, there's no more useful thing/
For this police station jeeps did not exist. In their place a horse
served as a sort of vehicle. was lovingly cared for by two or three
It

village watchmen, and its ancestors must have performed the same
role since the days of the Mughal Empire.
The common people had great expectations of the Sub-Inspector
and the police station's dozen or so constables. If there was a
burglary in some village eight miles away, then in the two-
hundred-and-fifty or three hundred villages which came under
the police station it was believed that one or other of the policemen
would certainly witness it. If there was a dacoity at night some-
where twelve miles away, then it was expected that they would get
there ahead of the dacoits. Because of this blind faith, no weapons,
other than one or two odd rifles, had been given to any village. The
fear was that by handing out guns, the uncivilized and savage
villagers would learn to use them and set about killing one another.
Rivers of blood would flow. As for protection from dacoits, that
was left to the magic performed by the Sub-Inspector and his
dozen or so men.
In short, the Sub-Inspector and his men were kept there on the
understanding that they were no ordinary mortals but genies
worthy of being conjured up by Aladdin's lamp. The British in-
stalled them, and in 1947 returned to their homeland. Gradually
people began to find out that the Sub-Inspector and his constables
were not genies but men, and the sort of men who themselves rub
their lamps day and night in the hope of forcing a genie to come
out.

When the managing director of the gamblers' union of

Shivpalganj left, the Sub-Inspector raised his head once and looked
around. Everywhere was peace. The loinclothed constable who
had been straining bhang beneath the tamarind tree was now
anointing a nearby Shiv lingam with watchman was grooming
it, a
the horse's haunches, a dacoit sitting in the lock-up was loudly
reciting prayers to the Monkey God, Lord Hanuman. Just outside
—
the gate the constable on duty no doubt in order to be in a position
to keep constant watch at night —
was asleep, propped up against
a pillar.
 The Sub-Inspector wanted to close his eyes and doze but just then
he saw Ruppan Babu approaching. He grumbled, 'You can't even shut
your eyes/ As Ruppan Babu came in he got up from his chair and,
despite the fact that 'courtesy week' had long passed, he courteously
shook hands. Ruppan Babu sat down and immediately said, 'A letter
has been received by Ramadhin. The dacoits have asked for five
thousand rupees. It says, "On the last night of the dark fortnight, bring
'
five thousand rupees to the southern hill "

The Sub-Inspector smiled and said, 'Really, sahib, this is too

much. In the old days dacoits used to cross rivers and mountains to
collect money from your home, but now they expect you to leave
your house and go and deliver the money to them!'
Ruppan Babu said, 'Yes, that's what I'm saying. It's not dacoity,
It's just bribery.'
The Sub-Inspector continued in the same tone, 'Bribery, theft,
dacoity —
now they've all become the same. It's communism.'
Ruppan Babu said, 'Father says the same thing.'
'What does he say?'
—
'The same communism has taken over.'
They both laughed. Ruppan Babu said, 'No, I'm not joking.
Ramadhin really has received this letter. That's why father has sent
me here. He says so what if Ramadhin is our opponent? He
shouldn't be tormented like this.'

'What he says is quite right. And whoever you want me to tell

this to, ITl tell it.'

Ruppan Babu narrowed his deep-set eyes and looked at the Sub-
Inspector. The Sub-Inspector stared back at him and smiled. He
said, 'Don't worry, there'll be no dacoity as long as I'm here.'
Ruppan Babu said in a mild tone of voice, 'That I know. The
letter is a forgery. Just inquire of your own constables. Perhaps one
of them wrote it.'

'No, that couldn't be. My constables are illiterate. Most can't even
sign their own names.'
Ruppan Babu was about to say something more, but the Sub-
Inspector said, 'What's the hurry? For now let Ramadhin file his
complaint. him show me the letter.'
. . let

For a while both were silent. Then a thought occurred to the

Sub-Inspector. 'If you were to ask me the truth, I'd say it seems that
this is bound up with the Education Department.'
'How?'

10
 And —
not just the Education Department with your college/
Ruppan Babu took this remark badly. 'You're out to get my
college.'
'It appears to me that some boy from your college has sent this
letter toRamadhin. What do you think?'
'In your eyes students are responsible for all crime/ Ruppan
Babu rebuked him. 'If someone took poison in front of you and
died, you people wouldn't even admit that was suicide. You'd say
that some student had poisoned him.'
'You're right, Ruppan Babu, if it was necesary I'd even say that.
I am a follower of Bakhtavar Singh. Perhaps you didn't know that.'
on the one topic of conversation for
After this they started
—
government servants what government servants used to be like
and what they're like now. They touched on the subject of
Bakhtavar Singh. Sub-Inspector Bakhtavar Singh was returning
home alone one evening. Two badmaashes called Jhagru and
Mangru attacked him in a mango grove and beat him up. The story
got out and so Bakhtavar Singh entered a report of the beating
at the police station.
The next day the two badmaashes came and clasped his feet. They
said, 'Sir, you are our mother and father. If a child gets angry and
behaves badly with his parents, they forgive him.'
Bakhtavar Singh fulfilled his duty as a parent and forgave them.
They fulfilled their filial duty and made good arrangements for
Bakhtavar Singh in his old age. The matter was soon settled.
But the British police officer under whom Bakhtavar Singh
served objected to this. 'If you can't conduct a successful investiga-
tion into your own case,' he said, 'what hope have you got with
anyone else's? So what if it was dark? If you can't identify
anybody, what prevents 3^ou from at least suspecting someone?'
Then Bakhtavar Singh picked up three suspects. They were old
enemies of Jhagru and Mangru. He prosecuted them. Jhagru and
Mangru gave evidence on behalf of Bakhtavar Singh, saying that
at the time of the attack they had both happened to come to the
—
mango grove for a very natural reason that is, to defecate. All
three were sentenced. Seeing the state of Jhagru and Mangru's
enemies, several boys of the area began coming to Bakhtavar Singh
daily with the request, 'Oh mother and father! This time please give
us the chance to beat you.'

11
 But Jhagru an<i Mangru were enough to provide for him in his
old age. He refused to increase his offspring.
Ruppan Babu laughed for some time. The Sub-Inspector was
pleased that Ruppan Babu was happy with just one story he —
didn't have to tell a second. His second story would come in useful
for entertaining another leader Controlling his laughter Ruppan
Babu said, 'So you are a follower of that Bakhtavar Singh!'
'I was. Before independence. But now we have to serve the
.'
people. For the citizens. . .

Ruppan Babu touched his arm and said, 'Forget it. Apart from
you and me there's no one listening.'
The Sub-Inspector didn't lose his enthusiasm. 'I am saying that
before we got our freedom, I was a follower of Bakhtavar Singh.
Now in these days am a follower of your father'
I

Ruppan Babu humbly, 'You are most kind. Is my father

said
worthy of such kindness?' He stood up and looked out on to the
road. 'It seems Ramadhin is coming. I'm off. Please look into this
dacoity letter properly.'

Ruppan Babu was eighteen. He was in the tenth year at the local
college. He loved to study and especially studying in the tenth
year —forreason he'd been studying in it for the past three
this
years without passing the annual exam which would qualify him
to move up a class.
Ruppan Babu was a local leader His personality refuted the
allegation that to be a leader in India your hair had to turn grey in
the sun. His leadership was founded on his view that everyone was
equal. The Sub-Inspector in the police station and the thief in the
lock-up were one. In the same way a student who copied in an
exam and the college principal were one. He considered them all
pitiable; he did favours for all of them and extracted favours from
all of them. He was so respected that no capitalist shopkeeper sold

him goods, but made an offering of them, and no exploited horse-

cart driver took a fare for driving him to the town, but only asked
for his blessings. The first and last base of his leadership was the
local college where, at a sign from him, hundreds of students would
make a palm tree out of a sesame seed (or a mountain out of a mole
hill) and if necessary climb up it.

He was thin and scrawny but no one bandied words with him.

12
He was a long-necked, long-limbed lad. In the belief that a popular
leader has to be nattily, if not outlandishly, dressed, he wore a white
dhoti and a colourful bush-shirt. Round his neck he tied a silk scarf.
He kept the loose end of his dhoti on his shoulder. Although he
looked like an emaciated calf, he had the presence of a stallion
rearing on its hind legs.
He was a born leader because his father was also a leader. His
father's name was Vaidyaji.

13
THREE

The dak bungalow with two big and two small rooms had been
abandoned by the District Board. On three sides of it a thatched
roof had been raised on mud walls to make stables. A little away
from the stables a tin roof had been erected on a pucca brick wall
and a sort of shop had been created. To one side there was a
one-room guardhouse, of the kind found by railway crossings; to
the other, under a large banyan tree, was a raised platform resem-
bling a tomb. Near the stables a modern-style building had been
constructed, on which was written 'Community Centre,
Shivpalganj'. Behind all this lay three or four acres of barren land
which had been broken up and sown with fodder plants. Here and
there some had actually grown.
All these buildings were collectively called the Changamal
Vidyalaya Intermediate College, Shivpalganj. Merely on the basis
of the buildings the students sitting for their intermediate exams
could say, 'We are more advanced than Tagore's university at
Shantiniketan. It may try to recapture tradition and hold its classes
in models of village architecture, but we are the genuine Indian
students. We have no idea what electricity is, what tap water is,
what a pucca non-mud floor looks like, or what is meant by "a
sanitary fitting". We have even had our Western education in an
Indian tradition and so, behold, today we are still just as close to
nature as ever Even though we have studied so much, we still pee
on tree trunks and find it impossible to relieve ourselves in enclosed
spaces.'
Changamal had been Chairman of the District Board. With the
help of a fake planning proposal, he had transferred the board's
dak bungalow to the college's Managing Committee at a time
when the college had nothing but a Managing Committee. The
condition for the transfer was that the college be named after
Changamal.
Every part of the college had its own story to tell. The Com-
munity Centre had been built with government money taken in
the name of the Village Council, but it housed the Principal's office
and classes Eleven and Twelve. The stables had been constructed

14
with volunteer labour, while the tin shed had been removed in the
dead of night from deserted buildings in a military cantonment.
The barren land adjoining the college came in useful for agricul-
tural science, and the millet which grew on it here and there came
in useful for the Principal's buffalo.
There's a shortage of engineers and doctors in India. The reason
is that Indians are traditionally poets. Before comprehending
anything they become infatuated by it and compose poetry.
When they look at the huge Bhakhra Nangal Dam they say, Aho!
To reveal His miracle, behold, God has once again chosen the land
of India.' When they see a young woman on an operating table
they begin reciting romantic verse.
Despite this storm of emotion, and other similar hindrances, the
country has to produce engineers and doctors. They will only truly
be engineers and doctors when they go to America or England, but
some initial work — —
the take-off stage is to be done here. That
was the kind of work being done by the Changamal Vidyalaya
Intermediate College.

A science class was in progress.Class Nine. Master Motiram, who,

in away, had passed his B.Sc. exams, was teaching the boys relative
density. Outside sheer beauty enveloped the small village. On the
road bullock-carts loaded with sugarcane were heading towards
the sugar mill. Some half -starved children were running behind
pulling out canes to chew. The drivers sitting at the front of the
carts were swearing vigorously and at length. The point of fun-
damental importance in swearing is the volume of the voice. So
the oaths and counter-oaths entered the classroom through the
window, and provided background music for the boys who were
enjoying the drama and studying science.
One boy said, 'Master Sahib, what is relative density?' The
master replied by translating the term into English.
Another boy said, 'Master Sahib, now look, you're teaching
English instead of science.'
The master said, 'How can you learn bloody science without
English?'
The boys began to laugh. The reason for their mirth was not the
discussion on Hindi and English but the use of 'bloody'.
The master spoke. 'There's no need to laugh.'

15
 The boys were not convinced. They laughed even louder. At this
Master Motiram himself began to laugh with them. They stopped.
Master Motiram forgave the boys. He said, Tf you don't under-
stand relative density in English then understand it in Hindi, in a
different way. Relative, meaning in comparison with something.
Imagine youVe opened a flour mill, and next door your neighbour
opens another flour mill. You make 500 rupees a month from your
mill, and your neighbour makes 400 rupees from his. So, in com-
parison with him, yoiiVe made more profit. In scientific language
we can say that your relative profit is greater. Understood?'
A boy said, T understand, Master Sahib, but the whole thing is
wrong from the start. No one in this village could make 500 rupees
from a flour mill.'
Master Motiram thumped his hand down on the table. 'Why
not? A determined man can do anything!'
The remark did not dissuade the boy from answering back. 'He
can't. My uncle's mill works non-stop but it's difficult to make 200
rupees a month.'
'Who is your uncle?' Master Motiram wiped his brow and,
looking intently at the boy, he asked, 'You're not Dishonest
Munnu's nephew, are you?'
The boy didn't try to conceal his pride. He said in a couldn't-
care-less voice, 'So what if I am?'
Dishonest Munnu was an extremely respectable man. Among
Englishmen, whose roses have no scent to speak of, there is a
saying, 'a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' Similar-
ly, by whatever name you called him. Dishonest Munnu con-

tinued contently to run his flour mill, to earn his living and be
an honourable man. In fact Dishonest Munnu hadn't earned his
—
name he'd inherited it. In childhood his father had given him
the nickname 'Dishonest' out of love, and out of love his mother
had called him 'Munnu'. Now the entire village affectionately
called him Dishonest Munnu. He had accepted this name with
the same ease as we have accepted the name of Acharya for J.B.
Kripalani, Pandit for Jawaharlal Nehru and Mahatma for M.K.
Gandhi.
Master Motiram stared at Dishonest Munnu's nephew for a
while, then, drawing breath, he said, 'Let it pass.'
He buried himself in the textbook that was open in front of him.

16
When he lifted his eyes he saw the boys had already lifted their
eyes and were watching him. 'What is it?' he asked.
One of the boys said, 'So if s settled that you can't earn 500
rupees from a flour mill in a month?'
'Who says so?' asked the Master Sanib. 'I myself have earned 700
rupees a month from a flour mill many times. But thanks to
Dishonest Munnu, everything's being ruined.'
Dishonest Munnu's nephew said politely, 'What is there to be
sorry about, Master Sahib? It's business. Sometimes you win, some-
times you lose. It happens like that when there's competition.'
'What competition is there between the honest and the
dishonest? What nonsense you're talking!' Master Motiram
rebuked him. By then the college chaprassi was standing in front of
him with a message. Reading the message, the master said,
'Whoever you see seems to be coming to inspect you. One . . .

teacher to every ten inspectors.'

'It's really dreadful,' said one of the b.oys.

The master started and looked at the class. 'Who spoke?'

A boy raised his hand and said, 'I did. Master Sahib! I was asking
how you work out relative density!'
Master Motiram continued, 'In order to work out relative density
you have to know the weight and the volume of an object. After
that you have to icnow the way of working out the relative density.
As far as the way is concerned, there are always two ways a right —
way and a wrong way. It's necessary to give you an example to
make you understand. Imagine you've set up a flour mill. The mill
has fine new machinery, it's shining and it's well greased. The
engine is new, the belt is new. You've got everything, but you don't
have So what's the result?'
electricity.
The boy who spoke first said, 'YouTl have to use a diesel engine.
Munnu Uncle did.'
Master Motiram said, 'Munnu Uncle isn't the only one around
here with brains. Who was it who first brought a diesel engine into
this village? Does anybody know?'
The boys put cheir hands up and chorused, 'You! You brought
it!'

The Master Sahib looked at Munnu's nephew with satisfaction

and said with contempt, 'Did you hear? Dishonest Munnu only got
a diesel engine when he saw / had one. But my mill was running
before this college was opened. It was at my mill that a full two

17
pounds was taken from every customer as a donation for
of flour
the college building. That flour, ground in my mill, was taken to the
town for sale. It was on my mill that the plans for the college
building were made and Manager Uncle said, "Moti, you will be
called a master in the college, but youTl really be the principal."
Everything happened on account of my mill and now if anyone
has a mill it's Dishonest Munnu! My mill means nothing!'
A boy said, 'How did you say you work out relative density?'
The Master Sahib said brusquely, Tm
telling you that.'
He looked out of the window, three feet above the sugarcane carts
on the road, and fixed his glance beyond them on to the horizon. He
spoke like the poets of yesteryear who wore fixed, romantic expres-
sions. 'She was the only machine like her in the whole neighbourhood.
.'
She was iron but she sparkled like glass . . .

Suddenly he looked straight at the class and said, 'What did you
ask?'
The boy repeated his question, but even before that Master
Motiram's attention had drifted off in another direction. The boys
pricked up their ears and listened. Outside, above the oaths of the
sugarcane stealers and the sugarcane protectors, above the sound
of the Principal ticking off the chaprassi, above the 'swanv, swanv of
a harmonium rising from the music class, a 'hak-hak-hak' noise
suddenly started up. Master Motiram's mill was working. This was
its sound. A genuine sound. Above the people's hue and cry over

their lack of food and clothing, above the screams of the rioters,
above the arguments that rage over all this, a true leader hears only
the voice of his soul and nothing else; in the same way Master
Motiram heard only the sound of his mill. He heard nothing else.
Just, 'hak-hak-bak'
He began to run towards the classroom door.
'What's happened to Master Sahib?' the boys asked. 'The bell
hasn't rung yet.'

Master Motiram said, 'It sounds as if the machine's working

again. Let's see how it's running.'
He got to the door, but suddenly turned back. A pained expres-
sion spread across his face, as if someone had pinched him hard.
He said, 'Read from your textbooks. The chapter on relative density
is essential.' Hesitantly, he added, 'It's important.' As he spoke his
face brightened again.
'Bak-bak-bak!' Duty was summoning him into the complex world

18
of karma outside. The maya of boys and books could not restrain
him. He left.

At four o'clock in the afternoon the Principal Sahib emerged from

his room. Parts of his thin body were covered by khaki shorts and
a shirt. He carried a police sergeant's baton pressed under his arm
and wore sandals. Altogether he looked rather sharp and smart,
and he considered himself much sharper and smarter than even
that.
Trailing along after him, as always, was the college clerk. He was
a close friend of the Principal Sahib.
They both passed close to Master Motiram's class. The class was
being held in the stable-like building. Even from a distance it was
clear that no master was present. A boy dressed in pajamas torn
from ankle to thigh was sitting crying on the master's desk. He saw
the Principal going past and began to cry more loudly. The Principal
asked, 'What's going on? Where has the master gone?'
The boy now stood up and cried. A second boy said, 'This is
Master Motiram's class.'
Then there was no need to say where the Master Sahib had gone.
The clerk said, 'A secondhand machine requires twenty-four-hour
supervision. How many times have 1 told Master Motiram to sell
this flour mill? But he doesn't understand. I myself was once
prepared to give one-thousand-five-hundred rupees for it/
The Principal Sahib turned to the clerk, 'Let it be! Go and bring
Malaviya from the class over there.'
The clerk told a boy, 'Go and bring Malaviya from the class over
there.'
Soon a rather good-looking young man could be seen approach-
ing. As soon as he saw him coming, the Principal shouted out,
'Brother Malaviya, look after this class too!'
Malaviya came up to the Principal, stood holding on to one of
the bamboo poles in the thatch and said, 'How can I take two classes
in one period?'
The boy at the master's desk was still crying. At the back of the
class some boys were laughing loudly. The rest of the boys were
standing near the members of the staff in the kind of crowd that
gathers at a crossroads when there's been an accident.
In a sharp tone, the Principal said, 'Don't start quoting the rules

19
to me! Ever since you've started hanging around with Khanna,
every job seems a problem for you/
Malaviya gazed at the Principal Sahib. The clerk said, 'Look at
it as the government bus-wallahs do, Malaviya. If a bus breaks
down, all the passengers are accommodated in the bus behind.
Accommodate these boys in your class in the same way'
Malaviya said sweetly, and with a shade of sarcasm, 'But this is
the ninth year, I'm teaching the seventh year over there.'
The Principal Sahib turned his head. Understanding people
understood that now his hands would be thrust into the pockets of
his shorts and he would scream. So it happened. 'I understand it
all. You too have begun arguing like Khanna. I know the difference

between the seventh and the ninth year. Don't tha' dare try teach-
ing me my job, bhaiyal Just carry out orders, chuppe, with no
argument. Dost tha' follow me?'
The Principal Sahib was from a village nearby. He was renowned
far and wide for two qualities. First, for extracting the maximum
amount of government money for the college by being imaginative
with the accounts, secondly for using the local Avadhi dialect when
he was extremely angry. When he falsified the accounts not even
the greatest auditor could find fault with them. When he began to
speak Avadhi, not even the greatest sophist could answer his
arguments.
Malaviya returned with a bowed head. Landing his baton on the
back of the boy in the torn pajamas, the Principal said, 'Go.
Everyone go and sit quietly in that classroom. If you so much as
draw breath I'll flay the hides off you.'
As the boys left, the clerk smiled and said, 'Let's go and take a
look at Khanna Master too.'
Khanna Master's real name was Khanna. 'Khanna' is not the
name of a caste, just as Gandhi and Nehru are not the names of
castes, but the names of individuals. This is a simple way to rid the
country of the caste system. If you take the caste name away from
a man and convert it into a surname, then nothing remains of
caste. It destroys itself.

Khanna Master was a history teacher but at this time he was

teaching an intermediate class English. He was grinding his teeth
and saying, 'You can write great long love stories in Hindi, but
when you have to answer in English you hang your head lilce a
horse!'

20
 A boy was standing up in class hanging his head. Although due
to a shortage of nourishing food and a lack of games and recreation
every average student looks like a half-starved horse, this boy's face
was so constructed that with him the name stuck. His classmates
laughed loudly. Khanna Master asked in English, 'Tell me, what
does "metaphor" mean?'
The boy stood unmoved. Some time ago there was a great hue
and cry in India that an illiterate man is like a beast with no horns
or tail. In that tumult the children of many illiterate men and
women left their ploughs and hoes in the fields and launched
attacks on the schools. These boys arrived in their thousands, laying
siege to schools, colleges and universities. There was turmoil in the
field of education. Now you couldn't find anyone spreading the
word that an illiterate man is a beast. In fact, on the quiet, people
had begun to say that only those fit for higher education should
take it up and that there should be a screening process. Having
gone full circle in this way, the opinion was being expressed that
village boys should again be made to grasp the handle of the
plough and be left in the fields. But even after failing their annual
exams year after year, enduring all kinds of reprimands and
rebukes, and listening to politicians' outpourings on the greatness
of agriculture, those boys were not prepared to return to the world
of the plough and the hoe. They stuck to the schools like leeches
and were determined to stay stuck to them at any cost.
The boy with the horse-like countenance was one of this crowd.
In a roundabout way he was told everyday, 'Go, son, go and milk
your buffalo and twist your bullocks' tails; Shelley and Keats are
not for you.' But the son had already advanced several centuries
ahead of his father and was not prepared to take these hints. Even
today his father would cut fodder for his bullocks with a blade used
commonly in the twelfth century. At the same time his son would
hide his horse-face in a book with dust-coloured covers and con-
centrate on the colourful nightlife of twentieth-century Calcutta.
He wasn't prepared to suffer any alteration to this state of affairs.
And so he couldn't explain the meaning of metaphor and didn't
want argue over the construction of his face.
to
Like every average student this boy was informal in his attire.
At this time he was barefoot, standing clad in dirty pajamas made
of a striped material which town people generally use to sleep in.
He was wearing a thick, catechu-coloured shirt with broken but-

21
 '

tons. His head was covered with stiff, dry hair His face was un-
washed and his eyes had a stupid look about them. As soon as you
saw him it was obvious that he had bolted to college, ensnared by
the propaganda, like a beast with no horns or tail.
Last year the boy had copied out a love story from some cheap
periodical and had it published in the school magazine under his
own name. Khanna Master was besmirching the name he'd earned
by this exploit. Changing his tone of voice, he said, 'Respected
author, won't you tell us something of what a metaphor is?'
The boy began scratching his thighs. After twisting his mouth a
few times, he finally said in Hindi, 'Just as the metaphor of pain
.

appears in the Hindi poetry of Mahadevi. . .

Khanna Master said sharply, 'Shut up! This is an English class.'

The boy stopped scratching his thighs.
The master was wearing khaki trousers and a blue bush-shirt
and, just to look smart, dark glasses. He got up out of his chair and
moved round in front of his desk. He leant a small portion of his
rump against it. He was about to say something more to the boy
when he noticed the Principal staring at him from the door at the
back of the He also had a view of the entire shoulder of the
class.

clerk who was standing outside on the veranda. Removing his

rump from the desk, he stood up straight and said, 'Sir, I was
teaching a poem by Shelley'
The Principal replied quickly,one word tumbling after another,
'But who was listening to you? These boys are looking at pictures!'
He came into the room and poked his cane into the backs of two
boys one after the other They stood up. One was a greasy boy
wearing a dirty bush-shirt and pajamas, his head dripping with
hair oil. The second had a shaven head, wore a shirt and pants and
was a wrestler type. The Principal Sahib asked them, 'What were
you being taught?'
He bent down and picked up a magazine from the first boy's
chair This was the literature of the cinema. He opened it, held it up
and waved it about. The breasts of a white woman flapped before
the boys' eyes. The Principal threw the magazine to the ground and
screamed in Avadhi, 'Is this what tha' art teaching them?'
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Seeing his
chance, the lover of Mahadevi's poetry quietly slipped back to his
seat. Standing at one end of the classroom, the Principal Sahib
issued a challenge to Khanna Master at the other end.

22
 This is the level of discipline in your class! The boys are reading
film magazines!And on the strength of this you're getting pressure
put on me to make you the Vice Principal? Is this the way you will
conduct yourself as Vice Principal? Bhaiya, if tha' goest on like this
tha' canst forget Vice Principal. Next year Fll damn well see thee
out on the street, with no job!'
As he spoke the spirit of the great Avadhi poet Goswami Tulsi
Das slipped through his body. He returned to common speech.
'What is there in education? The important thing is discipline!
Understand, Master Sahib?'
With this the Principal Sahib departed like the hero of Omar
Khayyam who came like the water and left like the wind. Behind
his back he heard Khanna Master muttering indignantly.
The Principal and the clerk walked through the college gate.
On the side of the road a man had gathered together a handful of
labourers and was losing his temper with them. The Principal went
and stood by him. For a few minutes he tried to understand why
the man was losing his temper The labourers were pleading with
him. The Principal understood that there was nothing special in it;
the labourers and the contractor were just making a display of their
daily habit of discussion, and the conversation had reached a
The Principal went forward and said, 'Go,
stalemate. lads, go and
do your work. If you cheat the Contractor Sahib, you'll get a
shoe-beating.'
The labourers looked gratefully at the Principal Sahib. His com-
ments gave them the chance to end the discussion and go back to
work. The contractor said to the Principal affectionately, 'They're
all thieves. If you so much as shut your eyes for a moment they'll

steal the wax from your ears. They demand one-and-a-half times
the going rate, and moan if anyone mentions work.'
The Principal Sahib said, 'It's the same everywhere. Just look at
me. . no master has any inclination to teach. I 'm constantly at their
.

.'
backs and so I manage. . .

The contractor burst out laughing. He said, 'What are you telling
me? I do the same. I know everything that goes on.' Pausing, he
said, 'Where are you off to?'
The clerk answered, 'To Vaidyaji's house. The cheques have to
be signed.'
'Get them signed then.' He motioned the Principal to move on.

23
When the Principal made to leave the contractor asked, And how
are you otherwise?'
The Principal stopped. 'Fm fine. The same old problems with
Khanna and his friends. He roams around spreading propaganda
against people like you and me.'
The contractor spoke forcefully: 'Don't you worry. You can
behave like a king in your college. Tell them that the answer to
propaganda is the stick. Tell them this is Shivpalganj. They should
watch their step.'
The Principal and the clerk walked on. After a while the clerk
said, 'Make the Contractor Sahib a member of the College Committee
too. He'll be useful.'
The Principal Sahib was thinking. The clerk continued, 'We'll
make him a patron, and write out a receipt for a donation backdated
by four years. He should also be on the Managing Committee. Then
everything'll be all right.'

The Principal Sahib gave no immediate answer Hesitating, he

said, 'We'll speak to Vaidyaji. These are matters of high politics.
Does it matter what we say?'
A man on a bicycle appeared. Motioning him to stop and get
down, the Principal Sahib said, 'There's a smallpox epidemic in
Nandpur and you're standing there with your bag under your arm,
composing fancy verses?'
The man joined his hands in greeting and asked, 'Since when?
I've had no information.'
Frowning, the Principal said, 'If you could tear yourself away
from the town occasionally, then you'd get information. Get over
there quietly and start vaccinating. If you don't there'll be a com-
plaint against you. You'll be out on your ear. And that'll be the end
of your terylene bush-shirt.'
Stammering out pleas for forgiveness the man went on his way.
The Principal Sahib said to the clerk, 'He's the Public Health ADO
here. Imagine, whoever gets an officer tag on his tail begins to think
he's Plato! This one too. God knows who he thinks he is! He goes
by on the road and doesn't even recognize you. I thought to myself,
I'd better teach the boy a lesson.'
'I know. He's just another fool,' said the clerk.

24
FOUR

Heaps of rubbish, shops worse than rubbish heaps, the Tehsil

Office, the police station, thetoddy house, the Block Development
Office, the liquor shop, the college —
if you went along the street

you would see all this. Some way ahead there was also a mud hut
built in a dense mango grove, with its back to the road. Its doorway,
which had no door, faced the jungle. In the monsoon, farm
labourers retreated from the shade of the trees and held their
gambling sessions in the hut; otherwise it was empty. Even when
it was empty people wouldn't let it stay empty and when they had

a chance men and women would put it to their favourite use. The
name that Shivpalganj had given the building would have even
shocked Henry Miller. Watering it down a bit, one college teacher
had dubbed it the 'Love House'. The stretch of road between the
heaps of rubbish and the Love House ran along the entire edge of
Shivpalganj. Shivpalganj proper was in the other direction, away
from the road. Shivpalganj proper was in Vaidyaji's sitting-room.
To reach the sitting-room, you had to pass through an alley. On
both sides there were haphazardly built thatched houses. The
raised platforms outside them had been extended over the years
and now took up most of the alley They epitomized the philosophy
—
of encroachment when you find empty land on your borders,
grab a few feet of it when no one's looking.
Suddenly the alley opened out on to an open square. Three or
four neem trees were growing there. From the way they were
flourishing it was clear that they had been planted before the
government invented 'afforestation festivals'. They had escaped
being touched by any leader or offical and they had been excused
the rituals of transplantation and camera-clicking.
In this green and pleasant place one house had so encroached
upon a whole side of the square that it was difficult to get past. The
house was Vaidyaji's. Its front portion was of brick and quite
impressive by rural standards. At the back the walls were of mud
and there was a suspicion that behind them were heaps of rubbish.
The sort of 'symbolic' modernization exemplified by India's gleam-
ing airports and glittering five-star hotels had even had an effect

25
 —
on the architecture of this house which only goes to prove that
from Delhi to Shivpalganj the Indian creative genius is more or less
the same.
The front half of the house, which included a raised platform
outside the door, a veranda and one large room, was graced by the
name 'the sitting-room'. But even common construction workers
knew that 'the sitting-room' was not just the name of a building
made of bricks and mortar. Ten Downing Street, the White House,
the Kremlin and so forth, are not the names just of buildings, but
of power.

Returning from the police station, Ruppan Babu saw a crowd in

—
the hall of public audience that is, the veranda. His step quick-
ened and his dhoti began to flap. As soon as he climbed on to the
veranda he found that his cousin Rangnath had come from the
town on a truck; on the way he had been fleeced of two rupees.
A skinny man sat in the room wearing a dirty vest and striped
underpants. It was November and rather cold in the evenings, but
he was looking quite comfortable in his vest. His name was Mangal,
or Tuesday, an auspicious day, but people called him Sanichar, or
Saturday, which comes under Saturn and is the most ill-fated day
of the week. His hair had begun to turn grey and his front teeth
had fallen out. It was his job to keep sitting in Vaidyaji's sitting-
room. He generally just wore underpants. Today, seeing him in a
vest, Ruppan Babu understood that Sanichar wanted to appear
formal. In one breath Sanichar told Ruppan Babu of Rangnath's
difficulties and, beating out a complicated rhythm on his naked
thighs, he said longingly, 'If brother Badri had been here we'd have
seen some fun.'
As soon he finished greeting Rangnath, Ruppan Babu said,
as
'You did the right thing, Rangnath brother. You cleared up the
argument with two rupees. It's not right to shed blood over these
small matters.'
Rangnath had not met Ruppan Babu for two years. Granting
that Ruppan's gravity was the most interesting feature of the day,
Rangnath said, 'I was ready to give him a thrashing but then I
thought about it and held back.'
Ruppan Babu raised his hand in his capacity as an expert on

26
 '

thrashing, and said, 'You did just the right thing. The student
community gets a bad name through such incidents/
Rangnath now looked at him closely. The end of his dhoti on his
shoulder, his mouth red with fresh betel leaf, several litres of oil in
—
his hair by any standard of local thuggery he looked a likely lad.
Rangnath attempted to change the subject. He asked, 'Where is
Badri brother? I haven't seen him.'
Sanichar began to brush his pants as if to get rid of some ants. At

the same time he knitted his brows and said, 'I too am missing Badri
.

brother. If he'd been here, then by now. . .

'Where is Badri brother?' Rangnath asked, paying no attention

to Sanichar and addressing Ruppan.
Ruppan Babu replied unconcernedly, 'Let Sanichar tell you. He
didn't ask my permission to go. He's gone somewhere. He must
have gone out of the village. He'll come back. Tomorrow, the next
day, the day after —
he'll be back.'
From his words it was difficult to tell that Badri was Ruppan's
real brother and lived with him in the same house. Rangnath drew
a deep breath.
Sanichar sat on the floor, stretched out his legs and scratched his
groin. As he did so, his eyes closed and a glow of pleasure and
contentment spread over his face. Gradually, as he rubbed the skin,
his mouth opened wide like a wolf's and he yawned. Then in a
drowsy voice he said, 'Rangnath brother has come from the town.
I can say nothing to him. But if anyone had tried to take a paisa, let

alone two rupees, from any ganjaha villager, he'd know it.'
The word 'ganjaha' was not new to Rangnath. This was a tech-
nical word which the residents of Shivpalganj used for themselves
as a title of respect. On occasion, many apostles of peace in the
surrounding villages would also say, 'Don't you bandy words with
him; you don't know it, but the bastard's a ganjaha.'
Rangnath asked, 'What class are you in now, Ruppan?'
It appeared from Ruppan's expression that he did not like this

question. He said, 'I'm in the tenth year. . . . You'll say that I was
there two years ago too.But I can't think of any way of getting out
of this class in Shivpalganj. You don't know, brother. This country's
education system is absolutely useless. Even important leaders say
that. I am same opinion.
of the Then you don't know the con-
. . .

dition of the college. It's a den of louts and layabouts. The masters
have given up teaching and just play politics. They plague father

27
 —
day and night do this, do that, increase our salaries, massage our
necks. Has anyone any chance of passing an exam here? Some do.
There are some shameless boys who sometimes manage to pass an
.'
exam, but because of that. . .

Inside the room Vaidyaji was giving medicine to patients. Sud-

denly he spoke: 'Be still, Ruppan. The end of this maladministration
is at hand!'
seemed as if a voice had spoken from the heavens. In such a
It

voice had Lord Krishna's victory over the evil King Kans been
prophesied. Ruppan Babu was silent. Rangnath turned towards
the room and asked in a loud voice, 'Uncle, what's your connection
with the college?'
'Connection?' Vaidyaji's powerful laughter resounded
throughout the room. 'You want to know my relation with the
college? Ruppan, satisfy Rangnath's curiosity'
In a very business-like fashion Ruppan said, 'Father is the Col-
lege Manager. The appointment of masters is in his hands.'
Reading the effect of his words in Rangnath's face he then said,
'You won't find a manager like him in the whole country. For the
straight he is perfectly straight, and for the bastards he's a dyed-in-
the-wool bastard.'
Rangnath digested this information in silence and, just for the
sake of saying something, asked, 'And how is the Co-operative
Union going? Uncle was something to do with that too.'
'Not was, is,' Ruppan said rather sharply, 'He was, is and will
remain the Managing Director.'

Vaidyaji was, is and remain ....

will
During the British Raj he had revered the British. In the days of
Indian government he had begun to revere Indian rulers. He was
an old servant of the nation. In the last World War, when there was
danger from Japan, he had enlisted many soldiers to fight in the Far
East. Now, when he needed to, he would enlist hundreds of mem-
bers in to his political faction overnight. From the first he had served
the people as a jury member and assessor in a judge's court, as a
custodian of disputed property in civil cases, and as a chief among
village landowners.
Nowhe was the Managing Director of the Cooperative Union
and the College Manager. In reality he didn't want to hold these

28
posts because he hadno greed for power. But there was no one else
who could carry out such responsible jobs in the locality, and
however many young men there were, like all other young men in
the country they were all useless. So in his old age he was forced
to take up these positions.
Old age! Only anno domini required that these words be used of
Vaidyaji. If you wanted to be precise, you could say he was sixty-
two. But, like those hundreds of great men who lived in the capital
to serve the country, Vaidyaji was not old despite his age and, like
those same great men, he had vowed that he would grow old only
when he died, and until people could convince him that he was
dead he would consider himself alive and carry on serving the
nation. Like every great Indian politician he loathed politics, and
made jokes at the expense of politicians. Like Gandhi, he took no
post in his political party because he wanted to encourage new
blood; but in the matter of the co-operative and the college his hand
had been forced and he had agreed to it being forced.
One of Vaidyaji's professions was ayurveda, or traditional In-
dian medicine. In his practice of ayurvedic medicine he had two
special formulae: 'free treatment for the poor' and 'money back if
not satisfied.' Leaving aside whatever relief these formulae
brought to other people, they didn't leave Vaidyaji lacking any
comfort.
He had divided diseases into two classes —open and He
secret.
treated open diseases openly and secret diseases in secret. One of
his theories was that all diseases are caused by the loss of chastity.
Looking at the lacklustre, half-dead faces of the college boys, he
would generally refer to this theory. If any person opined that the
boys' health was being ruined by poverty and the absence of a good
diet, Vaidyaji would turn this argument around and suggest that
the person was denying the importance of chastity, and since
anyone who denied the importance of chastity was immoral, the
person talking of poverty and poor food was immoral too.
He gave long and terrifying speeches on the consequences of
the loss of chastity. Socrates perhaps told him personally, or some-
one else, that if after doing it three times, you are going to despoil
your virtue a fourth time, then you should dig your own grave first.
He used to describe this conversation so graphically that it seemed
that Socrates was still his honorary advisor on chastity. In Vaidyaji's
opinion the greatest harm caused by the loss of chastity was that

29
after losing it, even if he had wanted to lose it, a man no longer
remained fit to lose it again. In brief, it was his view that in order to
remain fit to lose one's chastity, one shouldn't lose one's chastity.
Hearing his speeches three quarters of the college boys
despaired of life. But they did not commit mass suicide because one
of Vaidyaji's clinic's advertisements was, 'A message of hope for
young men despairing of life!' If 'Hope' had been the name of some
girl the boys wouldn t have read the advertisement more eagerly.

But they knew that the message referred to a tablet which looked
like a pellet of goat shit, and which, as soon as it reached the
stomach, sent electricity coursing through their veins.
One day Vaidyaji lectured Rangnath on the benefits of chastity.
He described a rather strange physiology from which he calculated
that you have to consume several tons of food to produce a few
ounces of 'essence'; 'essence' is converted into blood, blood into
something else, and in this way finally one drop of semen is created.
He proved that it doesn't cost as much to build an atom bomb as it
does to produce one drop of semen. Rangnath realized that if there
was anything valuable in India, it was semen. Vaidyaji told him that
semen had a thousand enemies and all of them were intent on
looting it. If anyone contrived to preserve his semen, then rest
assured, his whole character was saved. From all this it seemed that
previously there had been a great emphasis on semen conserva-
tion. One one side flowed rivers of milk and honey; on the other
rivers of semen. Finally Vaidyaji recited a Sanskrit verse which
meant that a man died if he spilled one drop of semen, and if he
could raise up one drop, then life was his.
As soon as he heard the sound of Sanskrit, Sanichar joined his
hands and said, 'Praise be to God!' He lay his head on the ground
and in a paroxysm ot faith lifted his backside towards the ceiling.
Vaidyaji became more excited and asked Rangnath, 'How can I
describe to you the glow of chastity? After some days regard your
face in the mirror, then you will know!'
Rangnath stood up to go indoors. He was already acquainted
with this side of his uncle's nature. Ruppan Babu was standing near
the door. Vaidyaji's speech had no effect on him. He whispered to
Rangnath, 'Why do you need chastity to bring a glow to your face?
Nowadays you can get it just as well from cream and powder.'

30
FIVE

The theory of reincarnation was invented in the civil courts so that

neither plaintiff nor defendant might die regretting that his case
had been left unfinished. Comforted by this theory, both could die
in peace knowing they still had the next life in which to hear the
judgement.
The man who was now sitting on the veranda outside Vaidyaji's
sitting-room had filed a case in the civil court about seven years
ago. So it was natural that in conversation he regularly referred to
the sins of his previous existence. Fate, God and his plans for the
next life.

—
People called him Langar the Lame One. On his forehead he
bore the tilak of the Kabirpanthi ascetics, around his throat hung a
necklace of holy tulsi. His face was weathered by dust and
thunderstorms, and his thin body was covered with a quilted cotton
jacket. One leg had been amputated at the knee and he made up
for its loss with a stout stick. His expression resembled that of the
early Christian saints who whipped themselves daily a hundred
times to mortify the flesh.
Sanichar pushed a glass of bhang towards him. 'Take this,
brother Langar, drink it. There's plenty of fine things in it.'
Langar refused with closed eyes and for a while they both
discussed such philosophical subjects as the importance of bhang,
the benefits of almonds and raisins, the transience of life, material
pleasures, and reunciation. Finally Sanichar freed himself from the
debate by wiping his left hand on his underwear and, displaying

an indifference to wordly subjects, he growled, Tf you're going to

drink it then get it down you quickly. If you're not then to hell with
you!'
He leapt into the inner sitting-room and offered the same glass
of bhang to the Principal. Vaidyaji contentedly watched the Principal
drink his bhang. Emptying the glass, the Principal said, 'There
really is some great stuff in there.'
'Bhang merely a name,' said Vaidyaji, 'it is and it is not. The
is

real substance is almonds, raisins and pistachios. Almonds increase

intelligence and potency. Raisins are a purgative. There's also

31
cardamom it. It has a cooling effect. As a result semen does not
in
burst out, remains solid and unmoving. I am also making some
it

small use of this beverage in my treatment of Rangnath.'

The Principal lifted his head and tried to speak but Vaidyaji had
already gone on to say, 'Just a few days back he began to run a fever
He had become weak. So I called him here. I have made up a daily
programme for him. Almonds are also used in tonics. Two leaves of
hemp as well. WeTl see what he looks like when he goes back in six
months' time.'
The college clerk said, 'He came like a rat, but he'll leave like a
rhinoceros. Uncle, just you wait and see.'
Whenever the clerk called Vaidyaji 'Uncle', the Principal was
sorry that he couldn't call Vaidyaji 'Father'. His face dropped and
he began to leaf through the files in front of him.
By then Langar had appeared in the doorway. He squatted
down outside rather like a chicken and greeted Vaidyaji in the way
prescribed in the scriptures for a low caste man meeting a Brahmin.
This showed that in our country the scriptures are still supreme,
and all attempts at the eradication of caste, if not fraudulent, are at
least romantic gestures. Langar whined like a beggar, 'I am going,
respected Father!'
Vaidyaji said, 'Go, brother, you are fighting a righteous battle.
Fight on! But how can I help you?'
Langar replied naturally, 'Very well, respected Father! In this
kind of battle what could you do? When 1 need someone to speak
on my behalf, I shall come and rub my head on your doorstep.'
Bending forward to touch the floor he paid his respects and left,
hopping away on one leg with the support of his stick.
Vaidyaji laughed loudly, 'His mind is like a child's.'
Vaidyaji seldom laughed. Rangnath was startled to see that
when he did, his face softened, gentleness replacing his expression
of authority. Instead of a virtuous, great man, he began to look
almost debauched.
Rangnath asked, 'What's he fighting for?'
The Principal had began to gather together the files and cheque
books spread out in front of him under the cover of which he used
to come for an occasional early morning glass of bhang. Pausing for
a moment, he said, 'He has to get a copy of a document from the
Tehsil Office. He has sworn not to give a bribe and to get a copy by
the rules. On the other side the copy clerk has sworn not to take a

32
bribe and to give the copy by the rules. This is what the fight is all

about.'
Rangnath had an M.A. in history and had studied the causes of
countless wars. Alexander attacked India to capture it, Porus
resisted to stop him. The Sultan Alauddin had said that he would
take the beautiful Queen Padmini, her husband the Rana had said
he would not give her up. So a war was fought. The root of all
battles was the same. One side said, ITl take!' the other, 'I won't
give!' This was the reason for war.
But here Langar was saying that he would take the copy by the
rules and the clerk was saying that he would give the copy by the
rules. And still they were fighting.
Rangnath asked the reason for this historic turnabout. In reply
the Principal quoted a saying in Avadhi which literally meant,
'Elephants come, horses go, but the poor camel lollops along.'
Perhaps this saying had its origin in a zoo, but Rangnath managed
to comprehend that it meant something to do with the length,
breadth and depth of government offices. But he still failed to
understand the righteous conflict between Langar and the copy
clerk. He put his question to the Principal more clearly.
The college clerk replied on his behalf, 'These are ganjaha ways,
difficult to understand. Langar lives in a village ten miles away.
. . .

His wife is dead. He fell out with his sons and as far as he's
concerned they are dead. He's a religious man. He used to sing
bhajans of the saints Kabir and Dada. He grew tired of singing and,
idling around, he went and filed a case in the civil court. He needs
a copy of an old judgement for the case. For that you have first to
make an application to the Tehsil Office. There was something
missing from the application, so it was rejected. The he made a
second application. A few days ago he went to the office to collect
the copy. The copy clerk turned out to be a real crook, and asked
for a five-rupee bribe. Langar said the fixed rate was two rupees.
Then the argument started. Two or three lawyers were standing
around. First of all they told the copy clerk, "Brother, agree to two
rupees, the poor man's lame. He'll take the copy and sing your
praises." But the clerk refused to budge an inch. Suddenly he
became a man of honour and said, "A man of honour sticks to his
word. I'll take exactly what 1 asked for"
'Then the lawyers reasoned with Langar "The clerk too has
family responsibilities. He has to pay for his daughters' weddings.

33
So he's pushed up the rate. Accept what he says and give five
rupees." But Langar stuck to his guns. He said, "So now it's come
to this. He squanders his salary on liquor and meat curry and takes
bribes to get his daughters married."
'The clerk lost his temper. "Get out," he snarled, "I'm not taking
any bribe for this. Whatever is to be done will be done by the rules."
The lawyers said, "Don't do this. Langar is a devout man, don't take
what he says badly." But once the clerk's temper was lost it couldn't
be recovered.
The truth is, Rangnath Babu, Langar wasn't wrong. In this
country getting your daughters married has become an excuse for
corruption. If one man takes a bribe, another says, "What can he
do, poor fellow? He's got a big family, he's got to pay for dowries."
The whole stream of crime is flowing in the name of marriage.
Anyway, there's been a serious altercation between Langar and
the clerk. Nowadays there are always arguments over the smallest
matters concerning bribery. Before the work was done in a regular
fashion. In the old days men used to be true to their word. You put
down one rupee, next day the copy was ready. Now you've got a
lot of new, young, school-educated boys creeping in and the rates
of business are all upset. Seeing what the new boys are up to, the
old ones do exactly as they like too. Now giving and taking bribes
have both become a big problem.
'Langar was furious. Placing his hand on his necklace of holy
tulsi, he said, "Go, clerk! If you can work by the rules, so can I. Now

you won't get a single penny from me. I have made my application,
sooner or later my turn will come."
'After this Langar went to the Tehsildar and told him the whole
story. The Tehsildar laughed and congratulated him on doing the
right thing. He said there was no need for him to get involved with
bribery. When his turn came he would get the copy. And he told
the clerk of the court, "Look, this man has been driven to distraction
for months. Now his work should be done by the rules, no one
should harass him." The clerk replied, "Sir, this cripple is a lunatic.
Don't get drawn into this mess." Then Langar lost his temper with
the clerk. They started yelling at each other, until somehow or the
other the Tehsildar managed to restore peace.
'Langar knew that the copy clerk would find some excuse to
reject m
his application. An application, poor thing, has a life like
ant's. You need no great strength to kill it. An application can be

34
 any time. Too few fee stamps, the file number incorrect,
rejected at
—
one column incomplete any mistake like that is posted on the
notice board and if it's not corrected by the prescribed date the
application is rejected.
That's why Langar is now completely prepared. He's locked up
his house and left his village. Land, crop, bullocks he's left them—
all to the mercy of God. He's camping in a relative's house and from

dawn to dusk spends his day making rounds to see the tehsil notice
board. He's scared that some news of the application will appear
on the board and he won't know. He doesn't want to miss it and
have the application rejected. It's already happened once.
'He has learnt all the rules about copying documents off by
heart. He has memorized the fees' chart. It's when a man's fortune
is bad that he is fated to see the inside of a court or a police station.

Langar 's luck is bad. But the way he's attacked the tehsil this time,
it looks like he really will get hold of the document.'

Rangnath had not yet committed enough stupidities in life to be

considered experienced. Langar 's story affected him deeply. He
was moved, stirred by the feeling that he should do something to
help. But what could he do? He had no answer.
As the feeling within him became intolerable, he blurted out.
'This is all completely wrong something should be done!'
. . .

The clerk pounced on his words like a hound on a hare. 'What

can you do, Rangnath Babu? What can anyone do? If you have an
itch you have to scratch it yourself. It's enough for people to cope
with their own troubles. Who can carry another's burden?
Nowadays it's like this —
you scratch your back and I'll scratch
mine.'
The clerk stood up to go. The him and
Principal looked about
said, 'There'sno sign of brother Badri.'
Vaidyaji replied, 'Some relative has got involved in a dacoity
case. The ways of the police, like God's, are infinite. You know it
well. Badri went over there. He should be back today.'
Sanichar was sitting near the doorway. Letting out his breath
with a whistle, he said, 'The longer he stays away the better'

By now the bhang had made the Principal forget the current saying
that 'it is wrong to rest'. Pulling a large cushion towards him, he lay
back contentedly and asked, 'What's up?'

35
 Sanichar explained softly. There's been an embezzlement in the
Co-operative Union. If brother Badri hears he'll eat the Supervisor
alive/
The Principal was scandalized.He whispered, 'So that's it!'
Vaidyaji thundered, 'What is this whispering like women?
So
what if there has been an embezzlement in the co-operative? What
union is there where a similar thing hasn't happened?' Pausing, he
explained, 'There had never been a case of fraud in our union and
so people began to suspect something was wrong. Now we can say
we are honest people. There was an embezzlement, and we didn't
hide it. We admitted it as soon as it happened.' Drawing breath, he
concluded, 'Well, it's an ill wind. One thorn has been removed
. . .

from our flesh .... One worry is over.'

The Principal was propped up motionless on his cushion. He
voiced the popular sentiment, 'Nowadays people have become
very dishonest.'
This statement is very efficacious and every decent man can
make use of it like a multi-vitamin tablet three times a day after
meals. But it seemed to the clerk to contain some personal allegation
against himself. He replied, 'It depends on the individual. In our
college there's never been any trouble like this.'
Vaidyaji regarded him cordially and smiled. The embezzlement
had occurred when wheat was removed from the seed grain store.
Referring to this he said, 'How can there be an embezzlement like
this in the college? You don't have a grain store?'
This was a joke. The Principal laughed and once he started
laughing he couldn't stop. But the clerk seemed afflicted by the hint
of personal criticism. 'No, Uncle,' he said, 'but there are lots of
fodder stores. The minds of everyone there are full of straw.' This
caused even more hilarity. Sanichar and Rangnath also laughed.
The wave of laughter reached the veranda. A few nameless people
sitting there also burst into uncontrolled mirth. The clerk caught
the Principal's eye and signalled him to leave.
It is our proud tradition that the real issue only surfaces after

three or four hours of conversation. Accordingly Vaidyaji asked the

Principal, 'Anything else you wanted to talk about especially?'
'Nothing .the same old problem with Khanna. The day before
. .

yesterday he was teaching a class wearing dark glasses. I gave him

a dressing-down right there. He was leading the boys astray. I said,
"Look here, son, I'll tear you to ribbons on the spot." The Principal
'

36
had shown considerable self-control during this speech but as he
finished it he began to mumble and only a sort of 'fik-fik' noise
issued from his lips.
Vaidyaji said seriously, 'You should not do such things. You
should treat your opponent with courtesy. Look, every great leader
has many enemies. They have all pinned down their opponents
through the power of their will. This is a principle of democracy.
Our leaders endure their opponents with enormous politeness.
The opposition keeps on talking nonsense, and the leadership
quietly plays its own game. No one is affected by anyone else. This
is model opposition. You should also adopt this stance.'

These fundamental principles of politics had no effect on the

clerk. He said, That doesn't work, Uncle! I know Khanna Master.
He's an M.A. in history but he doesn't even know who his father
was. He's just an expert at politicking. He keeps calling the boys to
his house and teaching them gambling. There's only one way to fix
him. Get hold of him some time and thrash him.'
This made Vaidyaji even more serious, but everyone else became
excited. The conversation turned to the method and traditions of
administering a shoe-beating. Sanichar chirped up, 'If you're going
to thrash Khanna, let me know. It's a long time since I've given a
shoe-beating. I'll come along to land a few blows myself.'
One man remarked that if a shoe is worn out and soaked in water
for three days it makes a good noise when it lands on the flesh and
even people far away can hear that there's a beating in progress.
Another said that if you're going to beat an educated man you
should use shoes made out of something other than cow leather,
so that he'll be beaten but he won't be disgraced too much. A third
man sitting on the veranda said that the correct way to give a
shoe-beating was to start counting one hundred blows, and as you
reach ninety-nine, you forget where you were and start all over
again from one. A fourth man agreed that this was the best method
of shoe-beating and so even he had begun to learn to count up to
a hundred.

37
SIX

A cycle-rickshaw was coming down the road from the town to the
country. The rickshaw-wallah was a long haired, thin young man
wearing a colourful vest and shorts. His face was running with
sweat, a caricature, rather than a picture, of agony.
Riding in the rickshaw, his clenched fists on his thighs, was Badri
the Wrestler At his feet was a box. Both feet were jammed against
the sides of the box to keep it steady. Badri held the box so tightly
that even if he fell out of the rickshaw and broke his legs, there was
no danger of him letting go of it.
It was the pleasant, pointless hour of evening. The wrestler's

village must still have been three miles away. He opened his mouth,
yawned like a tiger, and in mid-yawn remarked, 'The crop is look-
ing poor this year'
The rickshaw-wallah was not in a mood to make pronounce-
ments on agricultural science and economics. He cycled on in
silence. The wrestler asked him directly, 'What district do you come
from? What's the crop like in your area?'
The rickshaw-wallah didn't turn round. A lock of hair had fallen
into his eyes. He flicked back with a jerk of his neck. 'Crops? I'm
it

not a country man, Thakur Sahib, I belong to the town proper' He

swayed his hips from side to side and cycled fast. Seeing another
rickshaw ahead he rang his bell.
The wrestler yawned again and went back to staring at the fields.
The rickshaw- wallah was upset to see his passenger so indifferent.
To divert him he began, 'My principle, Thakur Sahib, is "good
wages for good work". I'll not settle for seven annas when I've
agreed to eight. I stick to what I say. Once a sahib sat on the back
here asking how my family was. He told me the government had
given me a bad deal. They should ban cycle-rickshaws. What a
dreadful thing, he said, that one man rides on another's back. I said,
then don't ride. He said, I take rickshaws because if everyone
boycotts them then the rickshaw-pullers will starve to death. Then
he began bewailing the fate of the rickshaw-wallahs.
'He cried a lot. He went on crying and cursing the government.
He kept saying, you should form a union, demand motor-driven

38
rickshaws. God knows what rubbish he was saying. But, Thakur
Sahib, I told him, ''Son, don't get any ideas. No matter how much
'
you cry I'll not reduce your eight-anna fare by even a pie."
The wrestler had closed his eyes. He yawned. 'Do you know any
film songs or do you only produce hot air?'
The rickshaw-wallah said, 'There are just two pastimes here,
Thakur Sahib. Going to the cinema every day, and chain-smoking
cigarettes. I would sing you a song too, but at the moment I've got
a bad throat.'
The wrestler laughed. 'So what? Are you going to let the name
of your town down?'
The rickshaw-wallah swallowed this insult with good grace.
Then after a moment's consideration he began to sing softly the
tune of a popular old film song. The wrestler paid no attention. The
rickshaw-wallah observed his client's declining spirits and spoke
again. 'My brother pulls a rickshaw too. But he only takes loads of
passengers from certain select localities. He showed some country
rickshaw-wallah from Sultanpur a few tricks of the trade and the
man began to cry. "Fm an honest man," he said. "Take my life but
not my religion. I'm not getting involved in this sort of business." I
told my brother, "Stop You can't turn a donkey into a horse by
it.
'
making it trot."

They were approaching Shivpalganj. As if giving the rickshaw-

wallah a testimonial, Badri said, 'You are a very good man. You
shouldn't allow everyone to take liberties with you. Your way of
handling things is right.' He paused. 'But your body is not in good
shape. Spend a few months in a gym, then see how you improve.'
'What's the point of that?' asked the rickshaw- wallah. 'You want
me to take up wrestling? There's nothing special about wrestling
now. In war when a bomb drops it kills even the greatest wrestler.
If you've got a gun in your hand, what difference does it make

whether you're a wrestler or not?' Pausing for a moment, he went

on contentedly, 'Wrestling is only a country sport now, Thakur
Sahib! In our locality knives are the craze.'
At this stage Badri Wrestler became sensible of being insulted.
He stretched out his hand and caught hold of the rickshaw- wallah's
vest between his finger and thumb. 'Abehl You've been calling me
"Thakur Sahib, Thakur Sahib" for the last hour. Don't you know
I'm a Brahmin?'
The rickshaw-wallah was startled but assumed an almost

39
Gandhian non-violent expression. 'Let it be, panditji, let it be/ he
said and began to observe the natural beauty of the countryside.

Ramadhin's full name was Babu Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi.

Bhikhmakhera was a village adjoining Shivpalganj which had
been wiped from the face of the earth like the ancient Greek,
Roman and Egyptian civilizations. That is, it hadn't completely
disappeared, it was just that the inhabitants of Shivpalganj,
through their own stupidity, thought it had. Bhikhmakhera was
still preserved in the form of a few shacks, some records in the

Revenue Department and Ramadhin' s old poetry.

When he was a child Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi had set out from
Shivpalganj and followed the railway tracks to the town. From
there he planned to climb into any train and so, without intending
to do so, he landed up in Calcutta. In Calcutta he first delivered
letters for a businessman, then delivered his merchandise, and later
became his business partner In the end he became the owner of the
whole business.
The business was opium. Unrefined opium came from west
India and he received the commission for delivering it by various
ways to big businessmen in Calcutta. He could also have exported
opium from Calcutta but he wasn't an ambitious man. He quietly
carried on his commission business and spent his spare time enjoy-
ing the company of visitors from the western districts. He was fairly
well known among the men from this area. They praised his lack
of literacy and seeing his achievements were able to understand
how the great illiterate emperors of old, like the Mughal Emperor
Akbar, must have run their governments.
There was good money in the opium business, and the rivalry
between traders was not too great. There was just one small prob-
lem with the trade and that was that it was against the law. When
his friends mentioned this to Ramadhin, he used to tell them, 'What
can I Nobody asked me before they made the law.'
say about this?
When Ramadhin was arrested under the opium law and ap-
peared in court before a Magistrate, he took the same line. He
criticized the English laws and, referring to the fact that Mahatma
Gandhi found it necessary to break them, tried to explain that these
foreign laws were made in an arbitrary fashion and every single
little thing was called a 'crime'.

40
 'Your Honour/ he said, 'opium is produced from a plant. When
the plant grows it gets beautiful white flowers. In English you call
them poppies. There is a different sort of poppy which has red
flowers. The sahibs grow this in their bungalow gardens. There is

another species of this flower called the double poppy. Your

Honour, these are the facts about these plants, their leaves and
—
flowers what have they to do with crime? Later on from that same
white poppy you get this black stuff. It is used as a medicine. To
trade in it cannot be a crime. It's a black law that has made it a crime.
Ithas been made to destroy us!'
Despite this lecture, Babu Ramadhin was sentenced to two years
imprisonment. In those days before independence you were al-
ways convicted and sentenced, but what mattered was the speech
in court beforehand. Babu Ramadhin knew hundreds of
that
—
people from revolutionaries to disciples of non-violence had —
become martyrs by making such speeches and he was certain that
his speech would make it easy for him to become a martyr too. But
after he had served his time and been released he realized that to
be a hero he should have broken the salt laws, not the opium laws.
After wandering around Calcutta for a few days he saw that he had
been pushed out of the opium market. He sorrowfully recited a few
verses of poetry and, this time buying a ticket, travelled back to his
village, and settled down in Shivpalganj.
He told the villagers this much of the truth— that his commission
business had closed down. There was no need to say more. He built a
rather small, half-brick, half-mud house; took some land and began to
farm it. He taught the villageboys to gamble with cards rather than
with cowrie shells and, lying on a charpoy at his door, he became an
expert at telling tales of his Calcutta days. It was then that the
government introduced the new system of village councils called
Panchayats. And thanks to the great prestige he'd earned from his
sojourn in Calcutta he managed to have his cousin made head of
the new Village Council. To start with, no one knew what being the
head of the Village Council meant, and so his cousin had a walkover
at the polls. Some time later people found out that there were two
—
heads of the Village Council Ramadhin, who handed out owner-
ship deeds for plots of the village's common land, and his cousin,
who, when necessary, would face charges of fraud.
Babu Ramadhin dominated the village for some time. There was
a thatched hut in front of his house where the young men of the

41
village gambled.One one side of it fresh hemp leaves were crushed
to make bhang. The atomsphere was very lyrical. He was the first
man in the village to grow canna lilies, nasturtiums, larkspur and
other English flowers. There were some red flowers too, about
which he occasionally remarked, 'These are poppies, and this bug-
ger is a double poppy'
His name, Bhikhmakhervi, was a poet's nom de plume, indicating
that he was a poet. He no longer wrote but in his good days in
Calcutta he had been a poet on a few occasions.
When he went to jail it was hoped that he would create a
magnum opus while in prison like other great literary figures had
done before, and afterwards he would present it to the public with
a lengthy introduction. But he spent those two years complaining
about the jail food, joking with fellow convicts, listening to the
warders' insults and daydreaming of his future.
When he returned to Shivpalganj he tagged the title
'Bhikhmakhervi' on to his name again to impress the ganjahas with
his exceptional character. Later on, when he fell victim to factional
politics —not for any particular reason, but just due to the influence
of village, or rather,national, culture — he wrote a few couplets and
thereby proved that Bhikmakhervi had a poetical, and not only a
geographical, meaning.
Sometime previously Badri Wrestler had installed a flour milling
machine in another village ten miles away from Shivpalganj. The
mill worked splendidly and Vaidyaji's enemies began to say that
was some connection between the mill and the college funds.
there
Ramadhin expressed this popular feeling in the immortal verse:

'Oh, Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi, what a mira-cle!

He set out to run a college.
And opened a flour mill!'

Someone hailed Badri Wrestler's rickshaw outside the village. It

was rather dark and from a distance Badri couldn't clearly make out
the face of the person hailing him.
'W^ho are you, you ass?' he asked.
'Don't call me an ass, wrestler! I'm Ramadhin,' said the figure as

he approached the rickshaw. The rickshaw-wallah pulled up sud-

denly in the middle of the road. The figure was wearing a dhoti and

42
kurta. But in the dim evening light, he was recognizable not by his
clothes butby his shaven head. Grasping the handlebars of the
rickshaw he said, 'Have you heard? There's going to be a dacoity
in my house.'
The wrestler jabbed a finger into the rickshaw-wallah's back and
motioned him to go on. To Ramadhin he said, 'So why are you
squealing about it now? Call me when the dacoits come to get you.'
The rickshaw-wallah pushed down hard on the pedals, but
Ramadhin was holding the handlebars so tightly that the rickshaw
didn't move. Badri Wrestler muttered, 'I can't think what calamity
can make you stand out in the road, holding a rickshaw and wailing
like a widow.'
'I'm not wailing, I'm complaining. You're the one real man in
Vaidyaji's house —the rest are all weaklings. That's why I'm telling
you. The dacoits sent me a letter demanding five thousand rupees.
They said, "On the last day of the dark fortnight of the moon, go to
the southern hill and give the money ...."'
Badri Wrestler slapped his thigh. 'If you want to give the money,
then go and give it. If you don't then you don't have to give them a
penny. I can't tell you more than this. Get going, rickshaw-wallah!'
Vaidyaji's home was nearby. Outside the bhang would be
ground and ready. Badri would drink it, bathe, tie a good loincloth
round his waist, pull on a kurta and settle down in style in the
sitting-room. People would ask him, 'Wrestler, what have you been
doing?' He would sit with his eyes closed, listening to questions and
allowing others present to answer them. The intoxication of his
physical strength and the bhang would make all the voices of this
world seem no more than the whining of mosquitoes.
Badri, who was sunk in such daydreaming, found it highly
displeasing to be stopped on the road at this time. He rebuked the
rickshaw-wallah and repeated, 'I'm telling you, get going!'
But how could he move? Ramadhin's hands were still on the
handlebars.
not a matter of money,' Ramadhin said. 'Would anyone dare
'It's

to come and touch my money? I just wanted to tell you to keep

Ruppan under control. He's begun to get big-headed. He walks on
the ground but thinks he's in the air . . .
.'

Badri Wrestler flexed his thighs and leapt from the rickshaw. He
grabbed hold of Ramadhin and pulled him a short distance away.

43
 'Why are you dirtying your tongue like this? What has Ruppan
done?'
'It was Ruppan who had this dacoity letter sent to my house. I

can prove it.'

'I even leave the house for two or three days/ muttered
can't
Badri. 'As soon as my back is turned this nonsense starts up.' He
paused and then said, 'If you have proof then what are you worried
about?'
He Ramadhin of his safety and concluded, 'So
firmly assured
then, there will beno dacoity at your house. Go, sleep in peace.
Ruppan is no dacoit. He's a young lad. It must be a practical joke.'
Ramadhin replied with some bitterness, 'That I know Ruppan —
has played a practical joke. But is this joke at all funny?'
'You're right,' agreed Badri, 'It is a very bad joke.'
A truck was fast approaching. Badri's eyes glittered in the reflec-
tion of its headlights as he snarled at the rickshaw- wallah, 'Pull over
to the side. The road's not your father's property'
Ramadhin knew Badri's nature. Hearing his tone of voice he
said, 'There's no need to be annoyed. Wrestler Sahib! But think, is
this any way to behave?'
Badri walked up to the rickshaw and climbed into it. 'When
you're not going to be robbed, there's no point in arguing about it.
Get going, rickshaw-wallah.' As the rickshaw moved off, he said,
'I'll have a word with Ruppan. This is not right.'

Ramadhin called after him, 'He has sent me a letter threatening

me with dacoity and all you're going to do is have a word with him?
This call for a shoe-beating, not a word!'
The rickshaw was well on its way. Badri Wrestler replied without
turning his head, 'If it's upset you so much, then you send me a
threatening letter just like Ruppan's.'

44
SEVEN

There was a room on the flat roof of Vaidyaji's house which, like
the holy book in a joint family, always remained open. In one
corner a pair of Indian clubs declared that this room officially
belonged to Badri Wrestler. However the other members of the
family also used it as it suited them. The women of the house filled

mountains of pickle into glass and earthenware pots, left them out
on the roof in the sun, and as night fell picked them up and brought
them indoors. Washing met a similar fate. In the evening, over the
rope which hung across the room, you could see loincloths and
blouses, towels and petticoats, all swinging to and fro together.
Surplus bottles from Vaidyaji's dispensary were also stored in one
of the cupboards. Practically all of them were empty. They were
labelled with an illustrated advertisement. Under the heading
'Before' was a picture of a semi-human creature, and under 'After'
was a picture of a man with a curling moustache and a firmly tied
loincloth, naturally in the pink of health. From these illustrations
you could tell that these were the bottles which made tigers out of
thousands of men. It's another matter that they only rippled their
muscles and paced tiger-like in the privacy of their bedrooms and
bathrooms. Outside they were still no better than goats.
There is a kind of literature in Hindi called 'secret', which is more
dangerous than the literature considered seditious under the
British Raj, because it was a crime to publish this literature before
1947, and it is still a crime to publish it now. Like many official
provides a very pleasant
secrets this literature doesn't stay secret. It

literary supplement for those trapped in a tedious routine of food,

sleep and fear, and traverses the artificial distinctions between
classical and popular literature as it is well established in everyone's
hearts. In fact, nothing very special. It only recounts how a man
it's

behaved with another man or a woman, or in more philosophical

language, it is a description of the eternal relationships between
human beings. In English it is called 'pornography'.
The room on the roof was also used for the study of this literature
and obviously, Ruppan was the only student in the house, it was
as
his preserve. Ruppan used the room for other purposes too. He was

45
drawn to it to experience that elusive joy which others require
loaves of bread, the shade of a bough, poetry, flasks of wine, a lover
and other items recommended by Omar Khayyam to discover
This room seemed to raise high the slogan of peaceful co-existence
within the family and could only fill the hearts of those who beheld
it with reverence for local culture. With it in view, no sociologist

could ever claim that there was the slightest danger to the joint
family system in the northern hemisphere.
This was the room which had been allotted to Rangnath. He was
to stay for four or five months. Vaidyaji had been right. Studying
for his M. A. had made Rangnath sickly, as it would do to any normal
student. He had begun to run a constant fever Like any average
Indian, he had taken pills from a doctor even though he had no
faith in Western medicine. The treatment had not been able to cure
him completely. Like any average city dweller, he too believed that
fresh country air would cure your ills as effectively as any doctor's
pills. So he came to live in the village. Like any average idiot he had

taken up academic research when he didn't get a job immediately

after passing his M.A. but like any average man of common sense,
he knew that you don't have stay in a university and sit in the
library every day to do research. So he thought he would relax in
the village for a while, get well, study, and if necessary go into town
to change his library books. At the same time his presence provided
Vaidyaji with the constant opportunity of remarking politely, Tf
only our young people weren't so completely useless, we elders
would not have to shoulder all these burdens of responsibility.'
The room on the roof was quite large and as soon as he arrived
Rangnath had stamped it with his own personality. He had it swept
and a charpoy was placed there permanently for his use. His
bedding took up residence on the charpoy. Rangnath's books were
arranged in the cupboard nearby and he banned pocket detective
stories and 'secret' literature from entering among them. A small
desk and chair were also brought for him from the college and put
near a window which looked out over orchards and fields.
Ruppan Babu had purloined some bricks and stones and had
managed to fix them together to make a sort of radio. He had run
a long wire over bamboo poles on the roof of the room and into the
trees nearby, which made it look like Asia's largest transmitter
But the radio inside could only be heard over a set of
station.
headphones which Rangnath sometimes pressed to his ears to hear

46
local news and the mournful songs of Vaishnavite saints.
reports
He could thereby reassure himself that All-India Radio was still the
same and, despite thousands of complaints and curses from its
listeners, had not budged an inch from its old ways.

Rangnath's routine was drawn up on Vaidyaji's advice he got up —

early, and then decided whether yesterday's food had been proper-
ly digested, drank cold water from a copper pot, set out for a long
walk, did his daily business (because in this world that one business
is truly daily), strolled back, washed his hands and face, chewed a
tooth-cleaning gargled with lukewarm water, exercised,
stick,

drank milk, studied, ate lunch, rested, studied, went for an evening
stroll, returned and did some simple exercises, took a draught of

almonds, raisins and so forth, studied, ate, studied and slept.

Rangnath kept conscientiously to this whole routine. The sole
amendment he made was to replace study with enjoying the com-
pany of the ganjahas in Vaidyaji's sitting-room. As this posed no
threat to the preservation of Rangnath's virility and had no overall
effect on the whole day's routine, Vaidyaji made no objection to
this amendment. In fact, in a way he was pleased to have an
educated man to sit next to him and was always ready to introduce
him to visitors.
In just a few days Rangnath began to feel that Shivpalganj was
like the great Hindu epic, the Mahabharat —
what was to be found
nowhere else was there, and what was not there, was to be found
nowhere else. He realized that all Indians are one, and everywhere
our minds are alike. He observed that the Indian genius for
manipulation and manoeuvring existed in an unrefined form in
Shivpalganj, in abundance. This was the same genius which was
proclaimed by celebrated newspapers in bold type in front page
headlines, and due to which all kinds of great corporations, com-
missions and administrations were formed, fell and were dragged
away. As Rangnath realized this his faith in Indian cultural unity
was reaffirmed.
He only saw one weakness in that unity. In towns he had noticed
that there was a growing generation gap between the old and the
young. For some days Rangnath had imagined that the struggle
between the generations had not yet arisen in Shivpalganj. But one

47
day his illusion was shattered. He saw that the same struggle was
going on in villages and village politics too.
The argument began over a fourteen-year-old boy. One evening
in the sitting-room a man began to narrate the boy's life story. He
explained that the boy's talent for evil was so extraordinary that
even the greatest psychologists and sociologists were forced to
admit it was miraculous. It was said that several scholars who had
qualified abroad had examined the boy's case.
Rangnath was informed that by the age of ten the boy could run
so fast that a fifteen-year-old couldn't catch him. By the age of
eleven he had become expert at ticketless travelling and avoiding
the Railways' ticket inspector. One year later he had begun to make
passengers' luggage disappear from under their noses just as a
clever surgeon administers local anaesthetic and removes a piece
of anatomy without the patient on the operating table having the
least idea where it went. His fame for this kind of theft grew mainly
on the basis that he was never caught. Later on, when he was
fourteen, and he was caught, it was discovered that he had become
accomplished in the art of breaking the small glass panels above
doorways and opening door latches from the inside. He was break-
ing into bungalows not by climbing through windows, but by
opening doors as described and slipping into the house by the
correct entrance like an honest man.
While heaping praise on this boy, one man mentioned Behram
the Robber who at one time was recognized in the area as a thief of
historic proportions. But a youth loudly contradicted the man and
in a speech like those made in the State Assembly — that is, bereft
—
of logic but delivered at shouting pitch he began to try to prove
that Behram the Robber was a nobody.
'By the time Ramswarup was twelve,' he said, 'he had lifted and
got rid of more stuff than Behram the Robber could have moved in
a lifetime.'
Rangnath caught a glimpse of the generation gap in the conver-
sation. He asked Sanichar, 'Aren't these modern thieves really just
a lot of windbags —talking big but doing nothing? In the old days
there really were plenty of robbers, each more dangerous than the
last.'

Sanichar was in the age group which the younger generation

considered old and the older generation young. And, because the?re
was no scientific division between generations, both groups con-

48
sidered him an outsider. So he was under no compulsion to support
either side. Shaking his head like one of the hundreds of immature
literary and art critics in this country, he avoided giving his opinion.
'Brother Rangnath, don't ask me about the good old days. We had
Thakur Durbin Singh then. I have seen those days. But don't ask
me about these boys today, either.'

Some thirty years ago, when today's generation was not born and,
even had been, it would either have been singing 'Oh, Lord
if it

Krishna, bestow long life and renown upon our King and Queen'
or 'God Save Our Gracious King, George V,' the name of the chief
ganjaha of Shivpalganj was Thakur Durbin Singh. His parents had
— —
perhaps called him Durbin or telescope because they wanted
their son to do everything in a scientific manner. When he grew up
he did just that. He grasped the fundamentals of anything he took
an interest in. He never liked the British laws and so when
Mahatma Gandhi was preparing for the Dandi March merely to
break the salt laws, Durbin Singh had begun the fundamental task
of breaking every single clause of the Indian Penal Code one by
one.
By nature he was a charitable man. Charity is a matter of in-
dividual conscience and every individual has his own concept of it.
Some feed flour to ants, some devote themselves to maintaining the
health and happiness of spinsters by wearing their hearts on their
sleeves, advertising that they are always ready for love, and others
prevent people from being forced to take bribes directly they —
become go-betweens and run between the two sides day and night,
rain or shine. These are individual notions of charity and Durbin
Singh too had his own thoughts on the subject. He was ever
impatient to protect the weak. So every time there was any chance
of a fight he always turned up, even without being called, and
wielded his lathi on behalf of the downtrodden. In those peaceful
days all these things had fixed rates. It was well known throughout
the area that Babu Jayramprasad, the lawyer, charged fifty rupees
every time he appeared in court to defend a case of assault, and
Durbin Singh used to charge fifty rupees for committing the assault
in the first place. In major fights which required a gang, the sum
increased according to the number men, but still the rates were
of
fixed and there was never any cheating. You had to give his men

49
 a

meat and liquor, but on these occasions he himself never touched

meat or alcohol. As a result his stomach remained light and his brain
clear, highly desirable qualities in time of war And because any man

who can turn down meat and liquor when they are put in front of him
is considered virtuous, he began to be known as a virtuous man.

Durbin Singh had another speciality. He never dug holes in the

mud walls of village houses like most traditional thieves. He was a
master at wall-jumping and could easily have been a world-class
pole vault champion. In the beginning he would occasionally leap
over walls when he was short of cash. Later on he jumped them
from time to time just to give his new pupils some practical instruc-
tion. Those were the days when thieves were thieves and dacoits
were dacoits. Thieves only broke into houses to steal and even if
they heard the patter of a five-year-old's feet, they would respect-
fully leave through the same hole through which they'd come.
Dacoits were more interested in fighting and less in looting. How-
ever Durbin Singh set the fashion in his area of thrashing any
householder who woke up while he was robbing his house —
practice which became extremely popular among his con-
temporaries. He thereby fundamentally altered the nature of theft
by bringing it closer to dacoity, and brought about a radical change
in the methodology of both crimes.
But times change. In his old age the same Durbin Singh fell off
the parapet of a well after a hard slap from his drunken nephew.
He broke his spine. For some days Durbin Singh lay staring at his
lathi standing in a corner, and imagined stuffing it into his
nephew's face. Finally, leaving both the lathi and his nephew's face
intact, he attained the paradise of courageous warriors and left the
earth of Shivpalganj bereft of valour —in other words, he snuffed it.

Sanichar related his memories of Durbin Singh. 'Brother Rangnath,

it was a dark night and I was walking through the mango grove of

the Tiwaris of Bholupur. Then I was a young man like you, I would
face a panther with as much fear as I would a goat. My body was
so full of fight thatwould hit out in the air with my lathi and even
I

if I would scatter them with the foulest abuses.

the leaves rustled
Anyway, it was a dark night and I was striding along with my staff
in hand when somebody said from under a tree, "Beware!"
'I thought it was some jinn. You can't fight them with lathis and

50
sticks — prayed to Lord Hanuman, who wears the
if s pointless. I

red loincloth but, brother, Hanuman can only help you when there
really are ghosts and spirits and jinns. Then a muscular young man
as black as sin came out from behind the tree and said, "Whatever
youVe got put it down quietly. Get your clothes off too!"
'When I stretched out my stick to hit him, what did I see but that
I was surrounded on all sides by half-a-dozen men. They all had

huge lathis and spears. I said to myself, "Sanichar, you've had it/'
My stick stayed exactly where it was, I hadn't the strength to hit
out.
'One of them then said, "Why have you stopped? Why don't you
hit us? Give it a try if you're the real son of your father!"
'I was mad with anger but, brother, I was so angry that when I

tried to speak I wept. I said, "Don't kill me. Take whatever I have."
'Another man said, "The bastard's life isn't worth a penny and
he's howling for it like a jackal. You're giving us all your stuff. Good.
Put it down, all of it."
'But, brother, all I had was a bag with parched gram flour in it. I
—
had a good brass pot from Moradabad I'd got it from my uncle's
—
house and a ball of first-class cotton string. The pot was so big it
was more like a bucket. It could draw two seers of water from a well.
I had some puris fried in real ghee. There was none of this rubbish

vegetable oil then! They counted everything and piled it up. Then
they made me take my dhoti off and seized the one rupee I had
hidden in its folds. When I got up to put my clothes on, one of them
said, "Now keep you mouth shut and go home quietly. If you so
much as squeak I'll bury you alive right here in this mango grove."
'When I made to leave another asked me where I lived.
'I replied, "I'm a ganjaha."
'Don't ask me what happened next, brother! All the robbers
stood and stared at me. One of them asked me the name of the
headman of Shivpalganj, another the name of the numberdar, and
a third asked me if I knew Durbin Singh.
'I said, "I have wielded my lathi for Durbin Singh before. When
there was a gathering in Rangpur. If peace hadn't been declared
thousands of people would have died there. In the village I am so
close to Durbin Singh I call him Uncle!"
'That was it! Ram, Ram, Sita-Ram! It was as if some white army
officer had arrived in a crowd of black Indians. There was uproar.
One person brought me my dhoti, another my kurta, another my

51
 '

shoes, someone put bag into my hand. One man stood and
my
pleaded with folded hands, "I have eaten two of your puris. Take
the money for them. But don't let Durbin Singh know that we
attacked you. If you want, take some money And if you say so FU
rip open my stomach and take out the puris. How could we know,
brother, that you're a ganjaha!"
'So, brother, went home and slept. The next morning as soon
I

as it was light I went to Durbin Singh, clasped his feet and told him
that his name had the power of Hanuman of the red loincloth and
that it had saved my life. Durbin Singh drew up his feet. He said,
"Go, Sanichar. Don't worry. As long as I'm here you can go
wherever you like day or night. Fear no one. You will have to deal
with any snakes or scorpions yourself but leave everybody else to
me."
Here Sanichar drew breath and paused. Rangnath thought that
he was adding to the suspense of the story's climax like a cheap
thriller writer. 'So the ganjahas must have lived in style as long as
Durbin Singh was around,' he remarked.
Then Ruppan Babu spoke. For the first time to Rangnath's
knowledge he made a literary comment. Taking a deep breath he
recited:

'There is no mightiness in man.

Time it is that's strong.

The forest men stole the milkmaids.
And the once great Arjun looked on.'

'What's the matter, Ruppan Babu?' asked Rangnath. 'Has some-

one looted the milkmaids of Shivpalganj?'
'Sanichar, tell the other story too,' said Ruppan.
Sanichar began another chapter in the history of Durbin Singh.
'Brother, lathi-work is not like being a member of the State
Assembly In the Assembly the older you get, the more senile you
more progress you make. Take Harnam Singh for instance,
are, the
when he gets up to walk he looks as if he's about to fall down dead.
But every day he gets more influential. But lathi-work depends on
the strength of a man's arm. As long as it lasts, he lasts. When it's
gone, he's had it.

'It must have been ago now, I had been down to

five or six years
the Ganga for the Kartik bathe. It got dark as I was coming back.
Night fell near to the same Bholupur There was a full, bright moon.

52
In the mango grove my spirits rose and I began to sing a verse. At
that moment a lathi landed on my back from the right. No greeting,
no warning —a lathi blow from out of nowhere. Now, brother, I
finished my song just there, and my bag flew off and fell twenty
feet away. I was about to scream when three or four men leapt on
top of me. One put his hand over my mouth and gagged me. He
said, "Shut up, you miserable bastard, or Fll twist your neck off!" I
struggled and tried to get up but, brother, even if a solid wrestler
was ambushed and walloped like that he'd be downed, so what
hope was there for me?
Tor a while I lay there quietly trying to feel if I was all in one
piece. Then I motioned that I wasn't going to scream. They took the
gag out of my mouth. One man asked me where my money was.
"Father," I said, "all I have is in this bag." In the bag I had one-and-
a-half rupees in small change. One robber picked up the coins and
they clinked together in his hand. "Let's see what's in your dhoti,"
he said. I replied, "Father, don't make me take my dhoti off. I've got
nothing on underneath it. I'll be naked."
'Well, brother, he lost his temper. He thought I was joking. Then
he made me strip and searched me. The police don't search like that
even when they're after drugs. When he didn't find anything, one
of the others kicked me from behind and said, "Now get out of here
with your mouth shut. Just keep following your nose right back to
your pigeon coop."
'By now I'd regained my powers of speech. I said, "Father, you
people have been wise not to kill me. I don't mind that you've
robbed me. But I'm telling you that you are eating your own salt.
You may be the king's men, but I am from the royal court."
'They gathered round me and asked who I was, where I came
from, who I was with.
'I said, "I am a ganjaha. I have lived in the company of Durbin

Singh."
'You won't believe what happened next, brother Rangnath!
They all began to roar with laughter. One of them grabbed my hand
and pulled me towards him. I couldn't think what he was going to
do. He kicked my legs from under me and I fell flat on my back.
'The robbers were still laughing. One of them said, "I know him.
Durbin Singh's days are over now. All these old fogies used to show
off a little lathi-work, and put around a lot of tall stories. This
Durbin Singh became a hero just by throwing his lathi around and

53
jumping over a couple of walls. Now they even teach school-
children to pole vault/'
Another robber said, "They teach lathi-work at school too. I

learned it there myself."

The youth spoke again. "So that's the famous Durbin
first

Singh! The bastard hasn't even got a gun, and he thinks he can run
our whole area."
A man who was holding a torch took a gun from his pocket. He
said, "Look, son. This is a six-shooter. It doesn't have country-made
cartridges but real foreign ones." Saying this he poked the barrel
into my chest. "Go and tell your father there. In those days the
one-eyed man was king in the kingdom of the blind. But not any
more. Now those old men should just lie on their string cots and
brood. If they ever show their faces outside they'll get the pulp
taken out of their skulls."
After that, brother, I couldn't stop myself. I was
with suchfilled

a passion, that I even threw down my stick just there, and ran for
it like a gazelle. Behind me they started guffawing again. One

called out, "To hell with that bastard Durbin Singh. Stand still! I'll
beat you into a telescope!"
day no one's been able to compare with me
'But, brother, to this
at running. Now they blow whistles and teach boys to run at school.
Without ever being taught, I can run so fast that I could leave a hare
standing. So, brother, they swore a great deal, but they couldn't
catch me. Somehow I got home. By then Durbin Singh was not the
man he was. Even the police had begun to turn against him in their
heart of hearts. The next day I felt very perturbed but I didn't tell
him what had happened. If I had. Uncle Durbin would have
dropped dead of shock."
Ruppan Babu was sitting with a face as long as a wet week. He
sighed and said, 'It would have been best to tell him. If he had
croaked it then, he wouldn't have been killed by his nephew.'

54
EIGHT

Shivpalganj was a village but it was also close to the town and on
a main road. So important politicians and officials could have no
theoretical objection to going there. Apart from the village wells,
some hand-pumps had been installed; so when visiting VIPs felt
thirsty they could drink the water there without endangering their
lives. Food was also conveniently available. There was generally

one of the minor local officials who looked sufficiently affluent for
the villagers to consider him a complete crook, but whom outsiders
would see and exclaim, 'What a gentleman! He comes from a good
family. Look, he married Chiko Sahib's daughter.' The VIPs could
therefore satisfy their hunger at his house without risking their
reputation for honesty. Whatever the reason, by this time of the
year a major influx of leaders and servants of the people had
already begun. All of them were concerned about the progress of
Shivpalganj and as a result they delivered speeches.
These speeches were especially interesting for the ganjahas.
From the very start the speakers set out in the belief that the
audience comprised a bunch of idiots, and the audience sat firm in
the opinion that the speakers were fools. From the villagers' point
of view these were the perfect conditions for a dialogue. Still, there
were so many speeches that despite their interest the locals could
get indigestion. A speech is only really enjoyable when both sides
know that the speaker is talking absolute nonsense. But some
speakers took their work so seriously that the audience occasionally
felt that they actually believed what they were saying. As soon as

this suspicion arose, the speech began to seem turgid and insipid
and had a very bad effect on the audience's digestion. In the light
of their experience, the villagers had chosen certain times to listen
to speeches depending on their constitutions. Some listened to
them in the morning before breakfast, others after lunch. Most
people took the largest measure of speechifying during their after-
noon nap.
In those days themain subject under discussion was agriculture
but that didn't mean that it had ever been anything else. In fact,
for the past few years the villagers had been cajoled into believing

55
 —

that India was a farming nation. The villagers didn't contest this,
but every speaker behaved from the start as if they would. So they
used to find one argument after another to prove that India was a
farming nation. After this they explained that progress in agricul-
ture was progress for the nation. Then before they could explain
anything more they found it was lunchtime and that the polite
young man, who was the offspring of a rich family and had married
Chiko Sahib's daughter, was tugging at the back of their shirt to let
them know that their food was ready. Sometimes the speakers did
continue their speech, and then it became clear that there was no
difference between what they had said first and what they went on
to say, because, however they framed it, the subject remained
India is a farming nation, you are farmers, you should farm well
and produce more grain. Every speaker was gripped by the
suspicion that farmers did not want to grow more grain.
Anything lacking in the speeches was made up for by a publicity
campaign. And in a way the advertisements stuck or written on
walls gave an accurate introduction to the village's problems and
how to solve them. For example, the problem was that India was a
farming nation, but farmers refused to produce more grain out of
sheer perversity. The solution was to give speeches to farmers and
show them all sorts of attractive pictures. These advised them that
if they didn't want to grow more grain for themselves then they

should do so for the nation. As a result posters were stuck in various

places to induce farmers to grow grain for the nation. The farmers
were greatly influenced by the combined effect of the speeches and
posters, and even the most simple-minded cultivator began to feel
that in all likelihood there was some ulterior motive behind the
whole campaign.
One advertisement had become especially well known in
Shivpalganj. It showed a healthy farmer with a turban wrapped
around his head, earrings and a quilted jacket, cutting a tall crop of
wheat with a sickle. A woman was standing behind him, very
pleased with herself; she was laughing like an official from the
Department of Agriculture.
Below and above the picture was written in Hindi and English
'Grow More Grain'. Farmers with earrings and quilted jackets who
were also scholars of English were expected to be won over by the
English slogan, and those who were scholars of Hindi, by the Hindi
version. And those who didn't know how to read either language

56
 man and the laughing
could at least recognize the figures of the
woman. The government hoped that as soon as they saw the man
and the laughing woman, the farmers would turn away from the
poster and start growing more grain like men possessed. This
poster had currently become a subject of discussion in several
places in Shivpalganj because the local people thought that the
man in the picture looked quite like Badri Wrestler. There was a
profound difference of opinion about the woman's identity. It had
not yet been settled which of the village belles she was.
The most strident advertisements, however, were not about
agriculture but malaria. Here and there written on the walls of
houses in red ochre was the legend, 'Help us to eradicate malaria. Let
us exterminate mosquitoes.' This actually assumed that farmers raise
mosquitoes with the same enthusiasm with which they raise cattle,
and that before you kiU the insects you have to bring about a change
of heart in the agricultural community. To effect a change of heart you
need to command their respect, and to do that you need English. This
was the native logic which led to all appeals for the extermination of
mosquitoes and the eradication of malaria being generally written in
English. As a result most people had accepted the advertisements not
as literature but as visual art and allowed the wall-painters to write
English on the walls as much as they liked. Walls were painted and
mosquitoes died. Dogs barked and people went their way.
One advertisement said simply, 'Save more Money' Most vil-
lagers had been told to save money for generations and practically
everyone knew about it. The only innovation in the advertisement
was that it mentioned the nation. It hinted that if you can't save for
yourself, then save for the nation. The sentiment was just.
Moneylenders, important officials, lawyers and doctors were all
saving money for themselves, so how could small farmers object to
saving for the nation? Everyone basically agreed that money
should be saved.
Where and how to deposit your money when you'd saved it was
and posters, and no one raised
also explained clearly in speeches
any objection to the methods outlined. The only thing people were
not told was how to get money to save, in other words how much
money they should be paid for their labour. The question of
savings is linked to income and expenditure. Except for this small
point all aspects of the problem had been considered, and people
had accepted the message so readily the poor posters were left with
nothing to say. 'They asked for neither food nor fodder, they
neither gave nor took/ So we should not disturb them.
The advertisements which attracted Rangnath were the con-
tribution of the private, not the public, sector. They revealed the

following. 'Ringworm is the most widespread disease in this area.

There is one medicine which will bring deep down relief from
ringworm if you rub it on your skin. If you eat this medicine coughs
and colds will vanish, and if you mix it with sugar sweets and
swallow it with water it's an effective treatment for cholera. There
is no medicine like it anywhere in the world. The man who in-

vented it is still alive and only the malice of the West has prevented
him from winning the Nobel Prize.'
In India there are many other great doctors who have never won
the Nobel Prize. One lives in Jahanabad, and as the town has been
electrified, he has taken to giving electric shock treatment for
impotency. Another doctor who is famous, at least in India, cures
hydrocele without an operation. And you can find this fact written
in letters of coal tar on any wall in Shivpalganj. Furthermore, a lot
of advertisements deal with dehydration in children, eye disease,
diarrhoea and so forth, but there are three main diseases
—
mentioned ringworm, hydrocele and impotency. The boys of
Shivpalganj can only find out their cures when they learn to read
and can make out the inscriptions on the walls.
Among the teeming advertisements, Vaidyaji's had its own in-
dividuality. 'A Message of Hope for Youth.' It bore no comparison
to the obscene scrawl of slogans like, 'Electric shock treatment for
impotency' The message was written on beautiful tin boards in
green and red letters and was hung on out-of-the-way corners,
—
small shops and government buildings where bill sticking and
urinating were forbidden.
It Message of Hope for Youth,' and underneath
said simply, 'A
was Vaidyaji's name and a sentence advising patients to meet him.
One day Rangnath noticed that a new dimension had been
added to the treatment of disease. Early in the morning several
people started painting the word 'Piles!' in huge letters on a wall.
This was an indication of the progress that had been made in
Shivpalganj. The five, man-sized letters were shouting out, 'The
Era of Diarrhoea is passing! The age of soft dispositions, office
chairs, comfortable living, round-the-clock food and drink and light
work, is gradually infecting the population, and piles, the symbol

58
of modernity, entering the field to combat the ubiquitous curse
is

of impotency/ By evening this giant-sized advertisement had

made its colourful mark on one wall and begun to announce far
and wide, A Sure Cure for Piles!'
Before one's very eyes the world was yielding to piles and its
certain cure. The same advertisement started to appear
everywhere. Rangnath was most surprised when he saw it in a
daily newspaper. This newspaper used to arrive in Shivpalganj
from the town by ten o'clock every morning and helped to inform
people where a truck had collided with a scooter, or where and how
a certain bad character by the name of Abbasi had attacked a certain
vegetable vendor called Irshad with a certain knife. Rangnath
noticed that on this particular day a large portion of the front page
had been printed in black and on it shone forth in large white
letters. Tiles!' The letters were written in the same style as was used

in the wall advertisements. These letters gave piles a new impor-

tance; they dominated the other items on the page. The white
letters standing out on the page against the black background
attracted attention even from a distance. Even Sanichar, who had
innate difficulty in reading just the headlines, was drawn to the
paper and buried his eyes in the advertisement. After staring at it
for some considerable time he said to Rangnath, 'It's the same one.'
His voice rang with pride. He meant that the advertisements
gleaming on the walls of Shivpalganj were something special.
They were published in city newspapers, and so Shivpalganj had
everything that city newspapers had.

The truth was that no real dacoit had written the letter to Ramadhin.
In those days Village Council and college politics had caused tension
between Vaidyaji and Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi. Had it been the
town, and had the politics been of a high standard, then on such
an occasion some woman would have filed a report with the police
to the effect that Ramadhin had attempted to rape her, but as she
had resisted he had failed in his attempt and she had made her way
directly to the police station, her modesty fully intact. But this was
a rural area, and as yet rape had not been accepted as a political
hand grenade. They still used the old methods and so the dacoit
threat was produced and Ramadhin was left to stew in his own
juice for a few days.

59
 The Ramadhin and the whole of Vaidyaji's faction knew
police,
that the letter was a forgery. Such letters had been received several
times by various people. So Ramadhin was under no compulsion
to climb up the hill with his bag of money on the appointed date
and time. Even had the letter been genuine, Ramadhin may well
have preferred to house attacked by dacoits rather than
have his
quietly hand over the money But because a case had been
registered at the police station, the police were forced to do some-
thing about the letter. On the day Ramadhin was meant to deliver
the money, the whole area from the village to the hill was sur-
rendered to the police to play Catch the Dacoit. On the hill there
was what looked like a regular police station. The police went over
the fallow and barren land, the woods, the fields and threshing
floors, with a fine-tooth comb, but couldn't find any sign of the
dacoits. They shook the twigs of the trees near the hill, thrust
bayonets into foxholes and, gazing hypnotically at level stretches
of ground, satisfied themselves that whatever was out there, wasn't
dacoits, but birds, foxes, insects and worms respectively.
That night when some creature howled at the top of its voice, it was
discovered to be, not a dacoit, but a jackal; and when some other
creature made was
a noise in the orchard nearby, the conclusion
eventually reached that it was only a bat. The match between
Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi and the dacoits was a draw, because
neither did the dacoits come for the money nor did Ramadhin deliver
it.

The junior sub-inspector of police had only been in his post for
a short while. He had been entrusted with the job of catching the
dacoits on the hill. At about one a.m. he walked down the hill on
to the plain and, since it was dark and the weather was turning
cold, and he was beginning to miss his girlfriend from the town,
and also because he had done a B.A. in Hindi literature, he started
to hum softly and finally to sing, Alas, my heart! Alas, my heart!'
'Partridges go in pairs —
two behind and two in front.' This lyric
from a Hindi film song proved to apply to the police too. Two
constables preceded and two followed the junior sub-inspector
The junior sub-inspector went on singing and the constables
thought, 'It doesn't matter. He'll get better in a few days.' As they
walked across the flat countryside, the junior sub-inspector's sing-
ing reached a crescendo and proved that you can very enjoyably
sing what is too foolish to be said.

60
 They had come near to the road. Suddenly a voice issued from
a ditch.
'Whoosh the bashtud?'
The junior sub-inspector's hand travelled to his revolver. The
constables hesistated, and then unshouldered their rifles. By then
the voice from the ditch had spoken again. 'Whoosh the bashtud?'
One constable whispered into the junior sub-inspector's ear,
'There could be shooting. We should take cover behind that tree, sir.'

The tree was about five yards away. The junior sub-inspector
whispered back, 'You lot go behind the tree, I'll investigate.'
He said, 'Who's in the ditch? Come out whoever you are!' Then,
remembering a scene he'd seen in a Hindi film, he added, 'You
people are surrounded. If you don't come out in thirty seconds,
then I'll give orders to shoot!'
There was silence in the ditch for a few moments, then the voice
said, 'Droshp dead bashtud, rifal shooshter!'
Every Indian, once he steps outside his house, becomes a virtual
brick wall where languages are concerned. He hears so many
different dialects that in the end he admits failure and gives up
trying to understand whether a language is Nepali or Gujarati. But
this language made the junior sub-inspector's ears prick up and he
wondered what on earth was going on. He managed to follow that
the man was swearing, but why couldn't he understand the lang-
uage? Then the junior sub-inspector decided to make use of the
internationally accepted principle of shooting and asking
first

questions later. He stretched out the arm holding the revolver and
warned, 'Come out of the ditch, or I fire!'
But he didn't have to fire. One constable came out from behind
the tree and said, 'Don't shoot, sir. It's Jognath. He's got drunk and
fallen into the ditch.'
The other constables came and stood eagerly round the ditch.
The junior sub-inspector asked, 'Who's Jognath?'
An old constable said with the voice of experience, 'This is
Mr Ram Nath's son, Jognath. He's a loner and he drinks too much.'
The policemen picked up Jognath and stood him on his feet, but
when someone doesn't want to stand on his own feet how can you
make him? So he stumbled and nearly fell over again, but was
caught and finally pulled out of the ditch. He sat on the ground
with his legs crossed looking like some great Hindu ascetic. When
he had looked everyone in the eyes one by one, shaken his arms,

61
and made some jackal and bat-like noises in his throat, he became
fit to speak on a human level, and repeated, 'Whoosh the bashtud?'

The junior sub-inspector asked, 'What is this language?'

A constable replied, 'We recognized him from his language. It's
his own. At the moment he's not in his wits. That's why he's
swearing and talking nonsense.'
Perhaps the junior sub-inspector was impressed by Jognath's
—
attachment to profanity even when barely conscious, he could
swear. He shook Jognath violently by the shoulders and spoke
more sternly, 'Come to your senses!'
But Jognath refused to come to his senses. He just said, 'Bashtud!'
The constables laughed. The one who recognized him first
shouted in his ear, 'Jognath, come to your shenshes!'
Jognath didn't react to this either, but the sub-inspector sudden-
ly learned his special language. He smiled, 'This bastard is calling
us bastards!'
He raised his hand to hit Jognath, but a constable stopped him.
'Let him go, sir.'
The junior sub-inspector was not pleased by the constable's
humanitarian attitude. He lowered his hand, but said in a tone which
commanded obedience, 'Take him with you and put him in the lock-
up. Charge him with Section 109 of the Criminal Procedure Code.'
Another constable spoke up. 'You can't do this, sir. He's a local.
He paints advertisements on walls and starts talking this language
of his at the drop of a hat. He is a bad character, but at least he does
some work for appearances' sake.'
The constables had managed to stand Jognath up and were
obliging him to walk on his own two feet towards the road. 'Maybe
he's insulting us because he's drunk,' said the sub-inspector, 'but
we'll find something to charge him with. Go and lock him up. We'll
charge him tomorrow.'
The same constable said, 'Sir, what's the point of getting involved
in a lot of senseless trouble. Let's go to the village now and show
him into his house. How can we send him to the lock-up? He's
Vaidyaji's man.'
The junior sub-inspector was new but he suddenly
to the force,
realized the reason behind the constables' humanitarian outlook.
He said nothing but dropped behind them and tried again to find
satisfaction in the darkness, the chill, the thought of his girlfriend
in the town and the song, 'Alas, my heart.'

62
 —

NINE

The embezzlement in the Co-operative Union had been done in a

very straightforward fashion. In comparison with the hundreds of
embezzlements which are taking place every day, its charm lay in
the fact that it was a pure and simple fraud, there was nothing
convoluted about it. There had been no need of forged signatures,
or false accounts, neither had money been withdrawn against
bogus invoices. No technical knowledge was necessary to commit
or comprehend this sort of fraud, only willpower.
The Co-operative Union had a seed godown which was full of
wheat. One day Ram Swarup the Union Supervisor, arrived at the
godown with two trucks. The trucks were loaded with sacks of
wheat and onlookers imagined that this was part of the normal,
everyday work of the co-operative.
Ram Swarup himself sat down beside one of the drivers to take
the wheat to the neighbouring godown, and the trucks set off. The
trucks would have found the other godown five miles down a mud
road which turned off the main highway. But the trucks didn't take
—
the turning they went straight on. This is where the embezzle-
ment began. The trucks went directly to the town grain market.
There the sacks were unloaded and both the drivers erased all
knowledge of the embezzlement from their memories, and began
to carry loads of wood and coal in neighbouring districts. Ram
Swarup was untraceable for some days and people became con-
vinced that he had sold the grain, filled his pockets with the several
thousand rupees he got for it, and run off to Bombay. The whole
incident was registered in a report at the local police station and, as
Vaidyaji put it, Tt's as if a thorn has been removed from the flesh.'
The previous day a director of the union had seen something
which revealed that Ram Swarup had selected a neighbouring
town, not Bombay, in which to spend his money. The director had
gone off to the town simply to have a look at it. On such visits he
had at least one regular item among the others on his programme
to go to a park, sit on a bench under a tree, chew puffed rice and
gram, observe the colourful flowers and girls attentively, and have
his head massaged with oil by some young boy. When he'd reached

63
the last point of this programme, something happened. He was
sitting on a bench underneath a tree; his eyes were closed and the
thin, supple fingers of the boy were tapping his head, 'tir, tir, ti/.

As the boy was joyfully drumming this irregular rhythm on his

scalp, the director was thinking with regret that the massage may
end too soon. Once he opened his eyes and tried to turn his head
to speak to the boy, but he was so much under the commanding
influence of the oil massage that his head refused to turn. So he
couldn't see the boy, and tried to satisfy himself by watching what
was in front of him.
In front of him he saw a tree, and on the bench under the tree
he saw Ram Swarup, the Supervisor. He too was having his head
massaged with oil by a young boy and was lost in the blissful
sensation of the 'tir, tir, tir'. Both parties were immersed in their own
individual worlds like great Hindu saints. These were the ideal
circumstances for peaceful co-existence. So they did not interfere
in each other's affairs.
For some fifteen minutes they sat on their respective benches
likegood neighbours, and pretended not to see one another. Then
they both stretched, stood up, paid their masseurs the appropriate
remuneration, encouraged them to meet them again at the same
place, and, according to the principles of Panchsheel, went their
own ways.
As he was returning to Shivpalganj, the director began to
wonder whether he hadn't betrayed the co-operative movement
for the sake of a head massage. He recalled that Ram Swarup was
still on the run, and that the police were searching for him. If he

had managed to get Ram Swarup caught, the embezzlement case

could have been solved. His name could even have been in the
papers. These thoughts depressed him. He began to search his soul.
Then for the sake of his peace of mind he went to see Vaidyaji on
hisway back and, tossing a dose of asafoetida digestive powder
down his throat, told him, T saw a man in the park today who
looked just like Ram Swarup.'
'Quite possible,' commented Vaidyaji, 'some people's appearan-
ces are very similar.'
The would not be satisfied with
director felt that his conscience
this. He
looked around for a short while and then said, 'I thought
to myself, this must be Ram Swarup.'
Vaidyaji stared at the director.

64
 'It was Ram Swarup. I wondered what the bastard was
really
doing there. He was having his head massaged/
'What were you doing there?'
The director replied absently, 'I was tired out and resting under
a tree/
'You should have informed the police at once/
The director pondered a while and then said carefully, 'I thought
that Ram Swarup shouldn't know that anyone had spotted him.
That's why I didn't inform the police/
Vaidyaji was upset by the news that the man accused of embezzle-
ment was not in Bombay but only fifteen miles away, and that his
—
head was still safe on his shoulders so much so that he could
indulge in oil massages. It was essential to call a meeting of the
co-operative's directors. Vaidyaji had heard the whole story on an
empt}^ stomach. So that it could be retold after a drink of bhang, he
called the meeting in the evening.

Sanichar was interested in anything from the town and was there-
fore intriguedby Rangnath. When Rangnath sat by the doorway,
Sanichar could always be found nearby. So it was today. Vaidyaji
had gone to the co-operative meeting. Only Rangnath and
Sanichar were sitting by the door. The sun had begun to set and as
the winter evening fell, acrid smoke rose from every home and
hung in the air.

Three young men passed down the road in front of the house,
roaring with laughter. Their conversation concerned some event in
connection with which the words 'noon', 'con-man', 'real style',
'cards' and 'cash' were mentioned as frequently as the words
'evaluation', 'co-ordination', and 'dovetailing' are by officials of the
Planning Commission, and 'perspective', 'dimension', 'contem-
porary perception', and 'context' are by the literati. Talking to one
another, they passed the sitting-room and stopped. Sanichar said,
'Badri brother teaches these animals wrestling. It's like handing
over a rifle to a leopard. As it is the bastards make it difficult for
ordinary people to walk the streets, if they learn wrestling tricks
we'llall have to leave the village.'

Suddenly the young men gave a guffaw.

As soon as he heard their laughter, Sanichar spoke in a

65
commanding tone, 'What are you lot doing hanging around here?
Get on your way!'
The young men went on their way with a pocketbook edition of
their guffaws. By then a woman had emerged from the darkness,
her anklets ringing with each step and, leaving shadows leaping in
the dim light of the lantern, passed on ahead. She was muttering
something the purport of which was that the young boys who only
yesterday were roaming around in front of her naked, were now
bent on making love to her. Broadcasting to the whole neighbour-
hood the news that boys were making passes at her, and that she
was still worth making a pass at, the woman disappeared into the
darkness. Sanichar told Rangnath, 'God knows where Kana got
hold of that bitch from. Whenever she sets out of her house some-
one makes a pass at her.'
'Kana' was the nickname of Pandit Radhelal. One of his eyes was
smaller than the other, and because of this the ganjahas had begun
to call him Kana, or One-Eye.
It is our ancient tradition, in fact all we do is an ancient tradition,

that people leave their villages and go and get married for the
flimsiest reasons. This happened to Arjun and to Chitrangada in
the Mahabharat. It happened to Dushyant, who begat Bharat, the
founding father of the Indian nation; it happened to Indians who
emigrated to Trinidad and Tobago, Burma and Bangkok; it's hap-
pening to Indians who go to America and Europe and it hap- —
pened to Pandit Radhelal.
He once saw the chance of a job in a sugar mill in some eastern
district. It was a night-watchman's job and he went there and

stayed with another night-watchman. At that time Pandit Radhelal

was unmarried and his biggest problem in life was that he didn't
get home-cooking. For some days his fellow night-watchman's wife
solved his problem as he ate the food she cooked while he stayed
with them. The world famous saying goes, 'The way to a man's
heart is through his stomach.' And so it happened that the night-
watchman's wife tunnelled through Pandit Radhelal's stomach
and began to head for his heart. He began to like the food she
cooked so much, and she herself became so trapped in her own
tunnel, that within the month he brought her to Shivpalganj to
cook for him there. As they set off, they took enough with them
from her house to keep them in food for a couple of years. At this,

their neighbours around the mill came to the conclusion that

66
Pandit Radhelal's fellow night-watchman was an idiot, while the
ganjahas of Shivpalganj thought that Radhelal was a real son of a
gun.
Up till then Pandit Radhelal's position was that of 'an unshake-
able witness'. Now he also became famous as 'a man who never
missed'.
As a matter of fact was Pandit Radhelal's reputation as an
it

unshakeable witness which earned him his livelihood. He was on

the borderline between literacy and illiteracy and when necessary
could either state in court that he was illiterate or that he could just
about sign his name. But he had such an innate knowledge of civil
and criminal law that he could give evidence as a witness in any
case and so far no lawyer had managed to catch him out in a
cross-examination. Any judge can decide any case which comes
before him, and any lawyer can argue any brief. Similarly, Pandit
Radhelal could become an eyewitness to any offence. In short, he
too, like the judge, the lawyers, and the clerk of the court, formed
an essential link in the legal chain. He was bound, like a tyre rod,
to the wheels of the motor car of British justice in which we ride
around proclaiming the 'rule of law' with such great pride, and he
turned the wheels whichever way he pleased. The moment he
stood up in court and swore to tell the truth by God and the Ganga,
everyone from the opposing side to the magistrate knew he could
only lie. But this knowledge was to no purpose, as judgements are
reached not on the basis of knowledge but on the basis of law, and
no matter what one might feel about Pandit Radhelal's testimony,
the law found it genuine.
Whatever Pandit Radhelal's status was, that of his beloved was
absolutely clear. She had run away from her husband, therefore she
was a bitch. People could joke around with her and could always
proceed on the assumption that she liked it. It was the good fortune
of the young men of Shivpalganj that the bitch never disappointed
them. She really did like a joke,, and right after a joke she always
swore, a very popular means of self-expression among ganjahas.
Sanichar was relating the story of Pandit Radhelal to Rangnath
in a highly dramatic fashion. Then one of the three young men
returned and stood at the door of the sitting-room. His bare body
was smeared with the earth of the wrestling pit. The long, thin end
of his loincloth hung down from his waist to his feet like an
elephant's trunk. In those days in Shivpalganj this style was com-

67
ing into fashion among those who walked around in loincloths.
Sanichar asked, 'Whaf s the matter, Chote Wrestler?'
The wrestler scratched the ringworm on his joints and replied,
'Badri brother hasn't come to the wrestling pit today. Where has he
vanished to?'
'How can he vanish? He must be around somewhere.'
'Where?'
'The Union Supervisor loaded up some wheat and ran off with
it. There's a meeting about it in the union. Badri must be there
too.'
The wrestler spat carelessly on the veranda. 'What will Badri
brother do in a meeting, hatch eggs? If he'd got hold of the
Supervisor and smashed him with a dhobi-slab throw, it would
have finished him off. What the hell comes from any meeting-
sheeting?'
Rangnath liked his speech. He said, 'Do people hatch eggs in
your meetings?'
The wrestler had not expected any comment from Rangnath's
direction. 'If they don't hatch eggs, you think they pull out people's
short-hairs? Everyone at meetings just sits there, wailing like
widows. When it's time to do any real work they grab hold of a peg
and refuse to budge.'
Rangnath had no specialized knowledge of this form of the
Hindi language. He reflected upon the fact that people were al-
ways writing off the language by saying that it lacks a powerful
vocabulary. If Hindi scholars, thought Rangnath, were put in a
wrestling pit for four months with the likes of Chote Wrestler, then
despite the personal discomfort caused, even the tiny particles of
dust there would start to unearth for them a whole new dictionary
of words and terms. Rangnath looked at Chote Wrestler with
respect. So that he could have a quiet word with him, he invited
him to come inside.
'Why?' said the wrestler, 'Am I about to be struck by lightning
out here? I am all right where I am.'
After this, Chote Wrestler displayed some signs of cordiality in
his conversation. He asked, 'How are you then, Rangnath Guru?'
Rangnath didn't want to say much about himself to the wrestler.
The subject of taking milk and almonds twice a day and exercising
might not awaken the enthusiasm of coffee-house intellectuals, but
for Chote Wrestler it was sufficient for an all-night discussion.

68
Rangnath replied, Tm absolutely fit, wrestler. Tell me about your-
self. Why did the supervisor need to sell the wheat?'
The wrestler then spat with hatred onto the veranda. He
stretched out the end of his loincloth and tightened it, revealing by
this unsuccessful attempt to cover himself, his wish to prove that
he was not naked. Then, coming up to Rangnath, he said, 'Arre,
Guru! They say, "Not a rag on his back but he'll still eat betel nut."
It was the same with the Supervisor. He used to wander around

doing phuttpheri night and day in Lucknow and how can you do
phuttpheri without masala? He certainly had to sell the wheat.'
'What is phuttpheri?'
The wrestler laughed. 'You don't know phuttpheri? The bloody
wife's father was a big playboy and lasebaz trickster. Doing lasebazi
is no joke! It takes the kidneys out of the biggest man. Even

Jumnapur state went to blazes because of it.'

The boys from Indian universities go to see English films. They
can't follow an English conversation, but the poor fellows smile and
pretend that they understand everything and that the film is highly
enjoyable. Unable to comprehend what he was being told,
Rangnath smiled in a similar fahsion. The wrestler continued,
'Guru, I've been watching Ram Swarup the Supervisor putting it
on for a long time. That's why I told Badri Wrestler, "Ustad, this man
goes after Lucknow lasebazi." Then even Badri Wrestler would tell
me, "Don't kick up such a row. If the bastard eats fire, he'll shit
sparks." Now he has eaten fire and he's walked off with the wheat.
At first even Vaidya Maharaj sat and kept quiet, but now when the
shit's surfaced, they are all sitting in the union office playing
Chinese Whispers. I've heard they're going to pass a resolution.
They'll just pass time. Ram Swarup has already taken all the grain
from the godown. Now they are going to pass a resolution—as if
harm a hair of his head.'
that will
Rangnath said, 'It was a waste of time speaking to Badri about
this. Ifyou'd only told Vaidyaji about your suspicions, he could
have had the man removed from here.'
Arre, guru! Don't force me to open my mouth. Vaidyaji is your
uncle, but he's no father to me. If I came out with the truth, it would
burn your liver, it would.'
Sanichar said, 'Chote Wrestler, it looks as if you've been straining
a lot of bhang before you came here. You're in a very colourful
mood.'

69
 'It's nothing to do with being colourful, my son/ remarked the
wrestler. 'Every hair on my body is burning. Lift up the tail of
anyone round here and you'll see they're all bloody females. Don't
force me to talk about Vaidya Maharaj. If I open his account, your
eyes will be opened wide, and you won't be able to close them. The
same Ram Swarup used to get together with Vaidyaji everyday for
private face-to-face talks and tell him all sorts of different stories.
And now for the last two days Vaidyaji has been writhing around
in agony. I am also in the union. He was saying, "Come for the
resolution and raise your hand." I told him, "Don't make me raise
my hand, maharaj. If once raise people will be crying in pain."
I it,

This same Ram Swarup is roaming around the town up to no good,

and he doesn't get him arrested and shut up in the one-lakh
government guesthouse, he just wants us to pass a resolution.
Badri was badly upset himself, but his own father was involved in
the matter. Whatever he does is like opening a woman's thighs.
Whichever you open, she loses her modesty.'
By this time they could hear the sounds of people approaching
the sitting-room. The grand figure of Vaidya Maharaj appeared,
clad in a homespun dhoti, kurta, jacket, cap and shawl. Several
hangers-on attended to him. Badri brought up the rear. His face
was as long as a horse's nosebag. As soon as he laid eyes on Badri,
Chote Wrestler said, 'Ustad, this is a very odd business. I've been
standing here for ages waiting to tell you about it.'
Badri Wrestler greeted Chote with the remark, 'Is waiting going
to make you melt? What's the trouble?' The guru and his disciple
then went to the other end of the veranda to talk.
Vaidyaji and four or five men went indoors. One heaved a long
sigh of relief which ended in a sob. Another sat on the wooden bed
and gave an enormous yawn which concluded with a whistle.
Vaidyaji too sat down, leant against a cushion, and flung his cap
and kurta to the other end of the bed with the gesture of a classical
singer who has just finished a particularly difficult and long drawn-
out note. It was clear that everyone had completed some great work
and had come to rid themselves of their fatigue.
Sanichar spoke, 'Maharaj, if you are very tired, should I strain
some more bhang?'
Vaidyaji said nothing. One of the union's directors said, 'We've
already had two glasses at the union meeting. Great stuff. Creamy.
Now it's time to go home.'

70
 Vaidyaji sat for a while in silence as before, listening to what was
being said. He had adopted this habit since he became convinced
man who eats less himself leaves more for others to eat, the
that the
man who talks less allows others to talk more and the man who is
less of more foolish. Then he suddenly
a fool allows others to be
spoke. 'Rangnath, what do you make of it?'
Rangnath answered the question without understanding it, in
the same say that Vaidyaji had asked it without giving any clue as
to what it was about. 'Well, whatever happens, happens for the
best.'
Vaidyaji smiled into his moustache. He said, 'A very appropriate
remark. Badri was against the proposal but later he quietened
down. The resolution was passed unanimously. Whatever
happened, happened for the best.'

It dawned on Rangnath that he had just been robbed of his own

opinion. He asked 'What resolution did you pass?'
eagerly,
'We passed a resolution that the government should grant us
compensation for the eight thousand rupees loss the Supervisor
caused us.'
Rangnath was staggered by this logic. He said, 'What's it got to
do with the government? The Union Supervisor embezzled the
wheat, and you want the government to make it up to you?'
'Who else will give it? The Supervisor is missing. We've informed
the police. The rest is the responsibility of the government. We are
powerless. If we weren't we would get hold of the Supervisor and
collect the value of the grain from him. Now whatever has to be
done, the government will do. Either it will capture the Supervisor
and bring him before us, or do something else. Whatever happens,
if the government wants our union to survive, and to continue to

benefit the people, it will have to pay the compensation. Otherwise

this union will collapse. We have done our job, now it's up to the
government. We know, too, that it can be inefficient/
Vaidyaji was speaking so reasonably that Rangnath's head
began to spin. He mentioned 'the inertia of the administration', 'the
welfare of the people', 'responsibility' etc. time and time again.
Rangnath became certain that his uncle, despite being of an older
generation, was competent at speaking precisely the language
understood in modern times.
Badri Wrestler had returned after his conversation with Chote.

71
He said, 'Ramadhin wasn't attacked by dacoits, but there is news of
robberies around and about/
He generally spoke respectfully in his father's presence, and he
made this remark, too, as was his duty to state it.
if it

Vaidyaji replied, 'Theft! Dacoity! Everywhere you hear of noth-

ing else. The country's going to hell.'
Badri ignored this and, as he were a health inspector explain-
if

ing how to prevent cholera, remarked to the assembly, 'The whole

village is talking about robbery. We'll have to sleep with our eyes
open from now on.'
Sanichar jumped up, sat down again in a different position, and
asked, 'How do you sleep with your eyes open, wrestler?'
Badri said cuttingly, 'Don't take the piss out of me. I'm in no
mood for jokes.'
He went on to the veranda and stood with Chote Wrestler.

72
TEN

The Changamal Vidyala Intermediate College was founded to

'inspire the youthful citizens of the nation with great ideals and, by
providing them the best education, to make them the means of the
country's uplift'. Reading the 'Constitution and Regulations' of the
college, printed on shiny orange paper, a heart soiled with the dirt
of reality would be naturally cleansed and purified, just as it would
be after reading the chapter in the Indian Constitution dealing with
fundamental rights.
The was established in the national interest and so,
college
naturally, it had its fair share of factionalism if nothing else. You
couldn't say it had an abundant amount of factionalism, but still,
considering the progress it had made in a short time span, it seemed
as if a good job had been done. In only a couple of years its
factionalism had begun to appear much more solid than that of the
surrounding colleges. In fact, in some instances, it had even begun
to compete with all-India institutions.
Vaidyaji held sway over the Managing Committee but
Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi had by this time already established a
faction of his own. To do this required serious endeavour. For a long
time his faction consisted only of himself; then he attracted a few
members of the committee on to his side. Now, after a great deal of
hard work, he had managed to split the college employees into two
groups, but there was still a lot to be done.
The Principal was entirely reliant on Vaidyaji, but Khanna
Master was still not dependent on Ramadhin's group to the same
extent. He still had to be won over. The boys had still not been
divided into rival groups on the basis of their sympathy for the two
factions. They did swear and fight amongst themselves, but these
activities had not yet found a suitable direction. The fights were not
furthering the aim of factionalism, but were carried out for personal
reasons, and in this way the power of the boys' hooliganism was
dissipated in individual self-interest, and was not employed for the
collective good of the nation. The factionalists still had a great deal
of work to do on this front too.
It's true to say that apart from Vaidyaji, the college factionalists

73
lacked experience. They had neither maturity, nor brilliance. On
the rare occasions in the year when they managed to pull off a
master-stroke, it And they sometimes
sent waves as far as the town.
did pull off a trick which astounded even the greatest, natural-born
politicians. The previous year Ramadhin had caught out Vaidyaji
with a trick like that. He hadn't succeeded but his strategy was
discussed for miles around and was mentioned in the newspapers.
One politician was so affected by the news that he came galloping
from the town to the college just to pat both sides on the back. He
was a senior factionalist and lived mostly in the capital. For the last
forty years he had devoted twenty-four hours a day to factionalism
and was himself factionalism personified. He operated at the all-
India level, and his statements were published on front pages every
day. They revealed a unique confluence of patriotism and fac-
tionalism. Once he had visited the college, people were satisfied in
the knowledge that even if the college were to close down there
would at least be no end to factionalism.
The question is: why factionalism?
This is like asking why rain falls from the heavens, or why you
should tell the truth, or what is material and what is God. In fact,
this is a socio-psychological, almost a philosophical, question.
According to Vedanta, which Vaidyaji always referred to as a
synonym for ayurveda, factionalism is another name for the ul-
timate condition of realization that the self T and the divine 'Thou'
are one. In factionalism every T sees every 'Thou', and every
'Thou' sees every T in a position better than himself. They all want
to capture each other's position. T wants to annihilate 'Thou', and
'Thou' to annihilate T, so that T becomes 'Thou' and 'Thou'
becomes 'I'.

Vedanta is part of our tradition, and because the meaning of

factionalism can be drawn from Vedanta, our
factionalism is also
tradition. Both are our cultural heritage. After independence from
the British we have rediscovered many of our traditions. That is
why we travel to Europe by air, but get an astrologer to draw up
our programme first. We take the blessings of saints to rid ourselves
of foreign exchange and income tax problems. We encourage fis-
tulas by drinking Scotch whisky, and then go to yoga ashrams for
treatment by breathing deeply and contracting our stomachs. In
exactly the same way we accept the democracy we have learnt from
a Western education, and to run it we rely on our tradition of

74
factionalism. In —whether in peace or war—from royal
our history
palaces to village threshing floors, we have always had a splendid
tradition of turning Tinto 'Thou' and 'Thou' into T
by fac-
tionalism. We had forgotten this tradition for a while during the
Raj, when we had the bother of running the British out of the
country. After we won freedom, we encouraged it along with many
other of our traditions. Now we are increasing factionalism
through arguments and abuse, kicks and shoe-beatings, literature
and the arts, and all other means. This is our cultural faith. It is the
achievement of the country which gave birth to Vedanta.
Apart from these fundamental causes, another reason for the
f actionalisim in the college was the common belief that something

should keep happening.

In Shivpalganj there were no cinemas, restaurants, coffee
houses, fights, stabbings, road accidents, fashionable girls, exhibi-
tions or even public meetings ending in abuse. Where did people
have to go? What did they have to see? What did they have to listen
to?
Therefore, something must keep happening.
Four days ago a love letter which a boy had written to a had
girl

been confiscated at the college. The boy had been clever; when you
read the letter it looked as if it wasn't him approaching the girl, but
replying to a letter from her. But his cleverness didn't pay. The boy
was reprimanded, beaten, and thrown out of the college. Then, on
the assurance of the boy's father that the boy wouldn't make love
again, and on his promise that he would donate fifty thousand
bricks for the new college block, his son was readmitted to the
college. Whatever impact this had lasted no more than four days
and people were again faced with the same eternal question what —
next?
mood, people's eyes had turned to the Principal and
In this
Vaidyaji. Vaidyaji was sitting contentedly in his usual place with his
turban tied in the style worn by the great socialist leader Madan
Mohan Malaviya. However the Principal looked as if he'd shinned
up an pylon without any assistance and was screaming
electricity
out to some person in the far distance, 'Help! Help! They want to
do me mischief!' His face also betrayed suspicion, as like every
Indian who is stuck to his chair of office, he feared having it pulled
out from under him. People had guessed his weakness, and had
begun to bait him, and with him Vaidyaji too.

75
 From their side, they were prepared to attack as the best means
of defence.
One day about this time someone told Khanna Master that every
college has a Principal and a Vice Principal. Khanna Master taught
history and was the seniormost lecturer in the college. Taken in by
this tale, he came to Vaidyaji and told him that he should be made

Vice Principal.
nodded and replied that this was a novel thought, and
Vaidyaji
that young men should always have fresh ideas, and that he
welcomed every fresh idea, but that this was a question that should
be looked into by the Managing Committee, and if the question
arose at its next meeting, it would be considered appropriately. It
didn't occur to Khanna Master that the Managing Committee never
did have its next meeting.
He
wrote an application for immediate appointment as Vice
Principal, and gave it to the Principal with the appeal that it be
presented at the next meeting of the Managing Committee.
The Principal was astounded by Khanna Master's action. He
went and asked Vaidyaji if he had advised Khanna Master to submit
the application.
Vaidyaji gave a three word reply, 'He's still young.'
For several days after this the Principal stated to everyone he met
on the streets of Shivpalganj the biological fact that, 'No one knows
what's got into people nowdays.' He described Khanna Master's
action with sayings like, 'God on his lips, and a dagger under his
arm,' 'the wolf we nurtured ourselves is now baying at our house'
(although wolves don't bay), 'it's a stab in the back,' and 'even the
frog has caught a cold'.
On one occasion, standing at the crossroads, he said symbolical-
ly, 'One day a horse was being shod. Seeing it a frog suddenly
developed the desire to have his feet shod too. With great difficulty
he persuaded the blacksmith to do it but when the man hammered
in the first nail just a little, it was too much for him, and brother frog
died on the spot.'
Behind this fable there was a fear: the man who wants to be
Vice Principal today will want to be Principal tomorrow. To achieve
this, he will try to get the members of the Managing Committee on
his side.

He'll create a faction among the masters. He'll incite the boys to

76
fight. On top of this he'll send in complaints. He's a rascal now and
a rascal he will remain.

False principles cannot truth overpower.

There's never any scent from paper flowers.

Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi set this couplet at the top of the letter

he wrote to Vaidyaji, the purport of which was that the meeting of
the Managing Committee, which had not been held for the last
three years, should be held in ten days time and an annual general
—
meeting of the college which had not been held since the college
was established —should be considered at the committee meeting.
He also referred to the appointment of a Vice Principal as one of
the subjects for discussion.
When the Principal put this letter in his pocket and left Vaidyaji's
house it seemed to be burning hot.
At the college gate he met Ruppan Babu, stopped him and asked,
'Have you seen? Khanna is sitting there holding on to Ramadhin's
coat-tails. He fancies himself as Vice Principal. Once a frog saw that
.'
a horse was being shod, so it too. . .

Ruppan Babu was leaving the college and was in a hurry. He

said, 'I know. Everyone here knows the frog story. But I'll tell you
one thing straight. I have no sympathy for Khanna, but I think it's
necessary to have a Vice Principal here. When you're not here all

the masters fight like cats and dogs. I can't describe the hooliganism
that goes on in the masters' common
room. The same hain-hain,
tain-tain, phain-phain. It's complete bedlam.' He became grave and
said with authority, 'Principal Sahib, I believe that we should have
a Vice Principal here too. Khanna is the most senior He should be
given the job. It's just a nominal thing, you don't have to increase
his salary'
The Principal's heart began to beat so violently that it was in
danger of leaping up into his lungs. He said, 'Never make the
mistake of saying this, Ruppan Babu! This Khanna-vanna will
begin to shout that you are on his side. This is Shivpalganj. You
should think twice before saying such things, even in jest.'
Anyway, we'll see what comes of it,' said
'I'm telling the truth.
Ruppan Babu as he walked away.
The Principal went quickly to his room. It was cold there but he

77
took off his coat. A calendar from a shop which supplied educational
aids hung directly in front of his nose on the wall opposite. It
showed a film actress with an almost transparent sari wrapped
around her naked body advancing like a huge laddoo towards a
man. The man had a long, bushy beard. He held one hand over his
eyes and from the expression on his face it looked as if he had
indigestion from eating too many laddoos. This was Menaka and
Vishwamitra. The Principal loooked at them for a while and then,
instead of ringing his bell, he shouted loudly for the chaprassi and
instructed him to summon Khanna Master.
The chaprassi replied in a discreet tone, 'He's gone off towards
the fields. Malaviyaji is with him.'
The Principal pushed away the pen box on the desk in front of
him wearily. The pen box, too, had been given away free as a sample
by the Education Emporium, and the way the Principal had pushed
it seemed to indicate that this year there would be no goods bought

for the college from that shop.

But was not the Principal's real intention. He just wanted to
this
let the chaprassi know that at this precise moment he was not
prepared to listen to his confidential report.
He snapped, 'I'm telling you to call Khanna Master here this
minute!'
The was wearing a clean kurta of coarse cloth and a
chaprassi
reasonably clean dhoti. He wore wooden sandals and had a tilak
mark on his forehead. He remarked peaceably, T'm on my way. I
will call Khanna here. Why are you getting so angry?'
The Principal ground his teeth and gazed through narrowed
eyes at a piece of tin on his desk It had been polished and a red
.

rose had been painted on it. Beneath was a calendar showing the
date and month. A liquor company had produced this calendar in
memory of Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru (who always wore a rose in
his buttonhole), and had distributed it freely to all and sundry in
the belief that wherever the calendar went, men would never
forget the ideals of Pandit jawaharlal Nehru, or the company's
brands of liquor. But at this moment the calendar had no effect on
the Principal. The red rose of Panditji gave him no peace; neither
was he compelled to close his eyes in contemplation of a foaming
glass of beer. He continued to grind his teeth. Suddenly, as the
chaprassi' s wooden sandals were crossing the veranda, he said,
'Ramadhin will get him made Vice Principal! The skunk!'

78
 The chaprassi turned. Standing in the doorway he said. Are you
swearing, Principal Sahib?'
All right, all right. Go, get about your work,' he replied.
'I am already doing my work. If you like. Til stop.'

Scowling, the Principal began to look at a different wall calendar.

The chaprassi asked in the same tone, 'Would you like me to stop
keeping any eye on Khanna?'
The Principal lost his temper. 'Go to hell!'
The chaprassi stood as before with his chest out. He said carelessly,
'Don't think I'm just a Khanna. You can make me work twenty-four
hours a day, I can bear it, but I won't put up with any foul language.'
The Principal looked at him in astonishment. The chaprassi said,
'You are a Brahmin and I am a Brahmin. You don't eat salt with salt,
and it's no good thinking you can treat me like you treat other
people. Ha!'
The Principal tried to placate him. 'You're mistaken. I'm not
swearing at you, but at Khanna. He's a skunk. He's got together
with Ramadhin and had a notice for a meeting sent.' To convince
the chaprassi that this abuse was directed at Khanna, he repeated,
'Skunk!'
Til call him just now.' The chaprassi had also calmed down. The
Principal listened to the retreating 'khat-khat' of his wooden san-
dals. His glance rested on a third calendar in which two five-year-
olds were lying in the snow holding large rifles, apparently waiting
for the Chinese army, and at the same time picturesquely advertis-
ing a factory that made the very best jute bags.
The Principal fixed his eyes on this calendar and sat waiting for
Khanna, thinking how wonderful it would have been if Khanna
had never taken a fancy to being Vice Principal. He forgot that
everyone has their fancies.
Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi liked to start his letters with Urdu
poetry, he himself liked to hang colourful calendars in his room,
and the chaprassi, who like the clerk was a relative of Vaidyaji's,
enjoyed putting on airs.
The Principal waited for Khanna. The clerk came and stood on
the veranda outside in order to record the forthcoming event for
posterity. The master stood stretching his legs under the win-
drill

dow outside the other side of the office and, instead of peeing, lit
up a beedi.
There was no longer any danger of the dialogue between the

79
Principal and Khanna being lost in mid-air before it could reach the
people.

That night Rangnath and Badri were lying in the room on the roof,
and their conversation was wandering as conversation does when
you are on the verge of sleep. Concluding whatever he was saying,
Rangnath remarked, 'No one knows what went on between the
Principal and Khanna. The drill master was standing outside.
Khanna Master screamed, "This is your humanity!'' That was the
only thing he heard.'
Badri yawned and said, 'The Principal must have abused him. In
reply he must have brought up "humanity". Khanna talks like that.
He's a foolish bastard.'
Rangnath commented, 'The answer to abuse is a shoe-beating.'
Badri didn't reply. Rangnath repeated, 'It's a waste of time even
to mention humanity in that situation.'
Badri turned over to go to sleep. As if saying 'goodnight' he said,
'That's right. But here anyone who knows his ABC starts to spout
long Urdu words. At the drop of a hat they start saying "humanity,
humanity." When a man doesn't have sufficient strength in his
muscles, he pines for humanity'
He was right. In those days humanity held sway over
midday young lads gambled in the mango groves.
Shivpalganj. At
The winners won and the losers complained, 'So this is your
humanity? The moment you win, you have to go for a pee. You
start looking for excuses to get out of the game.'
Occasionally the winners too made use of humanity They
would say, 'You call this humanity? You've gone soft in the head
just because you've lost a trick? This is the first game I've won in
four days, and just for that have to give up peeing?'
I

In the toddy shop, labourers were wagging their heads from side
to side. In 1962, India was deeply shocked by the treachery of the
Chinese, and in the toddy shop the labourers described a scene just
as shocking. 'The old man has built himself a brick house. He's
living in real style, like a big factory-wallah. We told him, "Look, we
have guests. Give us a couple of rupees for toddy." But he didn't
give us a straight answer, he just showed us his backside and
walked off. Tell me, Nageswar, is this humanity?'
Which is to say that in Shivpalganj humanity was believed to be

80
a feature of ingenuity and shrewdness in the same way that leader-
ship was a feature of politics. It's another matter that Badri con-
sidered humanity the weakness of a man with no muscles.
Conveying this thought to Rangnath, and leaving him to lie awake
and apply the principle to leadership, Badri fell asleep as he spoke.
Rangnath lay wrapped in a blanket staring at the ceiling. The
door was open and outside moonlight spread over the land. For a
while he concentrated on Sophia Loren and Elizabeth Taylor, but
then he realized that this was a symptom of low character, and
began to think instead of the town washerman's daughter who,
when selecting items of clothing for herself from among the wash-
ing, had begun to favour sleeveless blouses. After some time he
began to think that this too was a sordid preoccupation, and began
to concentrate on film stars again; and this time in the name of
nationalism and patriotism he forgot Liz Taylor etc, and turned for
support to Waheeda Rahman and Saira Banu. A few minutes later
he began to reach the conclusion that it's wrong to take your
inspiration for everything from the West, and if you put your heart
into it, you can also get a lot of pleasure from patriotism. Suddenly
he began to feel rather sleepy and even though he tried hard, his
concentration dwindled even when faced with Saira Banu's entire
body. Some tigers and bears began to bounce around his imagina-
tion, and he made one last great effort to grasp Saira Banu by her
waist and pull her down, but she slipped from his hands, and while
he was engaged in this love play, the bears and the tigers also
escaped. It was then that a picture of Khanna Master began to form
and then fade in his mind. It shimmered once or twice and one word
began to resound: 'Humanity, humanity'
At first it seemed as if someone was whispering it. Then it seemed
as if someone standing on a stage was calling out in grave tones.
Then it seemed as if a riot had broken out somewhere and from all
directions people were screaming, 'Humanity! Humanity!
Humanity!'
He woke up and immediately heard shouts of 'Thief! Thief!
Thief! Don't let him get away! Catch him! Thief! Thief! Thief!'
After a few moments the only thing you could make out was,
'Thief! Thief! Thief!' asif a gramophone record had got stuck.

Rangnath heard the voices heading for the other side of the
village. Badri Wrestler had leapt down from his charpoy at the first
alarm. Rangnath also sat up. Badri said, 'Chote was telling me that

81
there is a gang of thieves hanging around the neighbourhood. It

looks like they have come into the village too/

They both dressed hurriedly and went out on to the roof. 'Get-
ting dressed' didn't mean that Badri had to put on churidar pajamas
and a sherzvani; he tightened around his waist the loincloth hanging
loosely over his naked body and wrapped a shawl about him. With
that he had completed his dressing ritual. Rangnath had not been
able to acquire such an ascetic habit; he pulled on a shirt. As they
reached the top of the stairs, their steps hastened even more. By
then the cries of 'Thief!' were rising from all directions. The clamour
had increased so much as the news was passed from mouth to
mouth that, had the British heard it in 1921, they would have left
India on the spot and run back to their own country.
They both ran downstairs. Leaving the sitting-room, Badri
Wrestler said to Rangnath, 'You shut the door and sit here at home.
I'll go out and see what's going on.'

Just then Ruppan Babu came out from inside the house, flinging
the end of his dhoti over his shoulder. He rushed over to where
they were standing and said, 'Both of you stay at home. I'll go
outside.'
It was as if going outside meant displaying outstanding bravery,
or facing an impregnable battle formation. Both brothers remained
determined Rangnath spoke in a martyred tone, 'If it means
to go.
so much to you, then both of you go ahead. I'll stay at home alone.'
On the road in front of them three men ran past shouting 'Thief!
Thief!' Two others followed in their wake raising the same cry. Then
a lone man passed, also roaring 'Thief! Thief!' Then three more
men, each one with a lathi. All of them were running, all of them
were chasing the thieves.
Badri recognized some of the tailenders of the procession. He
ran off to meet them, calling out, 'Who is it? Chote! Where's the
thief?'
Chote was breathing heavily as he said, 'Up ahead! They've
gone up ahead!' For a while peace descended.
Ruppan Babu and Rangnath shut the door of the sitting-room,
locked it and went back on to the roof. Below them Vaidyaji
hawked, spat and said, 'Who's there?'
Ruppan Babu answered, 'Thieves, Father!'
Vaidyaji was annoyed and thundered, 'Who's there? Ruppan!
Are you on the roof?'

82
 Adding to the general uproar in the village as best he could,
Ruppan replied, 'Yes if s me! Why are you asking when you know
it's me? Why don't you sleep in peace?'

Hearing younger son's respectful tones, Vaidyaji became

his
silent. On the roof Ruppan Babu and Rangnath listened to the
voices spreading and bursting out over the whole village.
From behind the rear wall of the house someone shouted, 'Mur-
der! They're murdering me?'
More noise. Someone yelled, 'Arre, no, Chote! This is Bhagauti!'
'Let go of him! Let him go! Over there! The thieves are over
there!'
Someone was weeping. Someone else consoled him, 'Arre, why
are you wailing like a widow? He just hit you once with his stick,
and you are making all this noise!'
Sobbing, the answer came, 'I'll get my own back, just you wait
and see.'
More Over there! Don't let him get away!
tumult. 'Over there!
Give the bugger one with your lathi! Make him jump! What's

wrong, you think the bastard's your father?'

Rangnath began to feel enjoyment as well as enthusiasm and
curiosity. What a way of carrying on! Here you used 'father' as a
term of abuse when you were thrashing a man with your lathi. May
you prosper India, for your filial devotion!
Ruppan Babu said, 'Bhagauti and Chote had a grudge against
one another. It looks like in the middle of all this row, Chote's gone
and done something.'
Rangnath said, 'This means real trouble.'
Ruppan Babu disregarded him. 'What trouble? It's a matter of
pulling off a wrestling trick. Chote looks an idiot, but he's really
very canny'
Then both pricked up their ears to listen to the noise and tumult
around them. Rangnath said, 'Perhaps the thieves have escaped.'
'They always do here.'
Rangnath wanted to flatter Ruppan Babu's pride in his village.
He said, 'It's not possible that any thief could come to Shivpalganj
and then get away. Once Badri brother moves out, he can't fail to
catch a couple of them.'
Ruppan Babu sighed like a leader of a lost generation looking
longingly towards the past, and said, 'No, brother Rangnath, the

83
old days are over now. That was the time of Thakur Durbin Singh.
The greatest thieves trembled at the name of Shivpalganj.'
His eyes shone with the light of hero-worship. But his speech
stopped there. The last round of uproar had passed and people
were shouting, 'Long live Lord Hanuman!' so loudly that they
appeared to be trying to split the heavens. Rangnath said, 'It seems
they have caught a thief.'
Ruppan Babu replied, 'No, I know these ganjahas backwards.
They must have chased the thieves out of the village. Isn't it enough
that they've not been chased out of the village by the thieves?
They're celebrating by shouting to Lord Hanuman.'
In the moonlight people were wandering up and down the
streets and alleyways muttering to one another. Ruppan Babu
stood by the wall on the edge of the roof and looked down. One
group called out from below, 'Keep awake, Ruppan Babu! Stay alert
the whole night!'
Ruppan Babu called down to them with contempt, 'Be off with
you! Don't show off to me!'
Rangnath failed to comprehend why Ruppan was disregarding
such good advice in this manner. After a short while similar advice
—
began to resound all around the village 'Keep awake! Keep alert!'
There was still intermittent kerfuffle. Loud whistles could also
be heard from all directions. Rangnath asked, 'What are they whist-
ling for?'
Ruppan Babu replied, 'Don't the police patrol in the town?'
'AholSo the police have also turned up for the occasion.'
'Yes, it was the police who faced the dacoits with the help of the
villagers. It was the police who beat them up and chased them out
of here.'
Rangnath looked at Ruppan Babu in astonishment. 'Dacoits?'
'Yes, of course. Who else could they be? Do thieves ever come
on moonlit nights? They were certainly dacoits.' Ruppan
out alet

loud guffaw. 'Brother, these are the ways of the ganjahas. They're
difficult to understand. I am just telling you how all this is going to
be reported in the papers.'
A whistle rang out from the street immediately below them.
Ruppan continued, 'Have you seen Master Motiram or not? He's
one of the old school. The police inspector really respects him. He
really respects the inspector. The Principal respects both of them.
None of the bastards do any work, they just keep respecting each

84
 The same Master Motiram is the correspondent for the town
other.
newspaper If he doesn't turn the thieves into dacoits then his
name's not Master Motiram.'
Rangnath began to laugh. The whistles and shouts of 'Stay awake!'
began to scatter and fade. Outside some houses people began to
shout to be let in. Phrases varying from 'Open up, son!' to 'What's
the matter you bugger, are you dead?' and 'For God's sake, it's me
out here, your father!' were brought into use to gain admission.
Someone rattled the chain of the door of Vaidyaji's house too. A
farmer sleeping outside coughed loudly. The chain rattled again.
Rangnath said, 'It must be brother Badri. Let's go and open the
lock.'
They went downstairs, and as he unlocked the door Ruppan
Babu asked, 'Who's there?'
Badri roared, 'Are you opening this door or not? Why the hell
are you asking who's there?'
Ruppan stopped unlocking the door. He said, 'What's your
name?'
A came from the other side of the
throat-splitting cry door.
'Ruppan, I'm telling you, open this door quietly or else!'
'Who Brother Badri?'
is it?

'Yes, yes it's me, Badri brother speaking. Open up at once.'

Beginning to open the lock with nervous fingers, Ruppan said,
'Brother Badri, tell me your father's name also.'
Cursing, brother Badri gave Vaidyaji's name. Ruppan asked
once more, 'Brother, just tell me your grandfather's name?'
Badri cursed as before and told his grandfather's name. Then he
was asked, 'Great-grandfather's name?'
Badri pounded the door with his fist, 'AH right, don't open it. I'm
going!'
Ruppan Babu said, 'Brother, these are dangerous times. I'm
asking you because there are thieves roaming around out
all this

there. If you can't remember your great-grandfather's name, then

don't tell me, but there's no point in getting angry. An angry act is
a bad act.'

Having and expressed his opinion of the

tested Badri's identity
worthlessness of anger, Ruppan Babu opened the door Badri
Wrestler came in twitching like a scorpion's tail.
Ruppan Babu asked, 'What's the matter, brother? All the thieves
have run away'

85
 Badri Wrestler gave no reply. He
climbed the stairs in silence.
Ruppan Babu disappeared into the lower portion of the house. As
soon as Rangnath and Badri Wrestler lay down on their respective
charpoys in the room upstairs, someone called out from the alley
below, 'Ustad!Come down. It's a damn confusing business/
Badri called down from the doorway of the room, 'What's up,
Chote? Will you let me get some sleep or are you going to stand
yoked there all night?'
Chote answered from below, 'Ustad, forget about sleep! Now
they're discussing filing a police report. All the bastards around
here were running round the streets shouting "Thief! Thief!" and
over there in the middle of all this hullabaloo someone struck.
Gayadin's been robbed! Come down quickly!'

86
ELEVEN

There was a sheet of tin in front of the room on the roof. Rangnath
was underneath the tin sheet and a charpoy was underneath
Rangnath.
Rangnath's eyes were fixed upon the sunlight on the neem tree
but his mind was lost in contemplation of our ancient culture, in
which, from the earliest times, hundreds of things have been lost,
and are only rediscovered by the efforts of researchers.
Rangnath had chosen one such lost subject for his research.
Indians have invented, with British help, a science dealing with
their old way of life. Its name is Indology. Rangnath's research was
—
connected with this science to carry out research in Indology.
Indologists must first research other Indologists and Rangnath
was doing just this. Two days earlier he had gone into town and
taken out numerous books from the university library, and now he
was studying them by means of staring at the neem tree. To his
right was Marshall and to his left A. Cunningham. Winternitz was
right under his nose. He was practically sitting on Keith. V A.
Smith had been shoved to the foot of the charpoy, and there, too,
Rhys-Davids was visible, lying upside down. Percy Brown was
hidden under a pillow. In this crowd Kashi Prasad Jaiswal was
lying face downwards in the bedclothes, and Bhandarkar was
peeping rather nervously from under a sheet. The atmosphere
was steeped in Indological study.
So when Rangnath first heard a 'Hau! Haul' noise, it was only
natural that he thought it was some holy man reciting the Sama
Veda. A little while later the 'Hau! Hau!' came closer and he
thought that some Harishen was bursting his lungs proclaiming
the victory of Emperor Samudra Gupta. Meanwhile the 'Hau!
Hau!' began to come from the alley right next to the house and you
could hear it was interpolated with a few vigorous sentences on
the lines of 'I'll murder the bastard!' Then Rangnath realized that
this was a purely ganjaha matter.
He went and stood at the edge of the roof. As he glanced down
into the alley he saw a young girl. Her head was uncovered, her
hair was dry and dishevelled, and her lips were m.oving con-

87
stantly. But don't make the mistake of imagining that these were
signs of being a city girl or that she was following one of the latest
fashions. She was a true country lass, extremely dirty, and her lips
were moving, not because she was chewing gum, but because she
was sa3^ng accompanying her. Half-
'Hale! Hale! Hale!' to the goats
a-dozen or so goats of various sizes were either grazing on a
peepul tree growing out of a crack in the wall, or having grazed,
were looking for another crack in the wall and another peepul
tree.
Rangnath watched this idyllic rustic scene and tried to work out
how it was the origin of the 'Hau! Hau!' There was no 'Hau! Hau!'
coming from there, but the sound continued to reverberate in his
ears. He left Percy Brown, Cunningham and the other lying as they
were on the roof, and he came down to the front door.
At this time Vaidyaji was conducting surgery. Apart from
Sanichar and half-a-dozen patients, there was no one else there.
The 'Hau! Hau!' sound was now just around the corner.
Rangnath asked Sanichar, 'Can you hear it?'
Sanichar was sitting on the veranda joining an axe to its shaft.
Turning from where he was sitting, and lifting an ear to the wind,
he listened to the 'Hau! Hau!' for a few moments. Suddenly the
furrows of worry on his brow were smoothed away. He said con-
tentedly, 'Yes, there is some sort of "Hau, Hau" noise. It looks like
Chote Wrestler has fought with Kusahar again.' He said this in the
same tone he would have used if a buffalo had rubbed its horn
against the wall. He sat back in his original position and began to
cut down the axe-shaft with an adze.
Suddenly the 'Hau! Hau!' appeared before them. It came from a
man about sixty years old, with a well-built and naked torso, and a
dhoti down to his knees in the fashion worn by wrestlers. There
were three wounds on his head and blood was flowing from each
in different directions, showing that even blood of the same group
preferred not to mix together. The man was wailing 'Hau! Hau!'
and was begging for sympathy with raised hands
Rangnath was disconcerted by this bloody scene. He asked
Sanichar, 'Who . . . who is this? Who has attacked him?'
Sanichar gently laid the shaft of the axe and the adze on the
ground. He caught hold of the wounded old gentleman, and made
him sit down on the veranda. The old gentleman pushed away his
hand with a passion of non-cooperation, but did not refuse to sit

88
down. Sanichar narrowed his eyes to examine his wounds, looked
towards Vaidyaji and, pursing his lips, indicated that the wounds
were not deep.
The old gentleman's 'Hau! Hau' became less frantic and moved
from allegro to andante and subsequently became stuck in adagio.
Such a progression runs opposite to that of our system of music,
—
but its meaning was clear he was not stirring but staying put
where he was. Sanichar heaved a sigh of relief which was not only
audible but also visible to all in the vicinity.
Stunned, Rangnath stood up. Sanichar took some cotton wool
from a cupboard and said, 'You're asking who has hit him? Is that
any question to ask?'
He poured some water into a pot, dropped the cotton wool into
it and came up to the old gentleman. He continued, 'Who else

would beat him? This is Chote Wrestler's father. What bastard but
him would dare hand on the old man?'
lay a
—
Perhaps Kusahar whose full name was Kusahar Prasad was —
calmed by this praise of Chote Wrestler. From where he sat he told
Vaidyaji, 'Maharaj, this time young Chote has murdered me. I can't
stand this any more. You have to keep us apart, or some time soon
I will kill him with my own hands.'

Vaidyaji got down from the wooden bed and came out to the
veranda. Seeing the wounds he spoke with the voice of experience.
'The wounds don't seem deep. would be better for you to go to
It

hospital than be treated here. Go there and get yourself bandaged

he addressed all those present with the words, 'From
up.' After this
henceforth Chote is forbidden to set foot in this house! There's no
place here for such infernal people.'
Rangnath's blood began to boil. He said, 'It's surprising that
Badri brother mixes with people like him.'
Badri Wrestler came quietly out of the house. He said matter-of-
factly, 'Educated men should think carefully before they speak.
Who knows who was at fault? This man Kusahar is no angel. When
his father Gangadayal he was even refusing to allow people
died,
to have a funeral procession. He said he was just going to drag the
corpse down to the river and chuck it in.'
With great difficulty Kusahar Prasad managed to emit one more
'Hau! Hau!' which meant that Badri was being excessively cruel to
him by making such statements. Then he suddenly stood up and
roared, 'Vaidya Maharaj, restrain your son! All these boys are

89
 .

determined to say things that set heads rolling! Shut him up, or
there'll be nothing short of murder I will go to the hospital in due
course. First I'm going to the police station. If I don't show young
Chote the inside of a courthouse this time, then don't call me the
son of Gangadayal, call me a bastard. I have just come here to show
you my wounds. Look at them, Vaid Maharaj, my blood is flowing. .

have a good look. you're going to have to testify to it!'

. .

Vaidyaji showed no desire to examine the wounds. He began to

look at his patients. At the same time he began to preach that
running feuds were the root cause of grief and advised Kusahar
not to get involved in police cases and law courts. Then he began
a second sermon on the subject of police stations and law courts
also being the root cause of grief.
Kusahar roared, 'Maharaj, keep your knowledge to yourself. A
river of blood is flowing here, and you're stuffing Gandhi-isms
down my throat. If Badri Wrestler climbs on your chest, I'll see how
you comfort yourself by reciting sermons about this world!'
Vaidyaji's moustache trembled, which indicated that he was
offended. But a smile suffused his face indicating that he was
incapable of taking offence. The faces of the others present har-
dened, and it became quite clear that from now on Kusahar would
get no alms of sympathy here. Badri Wrestler sent him away saying,
'Off with you! It looks like battling with young Chote hasn't taken
all the fight out of you. Go and get yourself bandaged. Don't come

whining around here.'

Chote Wrestler was, as had become obvious by now, a member of

an old and respected family. He could even remember his great-
grandfather's name and, like any man of good family, he used to
relate stories about him. Sometimes he would tell his friends at the
wrestling pit, 'My great-grandfather's name was Bholanath. He
had one hell of a temper. All the time his nostrils were flaring with
rage. Every day the first thing he would do when he got up was to
have a slanging match with his father. Only then would he wash
his mouth out and perform his ablutions. If he didn't fight, his
stomach rumbled.'
Chote Wrestler's words dripped with nostalgia and conjured up
a picture of a nineteenth-century village, in which, at a doorway
crowded with cows and oxen, amidst the strong smell of cow dung

90
and urine,under the shade of a neem tree, brushing off the sticky
neem fruits that had dropped on them, two great men with naked
torsos sat up on their charpoys and as soon as they sat up, began
to curse each other for sleeping late. Of these two, one is the father,
the other his son. Then both of them get up from their charpoys,
threatening to bury each other alive and, digressing from the
original argument and with a few unrestrained remarks, set about
their day's work. One heads for his fields twisting his bullocks' tails,
and the other heads for other people's fields to graze his buffaloes.
After finishing a story of this sort Chote Wrestler used to say,
'When his father died, Baba Bholanath was very grieved.'
Chote Wrestler didn't tell these stories to boast. They were
absolutely true. His family was really like that. There had always
been an extremely close relationship between fathers and sons. If
they had to be affectionate, they were, and if they decided to wield
lathis aganist each other, they did. They used to test one another
for whatever good or bad quality their hands possessed.
Baba Bholanath was genuinely upset by his father's death.
There was a void in his life. Now his father was no longer there, his
stomach began to rumble for someone to fight with from early
morning. He didn't feel even like washing his mouth out. Despite
working day and night in the fields like an ox, he began to complain
of constant indigestion. Now his son, Gangadayal, came of use. It's
said that a son is the light of one's eyes in old age. So it was that one
day age of only seventeen Gangadayal hit his father
at the
Bholanath such a blow with his lathi that Bholanath fell to the
ground, his eyes bulging out like cowrie shells and stars raining
before them.
After that the relationship between father and son was settled
for good. Bholanath took his father's place and Gangadayal took
his. After a few days his indigestion was cured as a result of constant
pain in his arms, legs and back, but his ears began to ring. Perhaps
from continually hearing Gangadayal's ear-splitting curses, his
ears had developed a permanent echo. Whatever the case, now
Gangadayal's stomach too rumbled in the morning for a fight.
Gangadayal's son, Kusahar Prasad, was Chote Wrestler's father.
Kusahar Prasad was by nature serious, and so did not indulge in
Gangadayal's futile curses and insults. He also put an end to the
tradition of fighting with one's father every morning before going
to the fields.

91
 Kusahar Prasad had two brothers. One was Barakau and the
other Chotakau. Barakau and Chotakau were devotees of peace
and non-violence. In their whole lives they had never even hit a
dog. Cats crossed their paths as they liked, but they had never even
thrown a clod of earth at them. They had learned the art of insulting
their father and used it to sort out family fights without recourse
to fisticuffs. Every evening the two brothers and their wives would
start yelling and hurling abuse at one another. These sittings would
continue until ten o'clock. In this respect they were rather like
important meetings of the Security Council where to a fair extent
wars are prevented by shouting matches. From this point of view
it would be reactionary to look down on the bedlam that used to

break out in Kusahar Prasad's house every evening; but his

neighbours' political perceptions were not so progressive. There-
fore in the evening as soon as Chotakau's and Barakau's curses and
screams rose above the barking of the village dogs, the neighbours'
criticisms began.
'Now this kukrahao clamour will go on half the night.'
'They'll only reform the day you take an old shoe and give them
a good beating with it.'
'Their tongues have dysentery. When they start moving, they
can't stop.'
Chote Wrestler's father Kusahar Prasad was unable to com-
prehend his brothers' eloquence. As had been explained, he was a
man of action who spoke little. His special characteristic lay in
thrashing people silently and sporadically, and this had nothing in
common with the other two's philosophies of life. Therefore a few
years after his father Gangadayal died, he began to live separately
from his brothers: that is, without a word, by the might of his lathi,
he drove his brothers out of the house.
Kusahar Prasad's hands had become so accustomed to raising a
lathi to his father once every four weeks, that when Gangadayal
died they began to go numb for several days every month. In order
to rid himself of the danger of paralysis, one day Kusahar Prasad
raised his lathi again and brought it down at an angle on Chote's
midriff. Chote had not yet become a wrestler, but there was a
railway line near the village. On its edge ran electric cables and
posts. On the posts were many white insulators. With constant
practice, Chote had perfected his aim at a very early age. The day
Kusahar Prasad hit Chote on the midriff with his lathi, Chote had

92
knocked all the insulators off one post with stones from the railway
tracks, leaving them scattered along the edge of the line. Then he
ran twenty paces and threw a clod of earth at his father's head
imagining it to be just another insulator. From that day on, the
eternal dharma of the family was established between father and
son. Almost every month another small scar used to make its
appearance on Kusahar 's body and after some years he had become
the Rana Sanga of the area.
When Chote Wrestler reached manhood, father and son ceased
to speak to one another. They also began to fight less frequently,
and gradually violence began to become something of a ritual
which, like the birthdays of great men, was celebrated regularly
once a year, whether the general public wanted it or not.

When Kusahar Prasad left, a man standing in the road in front of

the veranda remarked. This is what you call Kali Yug! A son dares
to behave like this with his father!'
Lifting his eyes to the sky, shaking off the neem twigs which had
fallen on his head, he repeated, 'Oh God, where are you? When
willyou descend in Kalkin Avtar?'
No voice came from the heavens in reply. Not even a crow
cawed. No sparrow so much as shat. The face of the man remem-
bering Kalkin Avtar fell. Sanichar said in a sharp tone, while ex-
amining the shaft of his axe, 'Get on with you, go along with
Kusahar Prasad too. Go and stand witness. You're bound to get a
rupee or so there too.'

Badri Wrestler smiled in support of this comment. Rangnath

observed that the individual who remembered Kalkin Avtar was a
priest-like old man. Sunken cheeks. Salt and pepper beard. A
buttonless kurta. A Gandhi cap awry on his head, from behind
which his top-knot stuck out like a conductor protecting his body
from celestial lightning. A red sandalwood tika on his forehead. A
necklace of sacred rudraksha seeds around his throat.
This man did indeed follow Kusahar Prasad. Sanichar said, 'That
is Radhelal. Till this day the greatest lawyers have never managed

to shake him in cross-examination.'

Near Sanichar a bystander said respectfully, 'Radhelal Maharaj
is favoured by a God. He perjures himself with such fluency that

93
the lawyers are left gaping. Even the greatest ones go dumb before
him/
For a while the praise of Radhelal continued. A discussion began
between Sanichar and the bystander Sanichar's opinion was that
Radhelal was very cunning and that the town's lawyers were
absolute fools, and that was why they couldn't shake him in cross-
examination. On the other side, the bystander was determined to
put it down as a miracle and to his being the chosen one of a God.
Reason and faith were battling and there's no need to tell you that
faith was winning.
Then Chote Wrestler came strutting out of an alley-way. Reach-
ing Vaidyaji's door, he began to look around. Then he asked, 'Has
he gone?'
Sanichar replied, 'Yes, he's gone. But, wrestler, this policy is

against allhumanity'
Chote ground his teeth. 'To hell with humanity, and you'd better
watch out too!'
Sanichar stood up with the axe in his hand. He cried out, 'Badri
brother Look! Your calf is kicking out at me. Control it!'
Vaidyaji leapt to his feet on seeing Chote. He said to Rangnath,
'It's a sin to lay one's eyes on such a low character Get him out of

here.' With this, he disappeared into the house.

Chote Wrestler entered the sitting-room. The sun was shining.
A large flock of parakeets was screaming and flying among the
branches of the neem tree opposite. Sanichar was standing on the
veranda holding the axe. Badri Wrestler was standing silently in a
corner, swinging a pair of Indian clubs. Rangnath was leafing
through a book on ayurvedic medicine. It seemed to Chote as
though a wind of revolt was blowing against him. In response he
stuck out his chest, sat down beside Rangnath with aplomb, and
revolving his jaws, began to ruminate on the betel nut which he
already held safely inside his mouth.
Chote looked at Rangnath as if he were some insect flying in
front of him. In a depressed tone he said, 'If this is the state of things,
then I'm going. I came here thinking it was the home of my guru,
Badri. Now it's people like you who are ruling here, and so I won't
even come here to piss.'
Rangnath laughed to try to make light of the matter He said,
'No, no, sit down, wrestler If your brain's getting overheated, have
a drink of cold water'

94
 Again in the same low spirits, Chote said, 'Water! I won't even
take water from here to clean my arse. Everyone's got together to
run me down.'
Badri now regarded Chote with a dignified look, and weighed
an Indian club in his left hand. He smiled as he watched him, and
said, 'Anger is for the weak. Why are you getting upset. Are you a
man or a pair of pajamas?'
Chote Wrestler realized that he was getting support from that
corner. He said intractably, 'I don't like it, Badri Guru! All those
two-paisa bastards are getting at me. They say, why did you hit
your father? Why did I hit my father! It looks like my father is the
father of everyone in Shivpalganj! As if I am his only enemy!'
'Abehl Does anyone anywhere beat their father like that?'
Chote Wrestler became even more intractible. 'Guru, if the bas-
tard was a fatherly father, then there would be no cause for com-
plaint.'
For a while all was silent.

Rangnath gazed at Chote Wrestler's knitted brows. By now

Sanichar had also entered the sitting-room. Advising Chote he said,
'You should never utter such things. Keep your feet on the ground.
Don't try to open the breast of the heavens. After all Kusahar sired
you, brought you up.'
Chote growled, 'Did I even make a stamped application asking
to be born? To hell with that bastard father of mine.'
Badri was listening quietly to this conversation. He said, 'That's
enough now, Chote, cool down.'
Chote back dejectedly and listened to the parakeets scream-
sat
ing in the neem tree. Finally he sighed and said, 'You are putting
me down too, guru! You don't know that old man is such a bloody
lecher Because of him the house-maid had to stop bringing water
to our house. Shall I tell you more? How can I? It leaves a bad taste
in my mouth.'

95
TWELVE

In the village there lived a man called Gayadin. He was believed to

be very able in matters of debit and credit, multiplication and
division, because usuary was his profession. He had a shop which
sold cloth and lent out money. He had a young daughter whose
name was Bela, a sister who was a widow, and a wife who was dead.
Bela was healthy, beautiful, proficient in housework, and educated
enough to read the Ramayana and Maya-Manohar love stories.
A handsome and worthy groom was being sought for her. Bela
was fit to be loved for her body and her temperament, and Ruppan
Babu loved her, although she didn't know it. Every night before
going to sleep Ruppan Babu thought of her, and to maintain his
purity of thought he concentrated solely on her body, and not on
the clothes upon it. Bela's aunt looked after Gayadin's household
and didn't allow Bela to step outside the door. If she needed to go
out, she went by the roof, crossing the adjoining rooftops until she
arrived at the house of some neighbour. Ruppan Babu remained
rather stirred up over Bela and he used to write her three or four
letters a week —
and then tear them up.
These matters are of no immediate importance. The important
thing is Gayadin used to lend money at interest, and ran a
that
draper's shop. The Co-operative Union also lent money at interest
and ran a draper's shop. Both lived in peaceful co -existence.
Gayadin was on good terms with Vaidyaji. He was Vice Chairman
of the college Managing Committee. He had money and respect;
he had the favour of Vaidyaji, the police, Ruppan, the local ML A,
and the District Board's Tax Collector.
Despite all this he was a pessimist. He moved very cautiously.
He was very particular in his habits. He wouldn't even eat lentils
like urad dal. Once when he visited the town one of his relatives
gave him urad dal. Gayadin slowly pushed his plate away, com-
pleted the ritual meal-time washing of the hands, and returned
with an empty stomach. After that he was served different food
with a different lentil. This time he completed his ritual ablutions
and then ate. In the evening his relatives made him tell them why
he objected to urad dal. Glancing around him for a few moments,

96
 —
he explained softly that wind forms in the stomach from eating
urad dal and that leads to anger.
His host asked, 'Even if you lose your temper, what would it
matter? Is anger a tiger or a cheetah? Is there any reason for getting
so worried about it?'

The host worked in an Gayadin explained that he was

office.
right, but that anger did not become everyone. It only became
administrators. Even if the government fell they were still members
of a ruling class. But he was a trader. If he started losing his temper
no one would ever make the mistake of coming to his shop. And
God knows when a disaster may occur.
There had been a robbery at Gayadin's house. Some jewellery
and cloth had been stolen and the police found it most easy to
believe that it was one of the many people who had been chasing
thieves that night who had committed the robbery. When the thief
had jumped from the roof into the courtyard Gayadin's daughter
and sister had not seen him. If they had they would have seen his
face. But when the thief had climbed up the wall using his lathi as
a support, and was about to get on to the roof, they had both seen
him, or rather his entire back, and the police were highly irritated
that this was all they had managed to do. During the last three days
the police had paraded several thieves before them and had shown
them their backs as well as their faces. But there was not one of
them at whom Bela or her aunt could point and pronounce,
'Inspector, this is the thief of that night.' The police were very
annoyed by their behaviour in this respect too, and the Sub-Inspector
had begun to grumble that Gayadin's daughter and sister were
purposely preventing the thief from being brought to book, and
God alone knew what was going on.
Gayadin's pessimism had increased somewhat because there
were so many houses in the village but there had been only one
his— which had attracted the thief. And when the thief was break-
ing in, Bela and his sister could have seen him clearly but their eyes
had only chosen to see the thief's back. And the Sub-Inspector
laughed with everybody; the only person he was unpleasant to was
Gayadin.
There were several teachers in the village who were fools, one
of whom was Khanna Master Malaviya was another teacher he —
was a fool too. Gayadin didn't know the names of the third, fourth,
fifth, sixth and seventh teachers, but they were idiots as well, and

97
his pessimism was becoming deeper because all seven masters
together were approaching his house, and they were definitely
about to express superficial sympathy about the robbery, and then
immediately start some nonsense about the college. They did. The
masters spent half an hour trying to persuade Gayadin that since
he was the Vice Chairman of the college Managing Committee, and
as theChairman had been residing in Bombay for several years and
was going to continue to reside there, he should act against the
malpractice of the Manager and the Principal. Gayadin, very coolly,
in a supremely civilized fashion, persuade the masters that
tried to
he was Vice Chairman only in name, in reality it was a nominal
position of authority, he had no power, and that they should play
this game themselves and not drag him into it.
Then the civics master began to explain gravely how great the
Vice Chairman's power was. In the belief that Gayadin knew
nothing of the subject, he began to cite the position of the Vice
President of India under the Indian Constitution.
But Gayadin kept drawing a circle in the ground with the toe of
his shoe, which didn't mean that he knew geometry, but clearly
indicated that he was thinking of some trap. Suddenly he inter-
rupted the master and asked, 'So tell me, Master Sahib, who is the
Vice President of India?'
When the masters heard this question they were covered in
confusion. Some looked this way, some that, but they couldn't find
the name of the Vice President of India written anywhere. Finally
the civics master said, 'First it was Radhakrishnan, but now he's
been transferred.'
Gayadin said softly, 'Now see. Master Sahib, how important a
Vice President is.'

But the masters didn't agree. One obstinately demanded that

Gayadin should at least have one meeting of the Managing Com-
mittee called, but Gayadin just replied, 'Get hold of Ramadhin to
call a meeting. Master Sahib! He's the right man for the job.'
'We've got hold of him already'
enough. Keep on at him. Don't let him slip away'
'Fine, that's
Saying this, Gayadin began to regard the other people seated
around. These other people were from a neighbouring village and
had come to extend their promisory notes, have new ones written,
but under no circumstances to be freed from them.
Khanna Master had decided that the problem would be sorted

98
 '

out with Gayadin today. Therefore he again tried to persuade him.

'Malaviyaji/ he said, 'Now you try to make him understand. The
Principal is crushing us.'

Gayadin drew a deep breath and thought that perhaps it was

written in his fate that these wretched masters whould never go
away. Shifting himself, he adopted another position on the char-
poy. He said to the other villagers, 'So go along, brothers! You go.
Just come early tomorrow morning.'
Taking another deep breath he turned to face Khanna Master
and sat down.
Khanna Master said, 'If you permit. Til tell you the story from
the begining.'
'What are you going to say. Master Sahib?' said Gayadin in a
bored tone. 'To be a master in a private school is to be crushed. How
far can you escape from this?'
Khanna replied, 'The trouble is that the general body of this
college hasn't met for five years. Vaidyaji has remained the
Manager. There have been no new elections and they should take
place every year.'
Gayadin sat for a while with the emotionless expression of Ram
and Lakshman at a Ramlila. Then he said, 'You are an educated
man. What can I say? But there are hundreds of institutions where
the annual meetings haven't taken place for years. Our own Dis-
trict Board! It's been dragging on for ages without an election.'

Puffing his cheeks he said in a choked voice, 'The whole nation's

in thef same state.' His voice was choked not with patriotism, but
with phlegm.
Malaviya said, 'The Principal spends thousands of rupees as he
likes. Every year the auditors object, every year he wheedles him-

self out of it.'

Gayadin said very innocently, 'Are you in charge of the audit?'

Raising his voice Malviya riposted, 'No, that is not the point, but
Ican't bear to watch the public's money being squandered in this
way. After all ....
Here Gayadin interrupted him and said in the same gentle tone,
'Then how would you like to see the public's money being
squandered? In building huge buildings? In holding assemblies? In
having banquets thrown?'
Malaviya bowed before this wisdom. Gayadin magnanimously
expanded: 'Master Sahib, I am not well educated, but in good times

99
I've seen Bombay and Even I understand a little. It's not
Calcutta.
right to get so upset over the public's money. In any case it's bound
tobe wasted.'
Gayadin's stream of thought seemed very deep to Malaviya. He
spoke: 'Gayadinji, I know that all this is none of our business. Even
if Vaidyaji installs a flour mill instead of looking after the school,
even if the Principal arranges his daughter's wedding. But still, . . .

if this institution belongs to anyone it belongs to you people! So

many inadmissable things are going on in broad daylight! There's

no morality left even in name!'
Meanwhile, for the first time, some kind of worry clouded
Gayadin's face. But when he spoke his voice had the same weary
tone as before. 'Don't mention morality. Master Sahib! If anyone
hears he'll file a case against you.'
They were all silent. Then Gayadin excelled himself. He looked
into a corner. In it lay abroken wooden bed of his daughter's.
Pointing to it he said, 'Morality —consider it to be like this seat.
Lying in a corner. At the time of council and society meetings it is
covered with a sheet. Then it looks very fine. Speakers stand on it
to deliver lectures and rebukes. It is for that purpose.'
This point silenced the masters completely. Comforting them he
said, 'And so tell me. Master Sahib, what difficulties are you up
against? Up till now you've just been relating the troubles of the
public'
Khanna Master had become excited. 'It's a waste of time telling
you any of our problems. You don't accept that anything is a
problem.'
'Why shouldn't I accept your problems?' asked Gayadin indul-
gently, 'of course I'll accept them. Come on, tell me.'
Malaviya said, 'The Principal has taken responsibilities away
from all of us. He hasn't made Khanna hostel-in-charge, and he's
taken games from me. Ray Sahib has always been Exam Superin-
tendent. He's also been shifted. He's giving all these jobs to his own
people.'
Gayadin found himself in a dilemma. He spoke again, 'If I say
anything to you, you'll lose your tempers. But if the Principal has
the authority to choose in-charges as he wishes, how can you
complain?' When the masters began to fidget he added, 'Surely in
this world not all things are going to be done according to ycur
liking. Master Sahib? Remember what happened the year before

100
last? The Governor made that same Lai Sahib of Baije Village a Vice
Chancellor, didn't he? People leapt and danced around the place,
but did anyone manage to do anything about it? Afterwards they
shut up. You shut up too. Screaming gets you nowhere. People will
just call you scoundrels.'
A master stood on tiptoe at the back and said, 'But what can we
do about this? The Principal is instigating the boys against us. He
uses four-letter words to us. He writes false reports. If we hand in
any letter or memo to him, he loses it purposely. Then he demands
we explain why we didn't give it to him.'
Gayadin moved slightly, and looked slightly surprised at the
creak which the charpoy made. He remarked pensively, 'You are
describing to me how an office works. Things like this happen in
offices all the time.'
The master on tiptoe was enraged. 'When a dozen or so people
are killed, you'll understand what's special about this situation.'
Gayadin regarded his rage with pity, realizing he must have
eaten urad dal that day. Then he replied gently, 'What would be
special about that? Ffeople are dropping dead all around us every day'
Khanna Master controlled the situation. 'Don't mind his anger,
we are all at our wits' end. It's very difficult. See for yourself, he
appointed three of his relations masters this July. He's made them
senior to us and is giving them all the responsibilities. Nepotism
rules. Tell me, shouldn't we feel bad?'
'Why should you feel bad?' Gayadin began to cough. 'You
yourselves say that nepotism rules. He couldn't have found any
relations of Vaidyaji's for the posts, so the poor man has appointed
his own.'
A few masters started to laugh. Gayadin continued in the same
tone, 'It's not a laughing matter This is the dharma of the age. The
Principal too is doing what everyone does. What do you expect him
to do with his relatives?' Addressing Khanna Master he said, 'You
read history, don't you. Master Sahib? How was the Sinhagarh Fort
captured?'
Khanna Master began to search for an answer.
'I'll tell you myself. What did Tanaji take with him? A hill iguana.

He tied a rope to it and threw it up on to the wall of the fort. Now

the iguana stayed put where it crouched stuck to the wall. The
soldiers climbed up the rope in quick sucession and reached the
ramparts.'

101
 a

Perhaps he had grown weary of speaking. In the hope that the

masters had understood somewhat, he looked at their faces, but
they were without expression. Gayadin explained his point, 'Our
country is in the same position. Master Sahib! Wherever anyone is,
he sticks to his place like an iguana. He won't budge an inch.
However much you goad him, however much you try to drive him
off, he will sit tight, and all his relatives —
as many as he has will —
climb up his tail one after another and get to the top. Why are you
—
defaming the college it's the same everywhere!'
Then, drawing breath, he asked, 'Well, now. Master Sahib, where
doesn't it happen like this?'

The group of masters passed near Chamrahi. Their faces were so

long they looked as if they were about to drop on to their feet.

Chamrahi was the name of one quarter of the village where the
Chamars, or cobblers, lived. Chamar is the name of a caste which is
considered Untouchable. An Untouchable is a kind of biped which,
before the enforcement of the Indian Constitution, people didn't
used to touch. The Consititution is a poem in Clause 17 of which
Untouchability stands abolished. Because in this country people
depend on religion and not on poetry and because Untouchability
is an article of faith in this country, in Shivpalganj too, as in other
villages, there were and the
separate quarters for Untouchables,
main one was Chamrahi. At one time big landowners of
of these
the village had established it with great enthusiasm. This en-
thusiasm was not due to the landowners desire to develop the
leather industry, but because the Chamars who came to live there
were very good with their lathis and the landowners could use
their strength.
After the Constitution was brought into effect, a good work was
done between Chamrahi and the other parts of Shivpalganj —
platform was constructed there which was called the Gandhi plat-
form. Gandhi, as some people will still remember today, was born
in the land of India itself and after his bones and ashes, as well as
his principles, had been submerged in the holy confluence of the
Ganga, it had been settled that from then on only brick and concrete
buildings would be erected in his memory, and in this tumultuous
activity the platform in Shivpalganj had been constructed. The
platform was most useful for sun-bathing in the winter months,

102
and mostly dogs used to sun-bathe here. And
no bathrooms
since
are made for them, while sun-bathing they would pee on one
corner of it. As they watched, sometimes men would use the shelter
of the platform for the same purpose.
The group of masters saw that today Langar had lit a fire on the
platform and was sitting in front of it roasting something over the
flames. Coming closer they saw that the object being roasted was a
round, solid chapatti, which he was certainly not warming for the
dogs encircling him. As soon as they caught sight of Langar the
masters' hearts rose. They stopped and began to talk to him, and in
two minutes had discovered that he was just about to get the copy
which he had applied for from the Tehsil Office, absolutely in
accordance with the rules and without having spent a cowrie in
bribes.
The masters couldn't believe it. 'So when will you get the copy?'
'Consider I've already got it, father —only another fifteen to
twenty days. The file has gone to the main office. Now the applica-
tion will also go there. The copy will be made there, then it will
'
come back here; then it will be entered in the register
Langar continued to relate his plan to get the copy. He didn't
even notice that the masters had wandered past, bored with his
conversation and the smell which hovered around the Gandhi
platform.
When he raised his head, he saw near him only the familiar dogs,
pigs and piles of rubbish in whose company he had set out to fight
a righteous war against officialdom.

103
THIRTEEN

Despite being a tehsil headquarters, Shivpalganj was not a suffi-

ciently big enough village to be entitled urban area status. There
was a Village Council in Shivpalganj, and the villagers wanted to
keep it just that, so that they wouldn't have to pay the extra urban
area tax. The head of the Village Council, or Pradhan, was
Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi's brother, whose greatest quality was
never to have been to a lunatic asylum or jail despite having been
Pradhan for so many years. Among the ganjahas he was famous
for his stupidity and to this he had owed his universal popularity
before he became Pradhan.
The Village Council elections were due in January, and Novem-
ber had already begun. The question was who should be made
Pradhan this time? Vaidyaji had taken no interest in the last elec-
tions because he had considered Village Council work extremely
demeaning. And in a way it was because Village Council officials
are practically powerless. They neither had the stick of the police,
nor the status of the Tehsildar, and having one's work subjected to
their scrutiny day after day lowered a man's self-respect.
The Pradhan had to file legal suits over Village Council land and
property, and in the town court the officials and lawyers did not
treat him at all with the honour due to one thief from another In
litigation the Pradhan made an enormous number of enemies, and
then when he landed in trouble the police just smiled and ignored
him, and occasionally addressing him with deliberate sarcasm as
'Respected Pradhanji', conveyed to him just how little he mattered.
But for some time now Vaidyaji had begun to show an interest
in the Village Council, because he had read a speech of the Prime
Minister in some newspaper In that speech the PM had said that
'village uplift' was only possible on the basis of schools, co-operative
committees and village panchayats, and suddenly Vaidyaji realized
that he had only been working for the village's uplift through the
Co-operative Union and the college, and the Village Panchayat was
completely out of his hands. 'Aho'/ he must have thought, 'That's

104
 —
the reason why Shivpalganj is not being properly uplifted. Why
didn't I realize it earlier/
As soon as he took an interest, several things came to his notice
for instance thatRamadhin's brother had ruined the Village Council.
Some people had just grabbed the village's wasteland, and the
Pradhan had definitely taken bribes. The council had no money and
the Pradhan had definitely embezzled it. The village had become
filthy, and the Pradhan was definitely the son of a pig. The police

had prosecuted several people on complaints from the Pradhan,

from which one could only conclude that he had now become a
police agent. The Pradhan had been granted a licence for a shotgun,
which was definitely loaned out to dacoits. And last year in the village
Bajrangi was murdered, and you can guess why that happened.

For bhang drinkers grinding bhang poem, a great work,

is an art, a
a craft, a ritual. Even if you chew half-an-anna's worth of the leaf
and then have a drink of water, you get fairly high, but this is cheap
inebriation. Ideally, almonds, pistachios, rose-petal conserve, milk,
cream and so on should all be used with the leaf. The bhang should
be ground to the point where the grinding stones stick together
and become one, before it is drunk verses in praise of Lord Shiva
should be recited, and the whole exercise should be a community,
not an individual, event.
In Vaidyaji's sitting-room it was Sanichar's job to bring to the
fore the social aspect of bhang. Now, as he did every day he was
grinding bhang. A voice called out to him, 'Sanichar!'
Sanichar drew in his breath with a hiss and raised his head.
Vaidyaji said, as he were a prime minister demanding a
if

minister's resignation, 'Hand the bhang work over to someone else,

and come inside.'
Sanichar began to grumble, 'Who should I hand it to? Is there
anyone at all who can do this work? What do the young boys of
today know about these things? They'll just grind it as if it was no
more than turmeric and chilli.' But he put a young man in charge
of the grinding stones, washed his hands, wiped them on the back
of his underpants, and went and stood by Vaidyaji.
On the wooden bed sat Vaidyaji, Rangnath, Badri Wrestler and
the Principal Sahib. Edging to one corner, the Principal said, 'Please
do take a seat, Sanicharji.'

105
 The courtesy of this remark put Sanichar on the alert. So he stuck
out his broken teeth, and began to scratch the hairs on his chest.
He made himself look rather stupid as he knew it was the best way
to counter a cunning attack.
He said, 'Arre, Principal Sahib, now don't make me sit on the
same level as yourself. It'd be a sin and you'd be sending me to hell.'
Badri Wrestler laughed. He said, 'Bastard! Don't try to be clever!
Are you going to go with the Principal Sahib?'
to hell for sitting
Then, changing his tone, he said, 'Sit down over there.'
Vaidyaji said, as if voicing an eternal truth, 'Don't speak in that
fashion, Badri. You haven't the slightest idea what fate has in store
for Mr Mangal Das.'
Sanichar had heard his real name for the first time in years. He
sat down and said importantly, 'Now, don't disgrace the wrestler
too much, Maharaj. After all, what's his age? When the time comes,
he'll understand.'
Vaidyaji remarked, 'So, Principal Sahib, say whatever you have
to say.'
The Principal began in Avadhi, 'Should I make so bold as to
speak? Ye all know the matter.' Then, impaling himself on the spike
of common Hindi, he said, 'The Village Council elections are being
held, the Pradhan here is an important man. He also sits on the
—
college committee so in a way he's also my superior'
Suddenly Vaidyaji came out with, 'Listen, Mangal Das, this time
we want to make you the head of the Village Council.'
Sanichar 's face contorted. He folded his hands in supplication,
his body thrilled, tears sprung to his eyes. He was like a neglected,
third-grade, village-level party worker with venereal disease who
receives an order appointing him the chairman of a medical coun-
cil. Then he pulled himself together and said, Arre, no, Maharaj! It

is enough that you have considered this unworthy creature worthy

of such a thing! But I do not deserve this honour!'

Sanichar was amazed at his own erudition. Then Badri Wrestler
spoke, Abeh, don't start blabbering now. People only talk like that
afterthey become Pradhan. Until then, just keep your mouth shut.'
At this point Rangnath entered the conversation. Tapping
Sanichar on the shoulder he said, 'It's nothing to do with your
worth or lack of it, Sanichar! We agree that you aren't fit for the job,
but what does that matter? It's not as if you are making yourself

106
Pradhan. It's the people who are making you Pradhan. The people
will do as they please. Who are you to interfere?'
The Principal Sahib explained in the manner of an educated
man, 'Yes, brother, it's democracy Everywhere things work like this
in democracy' To encourage Sanichar, he remarked, 'Good man,
Sanichar, get ready for it,' and gave him a look as if to say, 'Go on,
son, go and crucify yourself.' Giving Sanichar the last push, he
continued, 'The Pradhan can't be any ordinary, stupid human
being. It's a weighty office. The owner of the whole of the village
property! If he likes, in one day he can make decisions worth lakhs.
He's the local boss. If he wants he can charge the whole village with
Article 107 and have us all locked up. All sorts of important officials
come and sit at his door! Anyone he complains against finds it
difficult to keep his job. He just puts his stamp to a paper, and takes
out oil and sugar from the government shop at will. Without his
permission no one in the village can so much as throw rubbish on
their rubbish heap. Everyone has to follow his advice. He holds
everyone's keys. He is everyone's guardian. Well, what do you
say?'
To Rangnath these words seemed somewhat lacking in idealism.
He said, 'Master Sahib, you're making pradhans out to be complete
dacoits.'
'Heh, heh, heh,' laughed the Principal, indicating that he was
purposely making such foolish statements. This was his way of
showing his listeners that he was well acquainted with the
stupidity of his remarks and was therefore not stupid himself. 'Heh,
heh, heh, Rangnath Babu! What must you be thinking? I was
talking about the way the present Pradhan behaves.'
Meanwhile, Sanichar was saying, 'But, brother Badri, so many
important officials come to the door of the Pradhan. .And I don't
. .

even have a door; you've seen my broken-down hut!'

Badri Wrestler always felt it was humiliating to have to say much
to Sanichar. He suspected that now Sanichar had the opportunity,
he was getting impudent. So Badri stood up. Retying his lungi,
which was falling down from his waist, he said, 'Don't worry. I'll
even have a match put to your broken-down hut. I'll get rid of that
problem right now.'
Saying this he went indoors. Thinking this was a joke, first the
Principal laughed, then Sanichar too. As Rangnath was still trying
to see the point of it, the conversation changed course. Vaidyaji said,

107
'What's the problem? After all my house is there. With great
pleasure you can sit here. Welcome all the officials from here. After
a while a pucca Panchayat building will be put up, then you can
go and stay there. From there itself you can serve the Village
Council'
Once more Sanichar humbly joined He just had this
his hands.
to say: 'What should I do? The whole world will say that when such
.'
people as you were there, in Shivpalganj a loafer has been made. . .

Making use of his familiar 'heh, heh, heh' and his Avadhi, the
Principal told Sanicharji that he had started blabbering again.
'Where I from in Rajapur the Babu Sahib made his own
hail
ploughman Pradhan. The dhakapel free-for-all tha' finds in village
councils is not for the likes of decent, respectable folk.'

The Principal continued, with unabated enthusiasm, 'And,

Manager Sahib, that ploughman put up some performance as head
of the council. There's a famous story about the time there was a
meeting at the Tehsil Office. The Deputy Sahib had come. All the
pradhans were sitting there. They had been made to sit on a mat
which had been spread out on the floor. The Deputy Sahib was
sitting on a chair.
'Then, our man, the ploughman, said, "What sort of justice is
this? We have been called here and made to sit on the floor and the
Deputy Sahib himself sits on a chair." The Deputy Sahib too was
wet behind the ears. He got on his high horse. Then it became a
matter of honour on both sides. All the pradhans were with our
man the ploughman. They began to shout, "Long live the revolu-
tion!" The Deputy Sahib stuck to his seat screaming, "Peace! Peace!"
But where was the peace and where was tranquillity? The
pradhans refused to attend the meeting and the ploughman of
Rajapur ended up leader of the tehsil area. The very next day three
political parties sent him requests to join their ranks. But the Babu
Sahib refused to let him join any of them saying, "Don't you dare
do anything yet. You join the party I tell you to when I tell you
'

to."
The slogan 'Long live the revolution!' was resounding in
Sanichar 's ears.He was imagining a man completely naked but for
a pair of underpants, backed by a couple of hundred men raising
their arms again and again, and shouting. Vaidyaji spoke, 'That was
bad manners. If I had been Pradhan, I would have come away. Then
two months later I would have held a function in the village.

108
I would also have invited the Deputy Sahib. I would have made
him sit on the ground, and then sat myself on a chair and delivered
a speech saying, "Brothers! By nature I find it difficult to sit on a
chair, but the Deputy Sahib taught us this rule of hospitality on
such-and-such a date when he called us to the Tehsil Office. There-
fore, because of the lesson he taught us, I have been compelled to
accept this inconvenience." Vaidyaji guffawed with self-satisfaction.
'

To win Rangnath's support, he said, 'Well then, son, this would

have been the proper thing to do, wouldn't it?'
Rangnath replied, 'Yes, fine. I myself was taught this trick in the
fable of the fox and the crane.'
This led to enquiries about what the fox and the crane actually
did. It was a simple fable in which a fox invited a crane to dinner
and served food in a plate from which the crane couldn't eat
due to its long beak. Then the crane, Rangnath informed the
audience, got its own back on the fox by inviting it to dinner and
served food in a tall jar which was beyond the reach of the fox's
tongue.
As Rangnath concluded his story, Vaidyaji decided it was time to
bring the discussions about the Pradhan's post to an end. He said
to Sanichar, 'Then it's settled. Go and see whether that fool hasn't
really ground the bhang like turmeric and chilli. Go. There's no
pleasure in bhang if it's not made by your hand."
Badri Wrestler smiled from the doorway and said, "Go on you
old fool, go and mash the same bhang again!"
For some time there was silence. Then the Principal said softly,
'If you permit, may I say a word about Khanna Master?'

Vaidyaji raised his eyebrows. Permission had been granted. The

Principal said, 'There was an incident. The evening before last
some object fell into Gayadin's courtyard. At that time he had
gone out to the fields to relieve himself. In the house, Bela's
aunt saw the object and picked it up. It was a folded envelope.
The aunt wanted Bela to read out the contents to her, but Bela
.'
was unable to do so. . .

Rangnath was listening attentively. He asked, 'Was it written

in English?'
'Who's going to write anything in English? It was written in
Hindi, but how could an unmarried girl have read it? It was a love
letter'

109
 Vaidyaji listened in silence. Rangnath didn't have the courage to
ask who had written it.
The Principcil spoke: 'There's no knowing who wrote it. It looks
to me like some mischief of one of Khanna Master's group. The
bastards are all thugs, absolute thugs. But Khanna Master is spread-
ing tales against you. He says that the letter was sent by Ruppan
Babu. Look at his cheek! He dares to cast a slur on your house.'
Vaidyaji seemed unaffected by all this, except that he sat silently
for a minute. Then he said, 'How on earth is he casting a slur on my
house? He is defaming Gayadin's house. After all, the girl is his.'

The Principal looked hard at Vaidyaji, but his expression was

inscrutable. In agitation the Principal rolled down on to the floor
of Avadhi. Turning towards the door he said, 'Sanichar, be quick
and bring me some thandai-fandai bhang. It's near time for the
college labour t' leave.'

110
FOURTEEN

On the full moon day of Kartik, the eighth month of the Hindu
calendar, a fair, or mela, isheld at a place about five miles away from
Shivpalganj. There is some jungle, a small hill and on that hill a
temple of the Goddess, and bricks of some old building are scattered
around in aU directions. In the jungle, which covers undulating
ground, are bushes of corinda, makoy and jujube. An)^hing from
a rabbit to a wolf, and from a maize pilferer to a dacoit, can easily
find place to hide in this jungle. The love affairs which are estab-
lished on a spiritual level in the nearby villages, are elaborated on
a physical level here. Sometimes pairs of picnickers from the town
too come wander here, display their practical knowledge of one
to
—
another occasionally at the same time they visit the temple and —
take their contracting bodies and swelling hearts back again.
The inhabitants of this area are extremely proud of their hill
because it is their Ajanta, EUora, Khajuraho and Mahabalipuram.
They are convinced that the temple was made by the gods with
their own hands as the residence of the Goddess, after the battle
between the gods and the demons. They say that a very great
treasure is buried underneath the hill. So the hill has great histori-
cal,religious and economic importance.
Because of his knowledge of history and archaeology, Rangnath
was very keen to survey this hill. He had been told that the images
there belonged to the Gupta period, and that there were many
terracotta potsherds of the Maurya period.

The late Avadhi poet Parhis composed a verse which translates into
common speech as:

In the fair you go with open face

To offer all and sundry sweets,
But when your father-in-law you see
You hide your face so shyly
With a veil a metre long.

Ill
 The same was true of all the women going to this fair. They were
proceeding briskly, no veils on their faces or reins on their tongues.
They were uttering lung, cheek and throat-rending screams, and
producing the kind of shrieking which urban scholars and broad-
casters call folk-songs. Whole flocks of women were coming for-
ward in this fashion.
Ruppan Babu, Rangnath, Sanichar and Jognath were following
a narrow path off the main road to the mela. When they had
watched several relays of women move on past, Chote Wrestler
said. They are all squealing like stuck pigs.'
'
Sanichar explained, 'It's a mela.
In between the groups of women were children and men. All of
them were walking fast, all kicking up typhoons of dust. Bullock-
carts were racing against one another, clearing a way for themsel-
ves in the most amazing fashion. In an even more amazing fashion,
pedestrians were managing to get out of their striking range.
The same survival instinct which saves hares from carnivorous
beasts, or in towns keeps pedestrians alive despite all attempts to
the contrary by truck drivers, was protecting the people on their
way to the mela from the wheels of the bullock-carts.
The mela's excitement was reaching its peak, and if All-India
Radio had been giving a running commentary it would certainly
have described how, thanks to the prosperity brought by the
government's five-year plans, the people, with music and song,
were showering each other with love and joy. But Rangnath had
been in the village for about one-and-a-half months. He under-
stood enough to know that just because Sanichar, in his vest and
underpants, was able to laugh heartily, it did not make him rich like
a Birla or a Dalmia. He began to watch the mela crowds carefully,
and he quickly saw the hollowness of all the enthusiasm. Even
though the cold weather had started, he noticed that no one was
wearing a woollen coat. Certainly, there were a few children in torn
sweaters. The women were wrapped in colourful but cheap saris;
practically all were barefoot. And what was there to say about the
—
men? Typical Indian dandies half clean, half filthy. 'Studying
archaeology is a much more comfortable occupation than having
to witness and understand all this,' thought Rangnath with some
self-mockery as he turned to Ruppan Babu.
Ruppan Babu had called out to three cyclists who had stopped
and dismounted. They stood on the edge of the path, out of the way

112
of the crowd, supporting their bicycles. One man, who appeared
to be the leader of the three, took a discoloured hat from his head
and began to fan himself with it. It was cool, but there was sweat
on his brow. He was wearing shorts, a shirt, and an open-necked
jacket. He had tied a belt quite tightly round his middle so that his
shorts didn't fall down over his pot belly, and his stomach area was
thereby divided more or less into two equal parts. Both his com-
panions wore dhoti-kurtas and caps, and despite appearing un-
couth, were behaving very politely towards their leader.
There'll be plenty of money floating all round the mela today.
Sahib!' laughed Ruppan Babu, as if issuing a challenge. The man
closed his eyes, nodded his head and said wisely, 'There must be.
But now money has lost its value, Ruppan Babu!'
Ruppan Babu and the man exchanged some remarks about
sweets, and especially about khoya. Suddenly the man stopped
paying attention to Ruppan and said, 'Wait, Ruppan Babu!' He
handed his bicycle to one of his companions, gave his hat to the
other one and waddled off on his fat legs to a nearby field of arhar.
Disregarding the several people who were making their way along
the path through the middle of the field, and the fact that the
growth of arhar plants was rather thin, he started to undress in
enormous haste. With great difficulty he managed to undo the
buttons of his jacket and shirt, and pull out his sacred thread from
inside. When he couldn't pull enough of it out, he bent his head
down toone side and somehow or other managed to hook a part
of the. thread over one ear Then, struggling with his shorts, he
began to pour a stream of liquid on to the arhar crop.
By now Rangnath had realized that the man's name was Singh
Sahib. He was the local Sanitary Inspector He had also found out
that the man standing holding Singh Sahib's bicycle was a member
of the District Board, and the man holding his hat was the board's
Tax Collector
When the inspector returned the conversation continued. But
the subject of the conversation was not sweets but the chairman of
the District Board, the Inspector Sahib's retirement, and the fact
that 'times are bad'.When the three men had ridden off, Ruppan
toldRangnath quite a few things about the Inspector Sahib.
He could have been cut out for great things, but after becoming
Sanitary Inspector he adopted an attitude of contentment with his lot.
Shivpalganj was the only developed part of the area where he was

113
posted, the rest was backward. All the inhabitants there knew that
if they were deprived of their backwardness, they would have

nothing left. Generally whenever they met someone they would

immediately and proudly state that they came from a backward
area. Similarly they were proud of the Inspector Sahib. The Inspec-
tor had been posted in the area for over forty years, and he was
still needed as much as he had been forty years before.

Today Jognath had come to the mela with Ruppan Babu. He was
afraid that if he was left alone the police would tease him, and in
their affection might suddenly make a grab for him.
They had all set out dressed for a mela. Ruppan Babu had tied a
brand-new silk scarf underneath his shirt collar, and just to enhance
his good looks he had slipped on a pair of dark glasses. In addition
to his underpants, Sanichar had put on a cotton string vest which
came to a halt one-and-a-half inches above the top of the pants.
Today Chote Wrestler was not permitting the end of his loincloth
to dangle down like an elephant's trunk. He had tied it behind him
so tightly that it would stick to him like a tail even if the rest of the
loincloth was torn to shreds. Not only that, today he was also
wearing a transparent kurta, without a vest, and, round his waist
as a lungi, a short cotton cloth, also thin enough to be transparent.
Jognath was sticking closely to Ruppan Babu,
Since the day the thieves came, people had begun to see Jognath
in a different light. As soon as he arrived in the mango groves where
graziers habitually gambled with cowrie shells, they avoided his
eyes, tied their money up in knots in their dhotis, and then invited
him to down. At the bhang parties outside Ramadhin's house
sit

innumerable joyful hands would pat him on the back.

Then just a few days ago the Police Sub-Ihspector h^d called him
over to the station. Jognath had taken Ruppan Babu along with
him. The Sub-Inspector had said, 'Ruppan Babu, nothing can be
achieved without the public's co-operation.'
He explained gravely, 'We are unable to find any clues to the
robbery in Gayadin's house. Until you people co-operate it will be
difficult to discover anything.'
Ruppan Babu said, 'You have our full co-operation. If you don't

believe me, go and see what happens if you arrest any student from
the college.'

114
 The Sub-Inspector paced up and down a bit, and then said, 'The
British way of dealing with these matters is the best. Eighty per cent
However, in this country,
of criminals confess their crimes. Here . .
.'

he paused and gave Jognath a straight look. Jognath looked back

at the Sub-Inspector with the same steady gaze he used when
game of flush.
bluffing in a
The reply came from Ruppan Babu. 'Don't start these British
habits here. eighty per cent of people began to confess their
If

crimes, then by tomorrow you'd only have two out of your ten
constables left to go on duty The rest would be in the lock-up.'
It happened that the matter had been laughed off and the
so
meeting had ended there. It still hadn't become clear why the
Sub-Inspector had summoned Jognath. Referring to the incident,
Ruppan Babu said with authority, 'Eh, Jognath, what's the point of
hanging around with a face like a dead bat? Enjoy yourself. The
inspector isn't a hyena that's going to eat you!'
Then Chote Wrestler remarked grumpily, 'We have a paying that
if you eat fire you'll shit sparks. Jognath didn't ask Vaidyaji's advice

before he jumped into Gayadin's house. So why is he hanging on

to him for help now?'
Jognath said nothing to counter this, but at that moment a
bullock-cart came rumbling past. Rangnath began to wipe the dust
from his face; Chote Wrestler didn't so much as blink. He withstood
the cloud of dust sent up by the bullock-cart with the same style
that Arjun endured the dust of battle for eighteen days at Kurukshetra
after hearing the exposition of the Bhagavad Gita. Then he said in a
bored tone, 'There aren't many who can stand a home truth or a
kick from a donkey. I've just spoken out loud what the whole
village is whispering about Jognath. What's there to argue about
in that?'
Sanichar attempted to restore peace. In anticipation of becoming
Pradhan, he'd already begun to practice Vaidyaji's style of speaking
as if pronouncing eternal truths. He said, 'It's not right to yap at
one another. No matter what the whole world may say about
Jognath, if I have once called him a good man, then that's what he
is. Does a man stand by his word, or doesn't he?'

Chote Wrestler remarked contemptuously, 'So you think you're

a man?'
On their way they saw Langar. Rangnath said, 'He's even turned
up here too!'

115
 Langar was relaxing on a piece of cheap cotton cloth spread out
under a makoy bush, and muttering to himself. Sanichar said,
'Langar 's the kind of man who drops anchor wherever he feels like.
He's a happy-go-lucky sort.'
As they passed by, Ruppan taunted him, 'Tell us, Langar Master,
what's the latest? Have you got the copy?'
Langar stopped muttering. Shading his eyes with one hand, he
discerned Ruppan Babu standing in the sunlight. He said, 'How am
I going to get it, father? From here the application for the copy was

sent to the headquarters, and then by the same route it was sent
back again. Now the whole matter will be held up for another
fortnight.'
Chote Wrestler looked at him with loathing and then addressed
a remark to the trees and shrubs. 'Why go on beating about the
bush? Why doesn't the old fool just go and stick five rupees on the
copy clerk?'
'You won't understand, Chote Wrestler! This is a matter of prin-
ciple,' explained Rangnath.

Chote Wrestler cast an idle glance over his strong shoulders, and
said, 'If that is the problem then let him keep going round in circles.'
With this, like hundreds of other fair-goers, he went off to a bush
to pee and, seeing another man relieving himself in the open, he
cursed him and turned away.

116
 —
FIFTEEN

Chote Wrestler said, 'I want any darshan-varshan. I am the

don't
slave only of Hanuman, the god of the red loincloth, and as far as
I am concerned all other gods and goddesses are so much straw!'

They were discussing whether to go to have a darshan of the

Goddess in the temple. No one countered Chote Wrestler's state-
ment. No one tried to persuade him. They all knew that there was
only one way to persuade Chote Wrestler and that was to knock
him down, climb on to his chest and break his bones. To show that
he wasn't an atheist, Chote stood up and began drumming a
rhythm on his thigh. When his faith was not proved by this, he
began to sing, 'Bajrangbali, row my boat with the oar of your grace!'
Pointing to a sweetshop he said, 'I'll go there and put something
in my stomach in the meantime. Meet me there.' Then he remarked
to himself, 'I've been wandering round with a tied mouth all
morning. Bloody stomach is rumbling.'
Rangnath had been told that the temple had been built in the Sat
Yug, millions of years ago. From the outset he imagined himself
deciphering letters of the ancient Brahmi script from some lump of
rock. But when he saw the temple in the distance, he became
immediately convinced that his compatriots understood correctly
—
only two terms concerning time anadi and anant time without
beginning and time without end. If this wasn't the case then how
could they so easily consign a temple that was some seventy-five
years old to the Gupta or Maurya period?
In between the vines and verdure which decorated the temple
was inscribed, 'The temple platform, dedicated to Mahishasurmardini,
was constructed by Iqbal Bahadur Singh, son of Narendra Bahadur
Singh of the Throne of Bhikapur, on the tenth day of the dark half
of the lunar month of Kartik in the year 1950 of the Vikram era.'
Reading this, all Rangnath's archaeological aspirations vanished
into thin air
Don't imagine that the Seat of Bhikapur was like the thrones of
Satara or Pune. In the homes of lakhs of landowning families of the
former kingdom of Avadh lie goodness knows how many broken-
down seats, which the landowners occupy to receive the salute

117
of their subjects —that isone or two ploughmen at the Holi
to say, —
and Dussehra festivals. Estimating what had been spent on the
temple, Rangnath realized that the Throne of Bhikapur too was one
of those lakhs of seats of Avadh.
The temple itself wasn't much bigger than a seat. It had one
room, which had just one entrance. Against the inside walls a
number of wardrobe-like cupboards had been built in which there
were arrangements for several kinds of gods to take up their abode.
As you squeezed through the doorway, among the images in the
wardrobe immediately facing you was the main image of the Goddess.
As soon as Jognath entered the temple he prostrated himself com-
pletely, like a soldier on the battlefield when he hears an explosion.
Then, crouching with his weight on his toes, he began to sing a
bhajan with great passion. No one could understand the words, but
they could make out that he was singing, not crying. Jognath's
devotion was not the product of a pipe of hashish, or a bottle of
booze, but solely the result of his terror of the police. Whatever the
cause, his devotion was so obvious that several people forgot their
own bhajans and became engrossed in his.
Sanichar was aspiring to become Pradhan. Therefore he too
somehow managed to kneel down right in the centre of the temple,
and began to raise the slogan, 'Jagadambike! Consort of Shiva!'
There was a terrific crowd on the platform outside the main
shrine and no one was paying attention to anyone else, but what
ganjaha worth his salt would fail to impose his rustic presence on
the local population the moment he arrived? People stood aside
from Sanichar. Ruppan Babu also closed his eyes, immediately
demanded a boon,and immediately opened them again. Then he
began to watch the mela. A girl next to him was kneeling in front of
an image murmuring a prayer In Ruppan Babu's opinion, she
represented the real fun of the fair.

Rangnath joined his hands and went straight up to the main

image. He took one look at it and was rooted to the spot. All that he
had read about ancient sculpture suddenly seemed totally mean-
ingless. He thought, Tf this is the statue of a Goddess, what were
the ones 1 saw in Khujaraho, Bhubaneshwar or in the Kailash
Temple at Ellora?'
Shutting his eyes again, he tried with all his might to forget all
that he had learnt. In his innermost heart he began to scream, 'Help!
Help! My Faith is being attacked by Reason! Help me!' But wnen

118
he opened his eyes he felt that all his devotion had disappeared,
and that he was being violently shaken by all the history he had
learnt parrot-fashion.
The was that the iconography of the statue was somewhat
fact
novel. It wore some sort of military headgear, and beneath its neck
was a broad and flat chest. The area below the chest was missing.
Those who had come to the temple not out of devotion, but out of
academic curiosity born of reading books by historians writing in
the English language, could only state that this was a statue of a
soldier dating approximately to the twelfth century.
Whatever you may say about our country's sculpture, you
else
cannot object to it on the grounds that there is any confusion over
sex. Even if we can be deceived about the sex of some of the women
who wear their hair short and walk around golf courses in shirts
and trousers, there is no possibility of us making the same mistake
when it comes to our ancient statues of female figures.
Rangnath asked the priest, 'Which God is this a statue of?'
The priest was very busy He shouted, 'Get some money out of
your pocket and make an offering, then you'll find out what God
it is!'

Rangnath's curiosity led him to step forward and touch the

statue's neck. The priest looked at him suspiciously, and then said
like an educated man, 'It is strictly forbidden to touch the idol.'
The girl Ruppan Babu had been watching had left the temple.
As far as he was concerned, the mela was over. He tugged Rangnath
by the hand and said, 'We've had darshan, now let's go. Come on.'
History is the greatest iconoclast. It now overwhelmed
Rangnath, and made him say, 'What sort of darshan is this? This isn't
even the image of a Goddess!'
As soon as they heard this the three ganjahas with Rangnath
blenched. Several people gave a start, and began to look in his
direction.Then Rangnath explained to Ruppan Babu like an assis-
tant curator in a museum, 'Don't you see? This is undoubtedly
the statue of a soldier. Look, this is his helmet, and see here, this
is a quiver sticking out at the back, and look, the chest is absolutely
.'
flat. . .

Rangnath was unable to complete his description of the soldier's

thorax as the priest leapt up and shoved him so hard that he cut
through the crowds effortlessly, like an arrow, and came to rest near
the door.

119
 The priest stopped his business of conducting pujas and collect-
ing money, and began to curse Rangnath with all his heart. The
priest's mouth was small, but some very substantial curses came
brokenly tumbling out. Very soon the temple resounded to shouts
and curses, because the pilgrims too began assisting the priest in
his abuse of Rangnath.
The ganjahas came out of the temple completely flabbergasted.
The priest came to the door of the temple and began to scream. As
soon as Isaw your face I knew it! You're Christian! Spawn of the
British! You learn a bit of their "git-pit git-pit " language and then
dare to say that this isn't a Goddess! After four days youTl be saying
that your father is not your father!'
Sanichar and Jognath could not comprehend exactly what was
going on. Still they flailed around and started to kick up a fuss. By
then Ruppan had recovered his ability to handle the situation. He
caught hold of Rangnath's hand and said, 'Let's go, brother.' Then,
turning to the priest he remarked loudly, but in a cool tone, 'Look
here, maharaj, don't go smoking too much hash on mela days.
You're getting old and it goes to your head.'
The priest had opened his mouth to say something, but Ruppan
stalled him. 'Enough, enough. Don't try to talk back to me. We
belong to Shivpalganj. Put your tongue back in its snake hole.'
After walking for some time Rangnath said, 'I was wrong. I
shouldn't have said anything.'
Ruppan Babu consoled him. 'You're right. But it's not your fault,
it'syour education's.'
Sanichar also piped up, 'When a man studies he begins to talk
like educated people. He forgets the real way to speak. Isn't that so,
Jognath?'
Jognath didn't reply because by then he had slipped in among
the waves of pilgrims, and was busy nudging young women, and
by the expression on his face it looked as though it was something
he wanted to keep on doing.

Sanichar too caught the mela mood. With long strides he made his
way over to the sweetshop where Chote Wrestler was sitting. He
on
tossed hundreds of elderly people aside, lovingly laid his hands
the shoulders of several women, groped them to check the size and
shape of their breasts, and all with such detachment that you'd

120
think it was a man's bounden duty to do so while pushing his way
through a crowd. To achieve this the puny man suddenly
developed such an agility that any American tonic company would
have proudly employed him to advertise 'pep'.
Rangnath was thoroughly annoyed. Once he turned away
Sanichar 's hand as it was moving towards a young girl's cheek and
said, 'What sort of behaviour is this?'
Sanichar 's eyes opened wide. He replied, 'This isn't behaviour,
guru, a mela. Then suddenly becoming humble, he stuck out
it's '

his teethand continued, 'Guru, it's a country mela matter. These

dodges, guru, are the wonders of the mela!
There was quite a crowd in front of the sweet and chaai shops.
Pile upon pile of harfi, the empress of Indian sweets, was stacked
up, and every young boy was well aware that in a street-fight they
could be used just like brickbats. To make these sweets the confec-
tioners and food inspectors had to carry out an enormous amount
of scientific research. After a great deal of hard work they had
discovered that instead of condensed milk they could use arum,
potato and rice flour, soil or even cow dung. They were all disciples
of harmony, expertly balancing ingredients, and they had taken an
oath never to make or sell anything which was not adulterated.
Chote Wrestler could be seen beside one shop. He was sitting on
a stool a little removed from the crowd, eating pieces of potato he
was spearing with a neem twig from a leaf cup. Sanichar and
Jognath left Ruppan Babu and went off towards Chote. Sanichar
'
said, 'Guru, if you allow us, we'll eat a few pieces of har^.
Chote looked at Sanichar and smiled benignly As if conferring
a boon, he said, 'Eat, son. Get some for Jognath too.'
Rangnath's stomach turned at the sight of the dust, flies and
other substances which were adding to the weight of the harji and
chaai. He said to Ruppan, 'Will you have anything?'
Ruppan replied disinterestedly, 'Why on earth should I?' With
this he surveyed the crowds. Some way off he spotted Singh Sahib,
whom he had met before. The sola hat planted firmly on his head
at the moment gave him the standing of a senior police officer
rather than a Sanitary Inspector. Several people were surrounding
Singh Sahib. Ruppan Babu said, 'While these gluttons are stuck
into the sweets, we'll go and see how that old fool is getting on.'
He went up to Singh Sahib. Singh's face was covered with four
or five days' growth of beard, and tobacco juice was just about to

121
drip from the corners of his mouth, but despite all this his sola hat
managed to make him look reasonably smart.
Ruppan Babu spoke. 'So, Singh Sahib, what's up?'
'Nothing's up, down, brother! I've had to charge ten vendors
it's

with adulteration. Now, Ruppan Babu, at my age to have come to

this! I'm going to wear the skin off my feet doing the rounds of the

courts to give evidence.'

Subduing the general clamour by raising his voice, Ruppan
Babu replied, 'What's in a charge, Singh Sahib! Take five or ten
rupees from each of them and the whole matter's settled.'
Raising his voice to a similar pitch, Singh Sahib said, 'Which
bastard is giving me five or ten rupees? All the vendors I charged
over here, all of the bastards, they're only willing to part with two
rupees. I told them, "If all you want is the charge, then take it, I'll
'
make it out for you right now."
Ruppan Babu raised his had and said, 'Where on earth do these
vendors come from? They're complete ignoramuses.'
A big strong man walked up to them. He looked quite awe-
inspiring, but when he spoke he was like a great, fat, rotten water-
melon. 'We are from Rohupur, sahib,' he whined, 'we've been
waiting so long to please the 'Nispictor Sahib, but he won't bring
down his rate below ten rupees a stall.'
Ruppan Babu said, 'Settle up, Singh Sahib. Even with the rate at
two rupees, you'll get twenty rupees. What's wrong with that? It's
not as if you've sold them a pile of wheat or anything valuable.'
Singh Sahib nearly split his throat as he roared, 'Two rupees!' He
laughed. 'Don't do me that much dishonour, Ruppan Babu.'
Encouraged by Ruppan's attitude the fat man said, 'Now, Babu
Sahib, just see our predicament. We've put up stalls here after a full
year. If we lose ten rupees to him, what will we have left?'
Ruppan had started this discussion in jest, but now he was
beginning to enjoy taking the vendors' side. He said, in a voice
which matched Singh Sahib's in volume, 'He's right you know.
What will he have left? Now settle, Singh Sahib, let it come down
to two-and-a-half rupees —
then both ^ides have given ground.' He
addressed the fat man. 'Go this moment and hand over twenty-five
rupees to Singh Sahib. and some sweets too.'
. . .

Singh Sahib shouted after his retreating figure, 'Don't bring any
sweets!' He explained his request to the general public in a

122
reasoned fashion. 'God knows whether the bloody stuff's made in
mahua oil. It
castor oil or stinks like goat droppings.'
Ruppan Babu came up closer still. They began to talk of domestic
matters. Ruppan asked, 'How's the mansion?'
Singh Sahib replied regretfully, 'No longer a mansion, you can
only call it a house now.' He fell silent, then added in a lifeless tone,
'It'slying half -finished. I'm thinking of auctioning it off just as it is.'
Inwardly Rangnath was seething. After the insult in the temple
he was longing for a fight. He remarked, 'Even after taking so many
bribes you haven't managed to build yourself a mansion?'
Singh Sahib wasn't annoyed by this comment. He looked at
Ruppan and raised his eyebrows as if to say, 'Who's this?' Ruppan
explained that Rangnath was his dada, and that Singh Sahib
shouldn't take anything he said to heart; his dada was a bit too well
educated and so occasionally put the cart before the horse. He
assured the official, 'But it doesn't matter, after all whatever he may
be like, he is one of us.'
Rangnath bit his lip and heaved a deep sigh. Singh Sahib began
to explain to him, 'The good old days are over, brother! that was the
age of mansions. No one can build himself a mansion out of bribes
nowadays. If you can keep your roof thatched, that's saying a lot.
Haven't you seen the sort of rates we're getting? My hands are
worn out writing ten charges and what do I get for it? It's like going
to kill a heron and ending up with no more than a handful of
feathers.'
The fat man returned. He pressed twenty-five one-rupee notes
into Singh Sahib's hand. Leaving his speech unfinished, Singh
Sahib carefully counted the notes twice. One note was particularly
grubby, so he had it changed. Then he slowly put the money into
a pocket in his vest.
Rangnath was watching his face. Singh Sahib said, 'Have you
seen what things have come to? Before, when people found out
that an official was ready to take bribes, they would surround him
in thousands. They used to give money and be grateful to you for
taking it. Now no one comes near you. If anyone does, then they
bring someone with them like Ruppan Babu, and because of my
regard for him the whole business is spoilt.
'These days taking bribes is a very humiliating business. There's
no charm left to it. There's really no difference left between a man

123
who takes bribes and one who doesn't. Both of them are in a bad
way/
The conversation was interrupted by an uproar at a nearby
shop. Someone said, 'It's started, it's started,' which meant that
people had started beating each other with lathis.
'What's the matter? What's up?' asked a number of people
converging on the shop. One man behaved as if the whole matter
was concealed somewhere in a tray of barfi. He grabbed a fistful of
the sweet and shouted, 'What's the matter?' For some time the
matter was investigated in a similar way. One man found it was
hidden in a pile of laddoos, another man found it in sugar cake.
There was a fair old free-for-all.
Suddenly two or three constables appeared on the scene bran-
dishing batons. They were generous rather than discreet in their
wielding of them, and so very soon you could say that the situation
was under control. The crowd had scattered. At the shop where the
main incident had taken place, the proprietor was lying on his back
sobbing and rubbing the spot where he had been hit by a baton. To
one side stood Chote Wrestler, Jognath and Sanichar Ruppan and
Rangnath came and joined them. The stage was set.
One constable asked, 'Let's hear what happened then! You're
rubbing your back so hard you'd think someone had dropped an
atom bomb on you.'
The shopkeeper stopped sobbing and addressed the public,
'Whatever happened, happened, and I've nothing more to say'
Chote Wrestler was standing rubbing the dirt on his elbows into
little rolls. Looking at the shopkeeper he said, 'No one can swindle

ganjahas like this. There's still the matter of our money'

Ruppan Babu now entered the field. Tossing back the locks
which had fallen forward onto his brow, he impressed the constable
with his learning. He said, 'This wrestler is with us. Don't think
these people are orphans and you can do what you like with them.
If you handle the matter properly you will have our fullest co-

operation. But if you do anything crooked there'll be seven

hundred college students out here tomorrow.'
One of the constables replied, 'Don't say anything just now,
brother We know who you are. Whatever will be done, will be done
properly'
Then he turned to the shopkeeper and asked, 'What statement
do you have to make?'

124
 The shopkeeper became immediately alert. His hands automat-
ically stopped rubbing his back. He said, 'Statement? I will not make
a statement now, sir! I shall only do so in the presence of my lawyer.'
The constable barked, 'Abeh! Who the hell's taking your state-
ment? I'm asking you what happened.'
The shopkeeper said, 'It was like this. Embodiment of Justice,
first that wrestler came and sat on the stool at the back. He ate two

plates of spinach and two plates of arum. When he was eating the
second plate of arum, these two ganjahas here arrived.' Looking
askance at Sanichar and Jognath he continued, 'These two asked
for one-fifty grammes of barfi each. I gave it to them.'
The constable turned to Chote Wrestler and asked, 'Is all this
true?'
Chote, making his reply sound like a curse, uttered the words,
'Yes, it is.'

'Then both these ganjahas ate their barfi and started to walk
away,' went on the shopkeeper, 'I said, "You owe me half a rupee."
Then they turned on me and said, "We've already given you half a
rupee, how many times do you want paying?" Here I feed
hundreds of customers at a time. How could I dare to try and cheat
them? I kept on asking for my money and they kept on saying that
they had already given it. I got a bit short with them and they
started swearing and cursing at me.'
Sanichar interrupted, 'Just stick to the truth, Lala Chiranjimal!
You say we ate half-a-rupee's worth of barfi, and so do we. You say
that we didn't give the money, and we say we did.'
Rangnath interjected, 'So what's the trouble then. If he hasn't
had the money already, they'll give it him.'
Sanichar said, 'Listen to this brother here! If we begin paying for
things twice like this, we'll soon be reduced to begging in the
streets.'

'The real trouble not over half a rupee,' said the shopkeeper,
is

'it's over that wrestler over there. When these two ganjahas were

kicking up a row over their half a rupee, he went and told me not
to get so busy arguing with them, that 1 forgot the rupee he had
given me. Now he hadn't paid as much as a quarter of a pice, and
here he was telling me not to forget the rupee he'd given me! What
is the world coming to?'

The wrestler did not react to this accusation. He was still rubbing
little rolls of dirt off his body.

125
 .

The constable said, 'What do you have to say, wrestler?'

Chote replied, 'What do I have to say? I am not one to make too
much fuss. All I want is my half-rupee change and nothing more
to do with all this/
The discussion continued for some considerable time. People in
the surrounding crowd also began to talk amongst themselves, the
general theme of these conversations being that there was a fight
like this at the mela every year, that it was always the ganjahas who
started it, were all rogues, but who could talk back
that the ganjahas
to them, and that the fact was that, if the truth be told, every village
had the same problem, all the young lads were just as wild and. . .

It still wasn't settled who should give how much to whom.

Finally a constable suggested the simple solution that the simple
solution was for both sides to call it quits. If the wrestlerhad given
a rupee he should forget about the change, and if the shopkeeper
hadn't been paid, he should forget about the payment.
Both sides were very dissatisfied with this suggestion, but after
a lot of hue and cry they both accepted it. Then a similar uproar
broke out in the direction of the country liquor shop, and the police
hurried off there. The crowd thinned.
Suddenly Rangnath said severely, 'I never knew that I was in the
company of looters. What a bunch of characters!'
Ruppan Babu stared at him in surprise, 'Who? The shopkeepers?
Hunh, they are born looters.'
Rangnath's face began to turn red. He went up to the shop-
keeper. Taking a five-rupee note from his pocket he offered it to
him and said, 'Cut the price of three people's sweets and snacks
out of this. Forget it happened.'
He turned towards his companions. Ruppan pulled a face as if
to say that this boy on displaying all his stupidity in one day.
is set
Chote said softly, 'Let him get it off his chest. He's an educated man.
He's Aym May pass, who's going to interfere with him?'
Chote began to look elsewhere as if the whole business had
nothing to do with him, and the problem was only that some man
with an M.A. degree had embarked on a course of idiocy.
But Ruppan spoke up. 'The decision's been reached, brother!
Now you have no right to speak. If you wanted to do anything you
should have done it in front of the police, then there would have
been a point to it.'

126
 Rangnath threw down the note in front of the shopkeeper.
Ignoring Ruppan, he said, 'Quick, give me back the change/
A crowd had begun to gather again. The shopkeeper took a
hasty look around and returned the note, saying, 'You're an out-
sider here, babuji. I have to live here.'

The group had now divided into three. Jognath had headed off to
the liquor shop, and Sanichar and Chote Wrestler had gone to the
far side of the mela where a few of their acquaintances were
straining bhang. Rangnath and Ruppan Babu returned together.
Rangnath had become rather grave, and was also tired. He sat
down to rest on the wall surrounding a well. Ruppan Babu
remained standing, and began to watch the preparations for a
partridge fight which was about to start nearby.
A short distance from the well was a ruined building. There, next
to a pillar, sat a girl —
a young girl with a wheaten complexion in a
brightly coloured sari, a gold ring in her nose. After the dirt of the
mela, this scene appealed to Rangnath. He gazed in her direction.
A man in a dirty lungi and a clean, shiny, imitation silk kurta was
standing some distance from the girl, puffing at a beedi. Behind his
ear was a ball of lime; oil dripped from his hair. Slowly he ap-
proached the girl and then sat down about a yard from her. He said
something and the girl smiled. Rangnath was pleased by her smile.
He wished she would look in his direction, and the girl did indeed
look at him. He wished that she would smile at him. She did smile.
The man with the dripping hair lit another beedi.
A man wearing a dhoti, kurta and cap came up to Rangnath. By
country standards he looked quite respectable. Rangnath glanced
at him, and then looked back towards the girl. She had stopped
smiling. Her face had assumed something of the tender expression
which the faces of Hindi film heroines assume before breaking into
a love song.
The man near Rangnath asked softly, 'You come from around
these parts?'
Rangnath shook his head and said, 'No.'
The man came and sat down confidently by Rangnath. He said,
'These rustics don't understand anything. Sing this film song, sing
that film song. .
.!'

Rangnath listened to his remarks with interest, but couldn't

127
follow his meaning. The man continued, 'But if you ask her to sing
a tillana, a dadra, or even a thumri, anything at all classical, she will
sing her heart out/
Musing, he said dreamy-eyed and romantically, 'She went to
Rohupur. Now she's off to Baijegaon.'
In the town Rangnath had once heard a similar remark being
made of Ravi Shankar. An announcer had said, 'He has just
returned from Edinburgh; now in the winter months he's going to
New York.'
Rangnath nodded encouragingly, and the man began to give
him a complete picture of the girl's qualities. Hesitating at first he
said, 'Hers isn't the sort of art you can appreciate by the roadside.
Come to her room and hear her there. Then you'll be able to tell a
real performer from an impostor.'
Rangnath was still watching the girl. The man with the dripping
hair was now sitting right next to her. They were both talking,
smiling and occasionally looking towards Rangnath. He finally
realized that these people had great hopes of him.
Seeing the man in the dhoti-kurta and cap and Rangnath from
a distance, anyone would have thought that two serious-minded
men were in profound contemplation of the problems facing the
nation. His brows drawn together, the man was saying, 'The new
laws have ruined everything. All kinds of aristocrats are longing to
hear her songs. But now the police have given permission too, and
music has started in the houses of joy'
Rangnath stood up. So did the man, saying, 'I too have pushed
myself to my limits in training her the last ten years. Now she has
developed a voice like a peacock's. After all this practice, she's
become one in a thousand.'
Rangnath looked towards Ruppan Babu. He had slipped away
to watch the partridge fight.
Rangnath called out, 'Ruppan!'
The man thought for a while and then said, 'She's a girl of your
own religion, a Hindu, and very simple.'
Then, pulling a long face, he continued with pride, 'She just
sings. She's been with people of quality. She's not a prostitute.'
Rangnath told the man, 'A very good thing too. If singers become
prostitutes their music suffers. Music requires a mental harmony
too. Make sure she stays as she is.'

128
 The man was taken aback. He said, 'You know everything. I
'
don't have to explain. One day come to her room
Catching sight of Ruppan Babu he stopped. Ruppan had sud-
denly come up from behind. He thundered, 'Certainly he'll come
to her room. But who do you think you're talking to? Turn round
and recognize your father!'
The man joined his hands, his demeanour changed. He smiled
roguishly and said, 'Sir, my father is money!'
Rangnath smiled. Darting a glance at the girl he saw that she
was grinning.

Ruppan and Rangnath walked on in silence. Finally Ruppan said,

'What was he telling you? Did he say she had started taking men
or not?'
Rangnath didn't reply.
'We're surrounded by frauds. I've been seeing this bloody whore
since I was a child,' remarked Ruppan like a senior citizen. 'For
years she's been roaming round with a ring in her nose, and he's
been beating out praise for her dadras and thumris. She's got a voice
like a buffalo, pretends to be a master musician, and is actually the
rottenest whore in the whole area. No one would even pay a cowrie
for her.'
Rangnath was proceeding rather wearily. Ruppan was telling
him, 'If I hadn't come when I did there's no way he'd have shut up.
He had practically hooked you.'
He continued in the same mode. Suddenly Rangnath asked,
'Ruppan, why did you write a love letter to Bela?'
Ruppan Babu's speech suddenly faltered, but recovering him-
self he said, 'You've been in the town all this time and you still don't
know why people write love letters!'
Rangnath had an answer to this. He merely said, 'Uncle will be
very annoyed.'
Ruppan Babu drew himself up to his full height and stiffened,
'What right has he got to get angry? Tell him to talk to me face-to-
face. Hemarried when he was fourteen. My mother died, and so
he married again at the age of seventeen. He couldn't do without
it for even a year And that's what he's done legally. And what
. . .

'
he's done on the side,you want to hear about
if that too
'No,' said Rangnath, 'I don't want to.'

129
SIXTEEN

The ground underneath a thatched roof where buffaloes were

tethered at night was being wiped dry with paddy straw and ash.
When the smell of buffalo urine had been subdued by the ash the
man wiping the ground was assured it was clean. On top of the ash
he spread a large piece of sacking, and on the sacking a colourful
cotton rug on one comer of which was written 'Village Judicial
Council, Bhikhmakhera'.
He fetched a wooden box and placed it in the centre of the rug.
Then, going up to the brick platform nearby, he spat as much spittle
as you can in two spits, and lit a beedi.
The jurisdiction of the Judicial Council Bhikhmakhera also
of
extended over the Shivpalganj Village Council area. Kusahar
Prasad had filed a case of assault against his son, Chote Wrestler.
Today was the third hearing. The only decision taken at the pre-
vious two hearings was that the case could not be taken up as
Kusahar and Chote were present, but the panches, or members of
the council, were not.
Sitting on the platform was the beedi-smoking chaprassi of the
Judicial Council. Having finished his beedi he spat again, then
bending to one side, he stretched, gave an enormous yawn, and
said to himself, 'Where the hell have these people got to?' When
no answer came, he lit another beedi.
Then five men appeared, walking together One was Kusahar
Prasad and another was Chote Wrestler. The other three were the
Sarpanch and two panches. There were two rather faint scars on
Kusahar 's head. So that they might be displayed more prominently
he had shaved his head. On the map of his bald pate, the two
plateaus of the wounds were clearly visible.
A file was opened. The Sarpanch asked one of the panches,
'Please read out Kusahar 's prosecution case to the defendant.'
The panch looked at the file rather uncertainly, flipping the
pages back and forth. In the same way that a man who knows Hindi
is stupefied by the sight of the Tamil, Telegu, Kannada and

Malayalam scripts, the panch said in a rather far-away voice, 'When

130
a senior man like you is present, how can I read the case? Do please
read it out yourself and proceed with it/

The became something of a hot potato. The first panch

file

turned it around and handed it back to the Sarpanch. The Sarpanch

took it with one hand and then with the other gave it to the second
panch. The second panch examined rather closely a round stamp
on the last page, then suddenly passed the file on to panch number
one. The file passed through so many hands that it seemed impos-
sible that their job was not complete.
Finally Kusahar Prasad said, 'Sarpanchji, the Secretary hasn't
come today. How
long will you go on troubling yourself with all
this botheration of reading and writing? Set another date. The case
can be heard later.'
The Sarpanch replied heroically, 'What are you saying Kusahar
Prasad? The soldier who fears the bullet and the Sarpanch who
.'
fears reading and writing, they are both. . .

Chote Wrestler yawned and stretched so hard a cracking sound

came from his ribs. In a bored tone he commented, 'You people have
been messing around for a whole hour. Are you going to start the
hearing or just keep on twiddling your thumbs?'
Immediately the Sarpanch opened the proceedings. He tried
again to read the file. He held one of its pages up to his mouth.
Spittle oozed on to the corners of his lips. He screwed up his eyes,
making the crow's feet around them stand out. It looked as though
thiswas one of the most exceptional moments of his life.
The file was now almost touching his mouth. He clicked his
tongue, drew in his breath, and then, without consuming even a
morsel of it, put it down again. After this ritual he said formally, 'I
have read the prosecution case of Mr Kusahar Prasad. Kusahar
Prasad says that the son of Kusahar Prasad, Chote father's name —
—
Kusahar Prasad has beaten Kusahar Prasad with a lathi without
reason. The prosecution is being made under Section 323 of the
Indian Penal Code.'
Chote Wrestler was sitting there as if he had no connection with
the proceedings. The Sarpanch's forehead clouded. He asked,
'What do you say, Kusahar? This is the problem, isn't it? The
defendant, Chote, beat you?'
'Yes, Sarpanchji, in front of thousands of people. He beat all my
ribsand bones to chaff.'
The Sarpanch said gravely, 'Think twice before you say that,

131
Kusahar! Ifyour bones were broken the charge becomes serious.
Then you will have to go to the town court. Here we only deal with
Section 323. If it turns into a 325 you'll not be done with it until
you've tasted the water of the town tap.
Kusahar pondered for a moment. 'Then, Sarpanchji, my bones
were really only a little broken! It was just a manner of speech. But
he beat me badly. He thrashed me like paddy straw. Look at the
wounds on my head. He's no son to me, he's an enemy'
One panch was sitting on the edge of the sack-cloth quietly
telling his prayer beads. On his brow was a white tilak, around his
throat a string of sacred rudraksha beads. He was an elderly,
respectable man. He looked an expert at calculating auspicious
dates and times and performing rituals, and an experienced prac-
titioner of ayurvedic medicine as well. These skills were enough for
him to make a comfortable country living. But this was not all.
When he had the chance, he would also show off his talents in the
town. There he would meet all kinds of senior officials, reveal the
end of the seven-and-a-half years of Saturn's influence on them,
predict their promotion or a foreign trip, and thereby extract from
them handsome remunerations, as well as even handsomer
government grants. When he heard Kusahar say that Chote was
not his son, but his enemy, he cut short his prayers and uttered the
words, 'Oh God!'
Chote cleared his throat. The Sarpanch said, 'You're coughing a
lot.'

The wrestler replied, 'My father is wailing like a widow. Listen

to him. Take my cough into consideration later.'
The Sarpanch asked Kusahar, your bones were not broken.
'So
If that is the case then the matter is one of Section 323.'

Slowly he repeated, 'Then this remains a case of Section 323. No

spears or daggers were involved? If they were, say so. But then it
becomes a matter of Section 324.'
Kusahar said nervously, 'No, Sarpanchji, what use would we
have for spears and daggers? For seven generations we people
have been using lathis.'
'Good!' said the Sarpanch. He turned over a few pages in the file
and asked, 'Kusahar, tell me then, why did Chote beat you?'
Chote answered, 'How could he tell you? Shall I give you the
reason?'
The Sarpanchji smiled and said, 'In law, too, people wait their

132
turn, wrestler. First the plaintiff, then the defendant. Your turn will
come, don't worry.'
'Who's worrying? And don't you worry either. When God wills
it, your number will come up too.'

The Sarpanch ignored this. Instead he asked Kusahar, 'So tell me,
brother, why did Chote beat you?'
'How can I say why he hit me? Why does a savage bullock attack
people? He's young, he's a wrestler. No one in the whole village
can do him down. His body longs to fight. His hands were itching
.'
and to stop them, he went and had a go at me. . .

'Not true!' interjected the Sarpanch, 'It takes two hands to clap!
You must have done something to provoke him!'
Kusahar pretended innocence. 'What could I have done,
Sarpanch] i? How can I stand up against Chote?'
The Sarpanch looked down as if deep in thought. After a while
he went on, 'Don't pretend to be so simple, Kusahar Prasad. The
court here knows every vein in your body. Our investigations have
uncovered the whole story. At your age running after women?
You're trying to make fools of us, maharaj You're no less of a rascal
!

than anyone else!'

Kusahar 's voice faltered, 'Sarpanchji, in my house I was beaten
with a lathi, and here you are beating me with words. What sort of
justice is this?'
The prayer-bead-telling panch said, 'Let's leave what's covered
up, covered up. But just don't try raking things up too much,
Kusahar Maharaj ! We all know you're no great saint.'
The other panch said, 'Let the case continue! Whatever Kusahar
may have got up to, the case before us is one of Section 323, and
let'skeep it at that.'
But the intoxication of the case had gone to the Sarpanch's head.
Stubbornly he said, 'What do you know of what's going on
anywhere? I have just come back from the Tehsil Office. On the
way I talked to some people. Old Sanichar was there too. What I
heard made my ears burn. This Kusahar is no better than he should
be. There is as much of him sunk below the ground as there is above
.'
it. The village's. . .

This insult knocked Kusahar sideways. He began glancing

around him meekly. In his day he'd been quite fierce, but only
where fighting was concerned. Faced with the law he always had
behaved humbly. At that moment he was making a silent appeal to

133
all those present; tears were practically dripping from his eyes.
However the panches and the Sarpanch were sitting contentedly
observing his discomfiture.
Kusahar slowly raised his head to look at Chote and suddenly
appeared apprehensive.
Chote was frowning. His lips were compressed. He stood up and
told the Sarpanch, 'Eh, you fool, don't kick up such a row! If I give

—
you one clout round the ear you'll sink into the ground you and
your cases-vases. For the last two hours I have been listening to you
calling my father a bastard. If my father is a bastard, then what do
you think your father is?' As he said this Chote's voice began to
tremble. 'I haven't died yet,' he went on, 'now if there is anyone
here who is the real son of his father, let him try to insult my father
and see how far he gets.'
There was pindrop silence. The chaprassi quietly bounded over
to the far corner of the thatched area like a cat and hid. The
Sarpanch was dumbfounded. Kusahar breathed a sigh of relief. The
prayer-bead-telling panch closed his eyes, and muttered, 'God!'
Chote growled like a tiger, 'Eh, God! I'll stuff your prayer beads
down your throat and take them out through your stomach. I'll
have this God-act out of you in a moment!'
Kusahar now spoke up. 'Oh, Chotua! That's enough. Now be
quiet! It's a legal matter. The case will take its course.'
'You sit there and take it. Father, I know what's going on. Tomorrow
I'll go to the town in person and lodge a complaint against them.

They have called you God knows what in a public meeting. If I don't
have every one of them doing hard labour in the one-and-a-
quarter-lakh jailhouse, then you'll know I wasn't born of your
urine.'
With this he caught hold of Kusahar 's arm and dragged him out
from under the thatch.

134
SEVENTEEN

In the early hours of the morning Vaidyaji began to feel the cold
and woke up. Breaking down the combined defences provided by
doses of ayurvedic tonics like Chyavanprash, Swarnbhasm and
Badam Pak, the cold crept under his skin, pierced the thick layers
of his flesh, and chilled him to the marrow. He tried to wrap the
quilt around him properly, remembering that a bed was always
colder when there was no one to share it. This thought triggered
off a succession of memories, the practical effect of which was to
lull him into a doze. Explosions of wind began to erupt from the

upper and lower portions of his body. He pressed the quilt closely
around him and turned over. Finally, as he was listening to one last
explosion from this internal revolution, he drifted off again. Imme-
diately the wind of revolution was tamed and began merely to flow
in and out of his nostrils in snores. Vaidyaji slept and it was then
that he dreamed of Democracy.
He saw Democracy squatting on the ground next to his wooden
bed, his hands folded in supplication. His face looked like a
ploughman's, and he couldn't even speak good Hindi, let alone
English. Still he was pleading with Vaidyaji and Vaidyaji was listen-
ing to his pleas. Time and time again Vaidyaji tried to persuade him
to con\e and sit on the wooden bed beside him, telling him that
although he might be poor, he was after all Vaidyaji's own relative.
But again and again Democracy called him 'Sir' and 'Master'. After
a lot of persuasion Democracy did get up and sit on the corner of
the wooden bed and when he had been sufficiently consoled to be
able to talk sense, he appealed to Vaidyaji, saying, 'My clothes are
in rags, and I'll soon be naked. I'm ashamed to come before anyone
in this state, therefore. Oh, Vaidya Maharaj, give me a clean new
dhoti to wear!'
Vaidyaji was about to ask Badri Wrestler to fetch a dhoti from
inside the house, when Democracy shook his head and said, 'I am
the Democracy of your college and the annual meeting hasn't been
held there for years. The election for the post of manager hasn't
been held since the day the college opened. These days everything
in the college is flourishing, only I am left to rot in a corner. Please

135
hold regular elections just once! That will give me new clothes for
my body. My shame will be covered/
Saying this Democracy left the sitting-room and Vaidyaji's sleep
was interrupted for a second time. As he woke he heard a fresh
explosion from his internal revolution coming from under the quilt
in the direction of the foot of the bed, and immediately decided
that no matter how dull-witted Democracy looked, he was a good
man and one of his own men too, and that he should be helped.
At the very least he should be given new clothes so that he would
be fit to sit in the company of gentlemen.

The next day the Principal was instructed by Vaidyaji to call the
college's annual meeting and to hold elections for the manager's as
well as the other office bearers' posts. The Principal tried hard to
persuade Vaidyaji that it was neither necessary nor meet to hold
fresh elections. But Vaidyaji told him to keep quiet as this was a
matter of principle. Even then the Principal went on to point out
that so far there had been no adverse criticism of the college in the
newspapers, nor had there been any complaint made to the higher
authorities, nor had anyone taken out a protest demonstration, nor
gone on any hunger strike. Everyone was sitting quietly. No one
was as much as mentioning the annual meeting; and the people
who were, after all, who were they? The same Khanna Master, the
same Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi and a few of his hangers-on. It
would not be wise, he argued, to be tricked by them into holding
the annual meeting.
Vaidyaji listened to he had to say and then replied, 'You are
all

right. But this matter is beyond your understanding because it's a

matter of principle. So go and prepare for the meeting.'
That very evening Rangnath and Ruppan Babu were dispatched
to find out Gayadin's opinion on the election. As Vice President of
the College Committee, he was at that moment a rather important
man, and it was essential to discover who he wanted to see as
Manager And if he wasn't on Vaidyaji's side, it was also essential
somehow or other to bring about a change of heart. Ruppan Babu
and Rangnath went to him with the intention of opening prelimi-
nary discussions.
But at the very start Gayadin made their whole task easy He
politely invited them to sit down on a charpoy, asked Rangnath a

136
few questions about education in the towns, fed them savoury
cakes and laddoos made with pure ghee, and as soon as the matter
of the elections was mentioned he stated clearly, 'Everything
should be done after due consideration. You shouldn't get carried
away by whatever wind happens to be blowing. There is no harm
in holding an election for the Manager's post, but Vaidya Maharaj
should remain the Manager because the college belongs to Vaidya
Maharaj. How could anyone else become Manager? This point
should be well understood.'
He made it sound as if Rangnath and Ruppan Babu were about
to vote against Vaidyaji and he was the one running Vaidyaji's
election campaign. Rangnath was amused. He said, 'You are one of
the old school. You think everything out properly. But Ramadhin
Bhikmakhervi and some other people want to put someone else in
Uncle's place. I can't think what's possessed them.'
Gayadin cleared his throat and said softly, 'They are inex-
perienced. They think if someone else becomes Manager he will be
able to achieve something, but nothing ever happens like that.'
He paused, and then completed his point. 'The cobra is no
different from the viper.'
Rangnath was none too happy with this comment as it cast
aspersions on Vaidyaji's standing. He said, 'That's all very well but
how can you compare Uncle with these other people?'
'I have already told you how,' explained Gayadin, 'the college is

Vaidya Maharaj 's and should stay in his hands. The Village Council
is Ramadhin's and should stay with him. Everyone should be

happy in their own place. There is nothing to be gained from this

show of elections. If you choose a new man, he'll turn out to be
fifth-rate too. They are all the same. That is why I said choose the
man who is already there. Let him stay where he is. What is the
point of turning everything upside down?'
Ruppan Babu was wondering whether or not to eat the last
remaining laddoo. Once he had heard that Gayadin wanted to keep
Vaidyaji as manager he lost interest in the conversation. He knew
from now on it would all be nonsense. But to Rangnath, Gayadin's
views were rather novel. Here he'd heard a new opinion of
—
democracy that since the people who stand for elections are
generally fifth-rate, you had better not exchange the devil you
know for one that you don't. Designating this as the Gayadin
Theory of Democracy, Rangnath listened to him go on to say, 'Even

137
the Principal laughed shyly he made the same sort of noise. He
began to walk ahead saying, 'Ramadhin's faction has put in a lot
of effort.With the help of Lai Sahib of Baijegaon they managed to
win over quite a few people. God knows why Lai Sahib got in-
volved in this business. He lives in the town but he sticks his nose
into everything that goes on in the village. Ramadhin's head has
swollen. You can't tell how many men are on our side and how
many on his.'
Chote Wrestler gazed at the flower beds in front of the college
building as the Principal continued, 'How can I tell you? The things
Vaidyaji does sometimes. What need was there for this election. .?'
. .

Chote recited a verse which came from a hymn popular at the

time, 'What have I to do with the world? Sri Krishna alone is dear
to me.'
Inside the gate the Principal also told Rangnath, 'Please do come
in, Rangnath Babu, there's no restriction on you.'
He nodded to indicate that he would follow them, but he didn't
go inside.
Slowly the other members of the general committee arrived in
several ways by several routes. A director of the co-operative came
on foot, walking so fast and entering the building with such speed
that people looked at each other in astonishment. A few minutes
later, the Contractor Sahib could be seen coming from the opposite

direction, trampling over the crops in the college's fields. Halting

where the labourers were at work, with dramatic gestures he
seemed to lift something up to the sky and then throw it down
again, before suddenly disappearing from view. A little later Babu
Gayadin came slowly up to the college gate and sat on the low wall
of the small bridge which crossed the ditch running in front of it.
He gazed unhappily at the sticks and bats in the boys' hands and
then stared at a ball a boy was holding tightly, as if to mesmerize it.
From the gate the Principal Sahib said, 'Do come in. Member Sahib.
Everyone else has arrived.'
As if he had been arrested for dacoity and was being summoned
tobe identified by the witnesses, he replied dispiritedly, 'Let's go.'
Walking with his legs splayed out like a penguin he slowly, incon-
spicuously, entered the college building.
A little later a horseman could be discerned riding up the road.
He was wearing a brilliantly coloured turban, and it seemed as if
he had just stepped out of the twelfth century. One boy said, 'Now

139
if new man wants to achieve something, what can he do? You can
a
only achieve something when other people let you. In these times
does anyone let anyone do anything? The only thing left nowadays
.'
is. . .

The boys Changamal Vidyalaya Intermediate College were

of the
quite well-acquainted with the sports world as every month their
ears were twisted until they deposited their sports fees. It was
another matter that there were no playing fields in the vicinity of
the college. No one, however, minded this. In fact, all parties were
content. Thanks to sports, the Games Master had so much free time
that he could infiltrate both factions of masters and win their
confidences.
The Principal was also saved a lot of bother. There were never
any fights between hockey teams (because there were no hockey
teams) and so no problem of discipline ever arose in the college on
that score. The boys' fathers were happy that the nuisance of sports
could be put off just by paying the fees, and that the boys were
saved from becoming real sportsmen. The boys were happy too.
They knew that in the same time it would take to run like a lunatic
from one goal to another holding a stick and chasing after a ball the
size of a clod of earth, they could swallow a whole pitcher of toddy,
or, if their luck was in, win five or six rupees at cards.

Today these same boys were clutching hockey sticks and cricket
bats with as much arrogance as if they'd been rifles. About fifty of
them were roaming around in front of the college gate.
Seeing them thus equipped, Rangnath asked, 'What's the mat-
ter? Is theregoing to be a college inspection today too?'
—
Chote Wrestler prepared to answer that is, he gathered his
falling lungi around him before saying, 'With all this hullabaloo,
who's going to hold an inspection? These are the preparations for
the annual meeting.'
Chote Wrestler was also a member of the College Committee.
The boys let out a whoop of joy at the sight of him. At the gate itself
the Principal Sahib welcomed him saying, 'Please come in,
Chotelalji, we were just waiting for you.'
'Having come all the way here I'm hardly likely to go away again.
Go on, after you,' said Chote in a gentlemanly fashion. When a dog
gets drenched in the monsoon it sneezes in a particular way. When

138
 ' —
no one can touch a hair on Vaidyaji's head. Thakur Balram Singh
has come!'
As soon as he dismounted, Balram Singh gave the reins of his
horse to one of the boys. Without the horse he began to look more
like a man of the eighteenth century.
He rushed on to the bridge hastily, as if entering Agra Fort
mounted on a camel to deliver news of a rebellion to a Mughal
Emperor, and asked one boy, 'There's been no fighting yet, has
there?'
The boy replied, 'Fighting? We are all on the Principal's side and
are followers of non-violence.'
Balram Singh stroked his moustache. Smiling, he remarked, 'You
lads are no less rascals than anyone else. You're wandering around
brandishing hockey sticks and pretending to be sons of Mahatma
Gandhi at the same time.'
The boy said, 'Mahatma Gandhi too used to walk with a stick.
We aren't armed. These are hockey sticks, we can't even hit the
bloody ball with them, let alone a man.'
The Principal Sahib came out again. 'Please do come in. Member
Sahib. A quorum has been reached. The meeting is about to
start.'

Balram Singh wiped his forehead with the end of his turban. 'Tell
one of your pupils to give my horse food and water. What have I
got to do with the meeting inside? I've got my own quorum out
here.'
The Principal nodded happily. Balram Singh grasped the pocket
of his kurta and said, 'If you don't believe me, feel it. My pocket's
full. This is the real quorum.'
The Principal Sahib did not touch his pocket, but said, 'I don't
need to feel it. Would you ever speak empty words?'
Balram Singh went on, 'It's a real foreign piece a six-shooter —
not one of these country pistols which blow up if you fire them
once. If this starts firing six members of Ramadhin's faction will roll
over like hen-sparrows.'
'What words! What words!' exclaimed the Principal as if great
poetry was dropping from Balram Singh's lips into his ears. As he
walked away he said, 'I'm going to the meeting. Please take care
of things outside.' Then, sounding like Mahatma Vidura trying to
prevent the Mahabharat war, he appealed, 'Let the job be done in
peace, with shanti.

140
 'It's all shanti here. I've got fifty Shantis under my thigh.'
The Principal Sahib left.

Balram Singh sat on the bridge. For a while he occupied himself

with rolling tobacco-induced saliva around his mouth and spitting
it out. Then he said to the boy who considered himself a bigger

disciple of non-violence than Mahatma Gandhi, 'Son, just go and

take a round of the college compound and see if our men have
blockaded the place properly or not. And tell that bastard Ramesera
not to start any altercations. He's to send anyone who won't listen
to reason round here to the gate.'
The boy went off to reconnoitre like a boy scout upon whose
success rests his country's victory in war. The chatter among the
boys strolling around increased. Balram Singh said, 'You can take a
long walk, my sons, no need to worry about anything. As long as
I'm here on the bridge no enemy can come near.'
It was three o'clock. Trucks and bullock-carts were setting out on
the road. Balram Singh was sitting crosslegged on the bridge and
watching their comings and goings dreamily. Once his horse whin-
nied and he called out, 'Good boy, Chetak, be patient! You'll get
your grain and water on time!' Chetak was patient, and to prove it
began to let forth a stream of urine. A circle of boys stood round
the horse observing its reactions before and after urination, and
joking intimately with one another
Suddenly a truck drove up in front of the college. A man in a
clean kurta-pajama and cap, and armed with a cane, jumped down
and walked briskly in the direction of the college. As soon as they
saw the truck stop, the students came running towards the bridge
from all Balram Singh interrupted the man's progress
directions.
with the words, I touch your feet.'
'Panditji,
The man mumbled something under his breath and headed
towards the gate. Balram Singh said, 'Pandit, just slow down. No
one's after you.'
The pandit gave an embarrassed laugh and replied, 'The
meeting's started, hasn't it?'

Balram Singh stood up and went slowly across to the pandit. The
boys encircling them closed in. Balram Singh rebuked them, 'Run
away, boys, go and play somewhere else!'

141
 Then, coming close to the pandit he said, 'Your presence in the
meeting has already been registered. Now go back!'
The pandit attempted to speak, but pushing even closer to him,
Balram Singh repeated, T'm saying this with reason. Go back!'
The pandit felt something hard pressing into his thigh. He
glanced down at Balram Singh's kurta pocket and took two steps
backwards in astonishment.
Bidding him farewell, Balram Singh said again, 'I touch your
feet, Panditji.'
The pandit returned in silence. There was no vehicle on the road.
The truck had driven off. He went off hurriedly on foot. A boy said,
'Gone.' Balram Singh remarked, 'The pandit is a very sensible man.
He understood.'
'He may have understood, but why did he have to run away like
that?'asked a student.
'You're still only a boy, son!' replied Balram Singh, 'On such
occasions a man moves exactly like that.'
Another student had begun feeding his horse. It whinnied. This
time Balram Singh scolded it, 'Quiet, Chetak!'
The boy scout had returned. Without changing his tone Balram
Singh snapped, 'Well, what is it then? What news have you got?'
The scout grinned with fear like any average scared student and
replied, 'Thakur Sahib! Everything is all right.'
'How many men came that side?'
'Five.'

'Did they understand, or were any of them foolish?'

all

'They all understood.' The scout had by now recovered his

courage. Gesturing towards the receding figure of the pandit he
said, 'Like him they all turned tail and ran.' He laughed loudly.
Balram Singh said, 'This sort of thing would be the death of a
sensible man.'

There were joyous shouts in the college. One person raised the cry,
'Say, "Victory to Ram Chandra, Spouse of Sita!" When it comes to '

hailing someone's, or some God's, victory, can anyone beat the

Indians? The shouts started with Ram Chandra, Spouse of Sita,
followed by 'Hail to Hanuman, Son of the Wind!' Then, God knows
why, they suddenly pounced on Mahatma Gandhi.
'Say, "Victory to the Mahatma!" Then it was as if they had been
'

142
 ' '

given the green signal. There was one call for the victory of
Jawaharlal Nehru, one each for the state leaders, one each for the
district leaders and finally the real cry of triumph, 'Say, "Victory to
'
VaidyaMaharaj!"
The Principal Sahib v^alked out of the building shrieking like a pig
."
stuck with a dagger, and he too screamed, 'Say, "Victory to. . .

'Vaidya Maharaj!' came the ready shouts of the younger genera-

tion outside the gate. It was like a mela. The Principal Sahib began
to explain to Rangnath, 'Well then, once again Vaidya Maharaj has
been elected unanimously. You will see the progress the college will
make now. Dhakadhak, dhakadhak, dhakadhak! It'll run like the Toofan
Mail!' He was jubilant, and his face was turning red.
Chote Wrestler said, 'Eh, Principal, don't be so hasty. Listen to
what I have to say. You had better give these boys who are running
around with sticks in their hands a ball each as well, so that they
can get in some target practice. There's not one of them who could
hit a ball. They all just thrash the dust like they were killing a snake.'
'Certainly, Member Sahib, certainly. There will also be sports
facilities. We have got over this problem, now.
.

. .

'That you have, but let me finish what I was saying. You say yes
to everything, but on your own you couldn't even pull up a radish
if you tried. I was talking about sports. The boys just hang around

brandishing those hockey sticks. Today, if they'd needed to, they

wouldn't have been able to do more than whirl them in the air If
they had tried to land them on anyone's back, they would have hit
their own knees instead. When the time comes, their aim should
be good.'
Vaidyaji said from behind, 'Sports are also important. Principal
Sahib! Chote's words are not out of place.'
'Heh, heh,' said the Principal admiring the wrestler's body with
a loving look, 'Is this man a wrestler, or isn't he? Could he ever say
anything out of place?'

143
EIGHTEEN

'It's a very old story. There was a nawab and he had a son.You
people were talking about the Judicial Council. That's what
reminded me of this story. It's good that Chote challenged the
Sarpanch there and then. The justice of the village court is not for
people of the likes of Chotelal. He's a very important man. Such a
great wrestler! A member of our College Committee. That sort of
justice is for peasants. "Kaurilla-brand" justice. Heh, heh, heh. Do
you know what kaurilla is? It's a weed that grows in barren land.
You must have seen it in the summer, it has white flowers. But then
you're from the town, where would you have seen it! Anyway,
these village judicial councils all do kaurilla-brand justice. And that
Sarpanch? He spouts the same nonsense to everybody. But this
time he fell into the hands of Chote Wrestler. That's what finished
the man off. He got twice as much as he bargained for.
'Right from the start I told Kusahar Prasad not to go to the village
court. But he didn't listen. Now he's realized I was right. The
Sarpanch taking him to task straightened him out. He made peace
with Chote Lalji on the spot. and that was right too. How can you
. .

have a father and son fighting?

'So he had a son, the Nawab Sahib. Yes, yes, I'm telling that story
One day the poor prince fell ill. He had a fever which wouldn't get
better It went on for months. He was given all kinds of very
expensive medicines. All the vaids, hakims and doctors were at their
wits' ends. Crores of rupees were poured down the drain to try and
cure him, but the prince was still in exactly the same condition.
'The nawab began to beat his head in despair. Everywhere he
had announcements made that anyone who could cure the prince
could take half his kingdom and marry his daughter. Then hakims
began to arrive from great distances. They tried their very best, but
the prince didn't open his eyes.
'Finally an elderly hakim arrived. He examined the prince and
said, "Refuge of the World, half the kingdom and your daughter's
hand won't do for me. I have no need for such a life of luxury. If
only one small request of mine is granted, then the responsibility

144
for curing the prince is niine. To submit my request I need to talk to
you alone/'
'When all the courtiers were chased off the hakim said, "Protector
of Men, I request that now your Begum Sahiba should come to
speak to me, and that she should answer truthfully whatever I ask/'
'The Nawab too went out of the room. The Queen presented
herself before the hakim. The hakim looked at her sternly and said,
"Look here. Begum Sahiba, if your son's life is dear to you tell me
honestly who is the prince's father? From whose seed was he
born?"
'The Queen began to cry. She sobbed, "Please do not reveal this
to anyone. But the truth is this that the prince is the son of one of
the palace's water-carriers. The poor wretch had come fresh from
the countryside, and I don't know how it happened but . . .
.'

'Hearing this much the hakim said, "Thank you! Now there's no
need to say any more." He clicked his fingers and said confidently,
"I'll restore the prince to health this instant."

'Then the hakim had all the medicines that had been prescribed
for the prince thrown away. Each one was more expensive than the
last;compounds made of diamonds and pearls, gold and silver. All
kinds of rare essences. They all went down the drain. After that the
hakim sprinkled water on the prince's eyelids and said, "Abeh, get
up. Spawn of a Water-Carrier!"
'That was all. Then the prince opened his eyes with a start. After
that the hakim went into the fields and pulled some kaurilla plants,
ground them in water and made the prince drink it. After three days
of drinking the kaurilla the prince was well.'
The Principal was relating this tale in Vaidyaji's sitting-room.
The main listener was Rangnath. The main subject was the village
court, and the main inspiration of the story-teller was bhang. He
continued, 'So, Rangnath Babu, that's what you call kaurilla-brand
justice. That's the justice peasants understand. What else do these
low-bred types need? They go off to the village court and come back
with their kaurilla-brand justice.
'And for bigger men—aristocrats-varistocrats, officials-vofficials,
well-bred people — there is expensive justice. No grass-cutting
Sarpanch, but a judge who speaks English like the English and
wears thick spectacles on his nose. So for the important people
there are the big courts of the district. Whatever kind of court you
require, you can find.

145
 Tor even bigger people there are great big high courts, and for
the highest class of all the Supreme Court. If anyone so much as
casts an admonishing glance at them they go straight to Delhi to
file a writ petition.
'If a kaurilla-brand, low-bred man once gets caught there it's like
him lying down never to get up again. He's left completely des-
titute.

ask you, has everybody the resources to go to the High Court

'I

and the Supreme Court? You could maintain a hundred whores on

what it costs to employ just one lawyer
'That's why for peasants there's this arrangement for kaurilla-
brand justice. They invest nothing and gain everything. They just
take one dose of it, and their temperature goes down. Our legal
system is very solid, a court to suit everyone.'
He suddenly descended into Avadhi, 'A harness t' suit the
beast.'

Outside the village was a wide open plain which was gradually
becoming barren. Now not even grass grew on it. It looked like ideal
land to give away to Vinoba Bhave's Bhoodan Movement. And
indeed it had been. Two years previously this land had been
donated for the betterment of the landless as part of the Bhoodan
Movement. Then it had been taken back as a gift by the Village
Council. Then the Village Council had gifted it to the Pradhan. The
Pradhan had gifted it firstly to his and on a
friends and relations,
straight cash-sale basis disposed of the remaining parts to some of
the poor and landless. Afterwards it turned out that the plots which
had been distributed to the poor and landless were not part of this
land, and in fact, fell within the boundaries of someone's farm.
Litigation started over this, which was still continuing, and was
expected to continue for some time.
In one corner of this land several forest-protection and tree-
plantation schemes had been started. Whether they had been
successful or not was a moot point. Looking at them you could at
least see that some trenches had been dug, and it was said that
babool seeds had been sown in them. It was also said that if the
ganjahas were not ganjahas, and were as industrious as the people
in the neighbouring villages, there would have been a forest of
babools waving in the breeze on this barren land. But the babools

146
had just not sprouted from the trenches, which was because of the
poor quality of the soil, and the only thing Shivpalganj had gained
from the entire programme was that the trenches had begun to be
used as public conveniences, meaning that the forestry scheme had
been transformed into a household one.
On the opposite corner of the land was a banyan tree, which
stood as if raping the whole wilderness. Next to it was a well, and
on the wall of the well sat Rangnath.
Educated people in India occasionally become afflicted with a
certain disease which is known as 'crisis of conscience'. Among
educated people, this disease generally attacks those who consider
themselves intellectuals. The day he witnessed the election for
College Manager, Rangnath began to suspect he had contracted
this disease. When he set eyes on Vaidyaji he would suddenly recall
the moment when the Principal Sahib had come out of the college
after the election shrieking like a pig stuck with a dagger and
hailing Vaidyaji' s victory It seemed to him that living with Vaidyaji
had made him a member of a gang Whenever the
of dacoits.
Principal Sahib was in front relating some interesting
of him
— —
story and he had no shortage of such tales Rangnath kept on
feeling that he might at any moment pounce and grab someone by
the throat.
IfRangnath had been in the town he would have sat in a coffee
house with his friends and delivered a long speech on this election.
He would have told them how the managership of the Changamal
Vidyalaya Intermediate College had been won by the power of the
gun, and, thumping his fist on the table, he would have said that
in a country where such things were done for minor posts, what
would people stop at to secure the major ones? Having said all this,
and spoken a few sentences in faulty English, he would have
drained his coffee cup, and felt satisfied that he was an intellectual,
and that having delivered a powerful speech in favour of
democracy, and unburdened his heart in front of four useless men,
he had overcome a 'crisis of faith'.
But he wasn't in the town. He was in the country, where, in the
words of Ruppan Babu, you couldn't trust your own father and
where, in the words of Sanichar, no one would piss on your cut
finger, let alone offer to bandage it.
And so Rangnath could not overcome his affliction. Day by day
he became increasingly convinced that he had fallen among

147
 .

dacoits, and and looting the college they were

that after raiding
now preparing to attack somewhere else. He longed to abuse
Vaidyaji, and longed even more to find someone in front of whom
he could abuse Vaidyaji freely.
Where could he find such a companion? Khanna Master was a
gossip. If he said anything to him the next day it would be all round
the village and everyone would start saying that Vaidyaji's own
nephew was abusing him, which just went to show what sort of
manners educated people had nowadays. He could talk to
Malaviya Master, but despite belonging to a faction, he was a simple
man and there would be no fun in telling him.
So who? Ruppan Babu?
Rangnath had some confidence in Ruppan because he some-
times abused the Principal and spoke about the college's misfor-
tunes. Ruppan's complaint was that academically the Principal was
an ignoramus, but that when it came to worldly wisdom he was a
master, a thorough operator, and had tricked Ruppan's own father
into doing everything he wanted, while Ruppan's father imagined
that he was doing everything according to his own wishes. Also,
the Principal had, Ruppan argued, behaved very high-handedly
with Khanna Master Khanna Master might be a complete idiot, but
still he shouldn't have treated him so unjustly, because it wasn't

right that one idiot should misuse Vaidyaji's support to beat

another idiot. . .

Under the banyan tree, sitting on the edge of the wall of the well,
Rangnath breathed a deep sigh of relief because today, for the first
time in a long time, his illness was not troubling him. It had so
happened that he had summoned up his courage and laid his crisis
of conscience before Ruppan. He had told him frankly that his
Uncle should not have done what he did, and asked what was the
point of winning the manager's post at gunpoint when it meant
that his name had been sullied throughout the whole area.
Ruppan Babu replied in his own hard-hitting style, 'Look here,
dada, this A lot worse things happen. This is nothing. You
is politics.

have to go even further than this when you take the path my father
has. You have to finish your enemies by whatever means you can.
If you can't you'll be finished yourself, and will be left sitting filling

packets of digestive powder with no one giving a damn for you.

'But improvements are needed in the college. The Principal s a
bastard. Day and night he's busy playing factionalism. Khanna

148
Master the son of an ass himself, but he's not a bastard. This
is

bastard, the Principal, has really kept him down, now Khanna
Master should come up. I have spoken to Father about this too, but
he doesn't want uproot the Principal.
to
Twe decided that we shouldn't say anything more to Father for
some days, but just gently bring up Khanna Master. That will finish
the Principal. The bastard has got so puffed up he needs to have
some air taken out of him. Once he's been deflated. Father will also
see that he wasn't such a great operator.'
Rangnath sighed with relief because this much had become
clear— that he could now mention this subject to Ruppan Babu. It
was also clear that in Ruppan's presence he could show S3mnpathy
for Khanna Master, bring up the downtrodden, deflate the inflated,
and in short stand up against injustice, if not openly at least
privately, and so regain his lost health.

To become Pradhan, Sanichar needed to announce to the elec-

torate, 'See here, brothers, I am as big an operator as the next man,
and so don't go and refuse to vote for me because you think I'm
honest.' He wanted to do something to show them the stuff he was
made of. He'd heard from Rangnath that all big political leaders
visit their constituencies before elections, taking barrow-loads of
money they have somehow managed to collect, and wasting it in
the name of the welfare of the people. Sanichar too wanted,
without consulting Vaidyaji, to perform a similar feat. To do this he
chose as a partner a ganjaha called Kalika Prasad.
Kalika Prasad's profession was spending government grants
and loans. He lived on government money, for government money.
—
He had three helpmates in this the local MLA, khadi cotton
clothes, and a catchphrase, which he used whenever the time
came to repay a loan: 'Please don't mention the repayment yet. I've
already put in a request to the higher authorities so that you'll have
no trouble in preventing action being taken against me.'
By Kalika Prasad's own calculation he was the most modern man
in the village because his occupation was entirely a product of
modern times.
When a was made providing grants for raising poultry, he
rule
announced he was going to become a poultry farmer. One day he
had stated that caste was completely meaningless, and that Brahmins

149
 him were no different from Chamars. This was because a grant
like
was about to be distributed. The Chamars were
for curing leather
dumbfounded, and he took the grant and spent it on making his
own skin more sleek. Kalika Prasad had taken grants for making
brick-lined fertilizer pits, for fitting a smokeless stove in his house,
and for installing a new design of lavatory.
He applied for loans under every government scheme, every
official supported his applications, every time he got the loan, and
every time he took action to stop action being taken against him
when he didn't make the repayments.
His knowledge was labyrinthine. By the time the Central
Planning Committee had worked out any new scheme, he had
found out all about it. Despite his rustic manners, he was cleverer
than the businessmen who manage to get hold of the details of new
tax proposals before the budget is announced. Several times he had
reached the district offices with his application even before the
funds had been sanctioned by the higher authorities, and had
informed the officials about new schemes in the pipeline.
It was this Kalika Prasad that Sanichar had chosen as his aide.

There was one part of the land previously described which had
not been offered as a sacrifice to the Bhoodan Movement; it was
mainly rough and uneven, and the rest of it was barren, though it
was shown as an orchard in the documents of the village record-
keeper. Because of its multi-faceted character, over the last few
years this land had been used in various ways. Every year the
village held its forest festival here, the aim of which was not to have
a picnic, but to plant trees in fallow land. Occasionally the Tehsildar
Sahib, and every year by compulsion the Block Development Of-
ficer Sahib, came with great fanfare to plant saplings. Adopting this
land as college property, the intermediate college had been able to
start its classes in agricultural science. Declaring it their sports field,
the young men of the village who had formed a youth association,
called the Yuvak Mangal Dal, were able to draw a sports grant every
year under its name. It was this piece of land which Sanichar made
his field of action.
There was still a month left before the election for the Pradhan's
post. One day Chote Wrestler said in Vaidyaji's sitting-room,
'Sanichar has been going round the town for three days with Kalika
Prasad. Today found out that the thing's been settled.'
1

Vaidyaji was sitting on his wooden bed. Hearing this, he was

130
overcome with But either to speak directly to Chote
curiosity.
Wrestler or to express curiosity would have lowered his dignity So
he said to Rangnath, 'Have Sanichar called here/
Chote Wrestler stood up and yelled, 'SANICHAR, SANICHAR,
OOOOH SANICHAR!'
This style of summoning people who were out of sight or reach
was peculiar it all you needed was a
to Shivpalganj. To practice
hardened throat, strong lungs and unadulterated rusticity It was
used on the understanding that wherever the person sought hap-
pened to be, he would hear his name at least once. If he didn't then
he would hear it if he was called a second time, because the second
time he would be called like this:
'WHERE HAVE YOU DROPPED DEAD, OOOOOOH
SANICHARRRRRR, SANICHARRRRR!'
The moment he heard his name Sanichar entered the sitting-
room as unceremoniously as he had been summoned by Chote
Wrestler He was naked but for his underpants which were torn in
some important places, but mustard oil was dripping from his head
and he appeared joyful. It was difficult to tell which was wider, his
grin or the holes in his underpants. Seeing him now proved the point
that if we are happy not even poverty can make us unhappy, and the
real method of removing poverty is to remain constantly happy
Vaidyaji asked Sanichar, 'What news have you brought? I hear
you showed yourself to be very capable in the town.'
Sanichar replied humbly, 'Yes, Maharaj, I had to show myself
very capable. When capability was thrust from all sides, everything
fell into place.'
This conversation was getting to be more than Rangnath could bear
He asked, Aji why are you talking in riddles? What happened?'
Sanichar drew in his breath through his teeth and said,
'Rangnath Babu, these are ganjahas riddles. They won't come to
you that quickly.'
But after this he gabbled out his sentences one after the other
like an All-India Radio newsreader, relating the whole story
without a pause.
'Guru Maharaj, this man, Kalika Prasad, he is a real bastard.'
Sanichar said this as if Kalika Prasad was being awarded the Padma
Shri.
Arrc, Guru Maharaj, what words can describe his operations?
Eh, heh heh! In the Government offices from the chaprassis up to

151
the clerks and the clerks to the officials, he's got his contacts
everywhere. He's a woodworm, a real woodworm. He'll worm his
way through the bottom of any case-file you like. He's done
Shivpalganj proud.
'But, Guruji, I have something up there too. In fact the truth is
that the real brains were mine. So I found out that nowadays there's
great emphasis on co-operatives. One ADO came from the block
office and said don't just say your fields are yours, say everyone's
fields are yours, and say your fields belong to everyone. Then you
will have co-operative farming and your grain production will
boom. I told him the idea was excellent and if I became Pradhan I
would give all the fields to the government for co-operative farms.
The ADO said, "What will the government do with your land? Are
fields some sort of machinery or factory that the government can
run? The fields will remain yours. You will do the farming. Just by
filling the stomach of a little form you become a co-operative. A
co-operative farm will open in the village. Shivpalganj is ahead in
every way, now it will be ahead in this way too."
'Guru Maharaj, I thought, whether Shivpalganj is ahead or
behind, I have to obey the orders of Guru Maharaj. When I've stood
for the Pradhan's post, I've got to become Pradhan. So I said to the
ADO, "ADO Sahib, what have you taken Shivpalganj for? Our piss
is as thick as anyone's. We are ahead in every way, and shall remain

so." There and then I wheedled it out of the ADO whether there
was any money in it or not. He accepted there was.
'Then, Guruji, I remembered Kalika Prasad. I prayed to Bajrangbali,
Lord Hanuman, saying that you've filled Kalika Prasad's bowl a
hundred times so just this once do good for this monkey of yours too.
Why should money always only run in the direction of Kalika
Prasad's house? Just once please put it in my way too.
'That was all, then concentrating on Lord Hanuman, and tying
a red loincloth around me, I went off to Kalika Prasad's house.
There itself the two of us worked out such a scheme that the Block
ADO, FDO, all of them, would get their cut. The ADO Sahib slapped
me on the back and told me that 1 was a ganjaha. We spoke about
it only yesterday, and today the scheme's ready.

'Guruji, it's like this. Now a co-operative farm will open in the
village. There won't be another like it in the whole area. The farm
will flourish on the barren ground over on the west. There's no harm
in it being barren. The block development-wallahs will look after

152
the paperwork. In these matters they make even the tehsil officials
and the police look like amateurs. If you ask them to, they'll set up
a co-operative in heaven, and here we're only asking for one on earth.
'We have gone to the town and fixed everj^hing. I thought,
Guru Maharaj, that just as last year you had caught hold of a
minister to come to the college, I could rope one in for this too. But
that can't be done without your touch. Kalika Prasad was saying
that if you want to get the job done, what do you need a minister
for? Get round an offical.
'The rest of the job was all thanks to Kalika Prasad's efforts. He
went round the whole town, sometimes spitting fire and sometimes
as meek as a maggot. There I saw what a fine grasp he has of
everything. Officials are everything, he says, and he's right too. He
got hold of one official who's very fond of wearing garlands and
making speeches. Until his admirers have garlanded him ten times,
he won't even clean his teeth in the morning. He sits there with an
unwashed face. This was the official we caught.
'Now, Guruji, we put a lot of pressure on our skulls. In just three
days' time there will be a meeting here to discuss the farm. You will
have to take the lead. After all, the block- wallahs are there only to
organize the band and music, garlands and tents, photos-shotos,
but there are also a lot of arrangements we will have to make. Pea
curry cooked in butter will do for food. The official said that when
amongst farmers he would eat like a farmer. I knew very well that
whatever he ate he'd never agree to come if we didn't feed him.
We'll have to bring peas from the town. There are none here.'
When Sanichar began talking about the preparations for the
meeting, Chote Wrestler asked him sharply, 'Now stop all this
pea-shee nonsense. Let's get to the point. How much did you get?'
Sanichar, turning altruistic, said carelessly, 'What am I going to
get, wrestler? The society which is to be formed will receive five
hundred rupees to set up the farm, this is the standard rate.
Whatever money comes will go to the society.'
Chote Wrestler roared with laughter. 'Well done, Mangal Das,
my son! What an achievement! You started from nowhere and look
where you landed.'
Vaidyaji was listening happily. It seemed from his expression as
if the future was bright. He related a story rather like an Aesop's

Fable, and praising Sanichar he said, 'When the tiger's cub went out
on his first hunt, he killed a twelve-horned stag in his very first spring.'

153
NINETEEN

January was nearly halfway through, after which would come

February, when the Village Council elections were due, and March,
when the high school and intermediate exams were scheduled to
start. On one side the elections had bound in the service of
democracy Badri Wrestler and the men of his wrestling pit, and on
the other Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi and his gambler warriors. So
far the main form of service both parties were rendering was to
scream abuse about each other behind each other's backs. It was
hoped that in February they would start doing this face to face too.
As for the March examinations, they hadn't been able to catch
anyone's interest yet. The students, teachers and especially the
Principal Sahib were still completely unconcerned.
But the Principal was involved in another matter. A few days
after the annual general meeting of the College Committee when
Vaidyaji had again been unanimously elected Manager, some
members had sent a letter of complaint about this to the Education
Minister They claimed that the members who were going to opp-
ose Vaidyaji were prevented from attending the meeting and
threatened at gunpoint. In the complaint this incident was
described to such impossible length that, even if you did manage
to finish reading the letter, it was impossible to believe what it said,
as it inferred that there was no law and order left in Shivpalganj,
such things as police and police stations did not exist there even in
name, and that four hooligans could get together and do exactly as
they wanted. There was clearly no need for an inquiry to determine
that the complaint was untrue, but still some opposing members
had gone to the town and had given copies of the complaint to
senior officials in the Education Department.
Then they had come back and started spreading the news
around the whole area that an official called Deputy Director
the
of Education was going to hold an inquiry. According to them he
was as meek as a cow but this time even Vaidyaji's father wouldn't
be able to milk him as orders had come from high up that the
inquiry should be impartial.
This was enough to engage the Principal's attention. He kr^ew

154
that Vaidyaji himself would take care of the inquiry, but he would
have to look after the officials who came on visits here in connection
with it. What would the officals look at when they came to the
college? The —
answer himself buildings!
Principal provided the
So, at this time, he was determined to improve the appearance
of the buildings.
In the town he had noticed that if a little plant was surrounded
by bricks on four sides and those bricks were painted with red,
yellow and white paint, for no reason the untouched piece of land
began to look like a park. He had resolved that a line of gulmohar
and laburnum trees should be planted in front of the college
building and that colourful brick surrounds would be constructed
for them before the officials' arrival. If, when they came, the officials
were presented with a clean, smart and colourful building, and
when they left they had first-class tea and snacks in their stomachs,
how could they write anything against him? The Principal Sahib
had made up his mind and, disregarding the cold January weather
and proceeding on the scientific assumption that all seasons are
good for planting trees, he got to work.
The Principal was standing near the college walls having some
holes dug. In his hand was a thick and shiny book which looked
very expensive. He was wearing his working clothes that is, —
—
shorts and shoes without socks and was thinking himself (no
matter what others may have thought) to be very smart and clever.
He was holding the book lovingly like a pet cat.
One labourer put down his mattock and asked the Principal,
'See, Master, you want the hole this deep, don't you?'
The Principal Sahib shook his head and said, 'Hunh, you call that
a hole. If a bird shat in it once it would overflow. Keep digging, son,
keep digging.'
He looked with upon a master standing nearby He'd
pride
known this master very long time, because he was his first
for a
cousin. The master looked around to see if the field was clear of
— —
enemies that is, the other masters and said fraternally, 'Brother,
in this college you've even become an expert at gardening.'
The Principal pressed the book to his bosom and said, 'It's all
thanks to this. But the bastard has written really difficult English.
If a man of average understanding was to read it, it'd make him

dizzy'
'You're a man of iron,' said the cousin, 'you do so much work in

155
 would make your head spin in any case,
the college. Politics alone
and on top of that you also manage to read books. Myself, Fd rather
someone beat me ten times with a shoe than asked me to read. I am
sick of books.'
The Principalcommented, half as an elder brother and half as a
principal, 'Be quiet. You shouldn't say such things. You should keep
your books with you even when you travel. If you don't, what does
just wearing a jacket and trousers prove? It certainly doesn't prove
you're a teacher. Even green-grocers can wear jackets and trousers.'
The cousin replied, 'You are right. I'm not contradicting you. But
is there really any difference between us and green-grocers? These

bloody textbooks are just like rotten fruit we keep filling the boys'
stomachs with. Some boys can digest them, others vomit them up.'
The Principal began to laugh. 'You've stretched the point a bit.
All this would be the death of a sensible man.'
He began to peep down into a hole as if when the sensible man
died he would bury him just there.
At that moment Khanna Master came hurrying along and hand-
ing a sheet of paper to the Principal said, 'Please take this.'
The Principal looked to his cousin for support. Then standing
next to a hole he suddenly stiffened and said officiously, 'What is
this?'
'What is it? It's a sheet of paper.'
The Principal, his chest stuck out, gave Khanna Master a
penetrating stare.
The Principal's cousin was standing with his eyes fixed on
Khanna's face, like an Alsatian watching a pariah dog on the street
from inside his master's bungalow. The Principal turned his gaze
on the paper. If he had been one of the rishis of ancient times the
paper would have burnt to ashes. Then he handed it back to
Khanna Master
Irritated, Khanna asked, 'What's this?'
'What is it? It's a sheet of paper,' said the Principal walking over
another hole.
to inspect
Khanna Master bit his lip. Containing himself he said, 'Whatever
happens you have to give a written order in reply to a written
request.'
The Principal had begun talking to a labourer. He was saying,
'All digging now. Abeh, you're digging a hole,
right, all right, stop
not a well. That's enough.'

156
 Khanna Master stood mutely for a while.Then he said, 'I have
to go out of Shivpalganj for four days. I want leave. I have written

to you and you will have to give a reply'

The Principal suddenly squatted on the earth dug from the hole
to prove to onlookers that he wouldn't hesitate to roll in the gutter
for the well-being of the college, and began to issue detailed in-
structions to the labourers about the ridges of earth around the
holes.
Khanna's voice now rose to become more than just background
music. He too squatted down on the edge of the hole opposite the
Principal, and said. Answer my question first please, and then go
and jump down the hole.'
The Principal finally looked him straight in the eye. 'ITl certainly
jump into the hole but only after I've pushed you down first and
can jump on top of you. Do you understand, Khanna Master?' He
turned towards his cousin. The cousin immediately said in a
humble and subservient tone. Til go and call the chaprassis. It seems
there may be a fight. But, Principal Sahib, I appeal to you not to say
anything until help comes.'
'What am I going to say, brother? I go on suffering everything
in silence. The day this man's pitcher is full, it will break all of it own
accord.'
It was as if was laying a curse on Khanna Master
the Principal
with these words. Khanna began to panic. He was afraid that the
Principal might go and start screaming that he was beating him. He
might get embroiled in a court case. He quietly rose from the edge
of the hole and went to stand some way off next to another master
from where he said loud enough for the whole world to hear:
'Don't threaten me. Principal Sahib, the days of the nawabs are over.
You can't finish me off that easily I'm warning you, if you lay a
hand on me, blood will flow. I'm telling you! Yes!'
Khanna Master hadn't wanted to shout, but thinking about
someone making a scene, he really had made one. Some masters
came and gathered around him.
Suddenly he screamed again, 'Well hit me! Why don't you hit
me then? Call the chaprassis. Disgrace me by making them beat me.
Why have you stopped?'
Realizing correctly that some sort of spectacle was going on,
masters from both factions arrived on the scene. The boys had still
not come in any great numbers. The ones that had turned up had

157
been scolded and sent off by the chaprassi They stood on the
veranda of the college watching the action. On the spot it was an
'adults only' show.
The Principal was badly upset by this uncontrolled dis-
at first
play, but then reined in his anger and went up to Khanna Master.
He pulled the leave request from his hand and said coolly, 'Don't
scream. Master Sahib! You are mistaken. Here, I'll write an instruc-
tion on your application.'
At his signal, his cousin handed him a fountain pen. Resting the
request letter on his gardening book he began to write. As he wrote
he said, 'We people disagree on principles. Where does the ques-
tion of fisticuffs arise? Things should be settled peacefully.'
Khanna Master was getting fed up with his own
performance.
He said, 'First write an order on this paper and then we'll talk about
other things.'
'That's what I'm doing,' replied the Principal, smiling. 'There!'
He had crossed out several words, and drawn circles over others.
At the bottom he had written in English
— 'Refused.'
Before Khanna Master could say anything, the Principal pushed
the application into his hands with the words, 'Your spelling is very
weak. You had spelt holiday with a "y" after the "1". I don't know
whether Khanna has been spelt with a capital letter or a small one.
You should pay attention to all these things.'
Khanna was stunned for a while. Then opening his mouth like
a rhinoceros, he gave an ear-splitting cry, 'Get out of the college
right now. Then I'll show you how to spell!'
The battle began.
This happened in the morning. By lunch-time both sides had
filed reports in the police station. From the reports it was clear that
the teachers had rioted and attempted to kill one another. Seeing
that there had been no one there to stop them killing each other, it
was not clear why in fact they had not done so. Picking on this
point, the police had begun their investigation completely the
wrong way round.
The same day, was an exchange of views on
at lunch-time, there
the incident in Vaidyaji's sitting-room. The main reaction of the
common citizenry was that the incident should have been rather
more serious. That is to say, there was no harm in anyone from their
side not having his bones broken, but at least someone should have
been hurt sufficiently for some blood to flow. Sanichar, thinking

158
that he might achieve one more feat of political leadership before
becoming Pradhan, offered his services free of charge and said that
if the Principal liked he could stab him in the hand with a spear,

and that as yet nothing had been lost and the Principal could add
that injury to the charges against Khanna Master. Chote Wrestler
snarled at him to shut up.
Rangnath and Ruppan Babu listened to all that was said in
silence, which in Shivpalganj is considered a sign of being an idiot,
but in fact inside they were burning with anger against the Principal.
After some considerable time Ruppan walked out and said, 'Now
this bastard Principal is leading my father to court, and then hell
not leave him till he's had him sent to jail.'
That lunch-time Vaidyaji listened gravely to the story about
Khanna Master as told by the Principal, and after hearing the whole
tale made a comment which had no connection to the day's inci-
dent. His comment was very righteous and expressed the kind of
sentiment which could make a sick man well.
He said, 'I was astounded to see the faith of the District Inspector
of Schools. I saw a man lying prostrate before Lord Hanuman's
temple. When he got up, I was left speechless. It was the
honourable Inspector A hundred tears of devotion were dripping
from his eyes. I greeted him and in reply he closed his eyes, and
emitted a sort of "haun, haun" sound.
'Half a dozen seers of the best ghee should be taken to him. Such
a religious man is ruining his religion by eating low-grade
vegetable oil every day.
'The games Fate plays!'

An ancient Sanskrit verse explains a point of geography —that is,

that the sun doesn't rise depending on where the East is, but where
the East is depends on where the sun rises. In the same way senior

officials do not go on tour depending on their work, but whenever

they go anywhere it automatically becomes an official tour.
In accordance with this novel solar principle, that same day at
about four o'clock in the afternoon, a great man came speeding in
a motor car from the town into the country. Casting glances over
the citizens' fields on either side of the road, he congratulated
himself that thanks to the speeches he had made last year the
winter crop this year was going to be good. The farmers were

'
159
cultivating the land according to his instrucf ions. They had realized
that land should be ploughed, and not only fertilizer but seeds too
should be put into it. They had begun to understand all they were
told, and they had lost their apprehensions about new ideas. The
farmers were becoming progressive, and, in short, the only back-
ward thing about them was that they were still farmers.
The car passed in front of the Changamal Vidyalaya
Intermediate College. Several boys were sitting on the bridge in
front of it wearing underpants and bush-shirts, or striped pajama
trousers and kurtas with no vests underneath them, and making
noises like partridge calls. From the boys' absurd dress it took the
great man just a fraction of a second to recognize that they were
students.
The carhad gone on about a furlong more when it suddenly
occurred to the great man that he hadn't delivered a speech to
young men for the past forty-eight hours. All at once he recalled
the sufferings he had undergone for the country's youth. For their
sake he had left his home in the village and taken a bungalow in
the town. He had forsaken his place on the banks of the village
pond, and become used to sitting cooped up in a small toilet. He
had changed himself so much. As soon as it occurred to him that
he hadn't spoken to those dear youths for forty-eight hours, he
began to think, 'Hail I haven't given a lecture for so long! I had so
many elevated thoughts, and I have selfishly kept them to myself.
Hai! I am so mean! May I be cursed for keeping my mouth shut for
so long, despite being born in India.'
'Forty-eight hours!' he thought in astonishment. 'Two-
thousand-eight-hundred-and-eighty minutes, and if you multiply
that by sixty, that many seconds! So many seconds! And in all this
time I have not given one speech to encourage the youth! What
can have happened to me? Have I died of paralysis?'
He thought all this in as much time as it took to blink, and then
ordered his driver, 'Turn the car around. I'm going to give the
college a surprise inspection.'
As soon as he entered the college, a holiday was declared. Boys
began to pour out of the classrooms and sit down in the field
outside. Local officials, men who gambled for cowries in the mango
groves, layabouts from the country liquor shop, all assembled in an
instant. There was a fair crowd. But if there hadn't been, there
would still have been a meeting. If a speaker is sufficiently shame-

160
less, a lamp-post is enough
of an audience for him. He'll hold a
meeting on his own. But here there was a real meeting. The obvious
advantage in having so many boys was that if you put them indoors
they became a college, and if you put them outside they became a
meeting.
The great man told the boys that they were the nation's future,
and the teachers that they were the builders of the nation's future.
Both the boys and the masters already knew this. Then he
upbraided the masters for not teaching self-restraint. He com-
plained that the boys knew nothing about the national flag, the
national anthem and so on, even though the masters did
and that
know these things, they still demanded allowances and salary
increases. The masters and boys hadn't had the time to consider
their faults before he had launched into the one subject which
every speaker giving a speech in an educational insititution speaks
about.
He said that our education system was bad and that those who
went through it only aspired to be clerks. He suggested to the boys
that there was a need for fundmental reform to the education
system. He referred to the hundreds of scholars and thousands of
committees which had established that our education system was
bad.
He quoted Vinoba on the subject, and even Gandhi. Then
Vaidyaji, the College Manager, nodded his head to say that our
education system was indeed bad. This was then supported by the
Principal, the teachers and the louts and layabouts of the bazaar.
His speech fully succeeded in assuring even the toddy-drinkers
and gamblers.
The great man then went on to tell them a number of things
—
which they could equally well have told him that they should
farm their fields, drink milk, look after their health and keep them-
selves prepared to be the next Nehrus and Gandhis. Then he spoke
the compulsory sentence about harmony, unity and love for the
national language, made his annual promise to consider the
college's problems, and after eating the dried fruits and nuts and
drinking the tea which were served to him immediately after he
had served the students, he set off again at seventy miles an hour.
The boys and masters wended their way home imitating the way
he'd kept saying 'Brothers and Sisters'.
The gardener, the chaprassi and the labourers were left in the

161
college to take action on the proposal to fundamentally change the
education system.
The college clerk looked at the plate of dried fruit and at first
thought of eating the left-over cashew nuts, but then, after some
consideration, threw them into the gutter

162
TWENTY

Badri Wrestler had gone to bail out a young man from a neighbour-
ing district who was facing charges of rape and assault. Before he
left he had remarked to Rangnath, 'He's a thug. Wherever he goes
he lands himself in some trouble or the other.'
He had taken one-thousand-five-hundred rupees from Vaidyaji
and stuffed them into the inside pocket of his Nehru jacket.
Rangnath asked him what he needed to take so much cash for.
Badri replied, 'Thugs don't only come under the law, they also
run the courts. The magistrates announce bail after a bit of hestita-
tion, and then hand over the paperwork to the clerks. That's where
there are dozens of problems. Make out the bail papers. Show a
plan of the property you are offering as surety. Then a rough
estimate of its value, then the confirmed value, and all along you
have to keep on shelling out the rupees.
'Dealing in straight cash is much easier. As soon as the Magistrate
says he'll put him on a thousand rupees bail, I'll throw down ten
bank notes on the table and say take it and put it where you like!'
Rangnath took the conversation further by asking, 'Badri
brother, if he's a thug why do you help him? Let the bastard rot in
the lock-up.'
'Tell me who isn't a thug, Rangnath Babu? After all, thugs don't

—
have horns and a tail,' said Badri slowly 'I know this much he was
a pupil in my wrestling pit. However big a thug he may be in the
eyes of the world, I still remember him hitting the ground when I
used to fell him with a leg- trick.'

As Badri was out of the village, Rangnath was alone on the roof. In
those days the cold weather was at its peak and to enjoy it fully
Badri had moved his charpoy out of the room and on to the
veranda. Rangnath used to sleep in the room.
It was about eleven o'clock at night. He couldn't sleep.

Darkness! The winter night revealed itself in all its grandeur On

such occasions even if a man doesn't believe in God he begins to
believe in ghosts. Rangnath didn't suddenly feel scared, but he did

163
feel a 'strange sensation' which, if the truth were told, was another
name for fear. But fear in all its sharpness could not overcome him,
because at that moment he began to think about Ruppan Babu, and
the moment he began to think about Ruppan, he remembered a
girl called Bela whom he had never seen but to whom he had heard
thatRuppan Babu had written a love letter
Rangnath didn't know the dimensions of the love letter, but
according to the rumours floating around it seemed that it was
made up of phrases from Hindi film songs joined together in
sentences. It was well known that Bela's aunt had first found the
letter lying in a corner of Gayadin's house. Later she had read it out
to Gayadin. For the first two or three sentences he hadn't been able
to understand what it was about, but then his sister had read,
'Embrace me, come, my fellow wayfarer!' As he had studied this
sentence, the doors of comprehension had burst open, and he
understood that this suggestion was directed at Bela. By the time
he had come to the end of the last line, the truth about the docu-
ment had become crystal clear It ended, 'Reading my love letter
please do not be angry that you are my life, I wership you.' The
writer had signed himself 'Mr R'.
Rangnath had heard that besides Gayadin, only the Principal
Sahib had been given the opportunity to see the letter and that was
perhaps because Gayadin somehow linked him with Ruppan's
moral decline and fall.
The Principal had tried to explain to him that it was not a love
letter but a compilation of poems of considerable quality, and that
its literary significance was not diminished by it being signed by a

'Mr R But despite this attempt to set his mind at rest, Gayadin had
'.

still believed that these writings were proof of immoral conduct,

and when the Principal had quoted lines from several poems to
explain that this sort of sentiment abounds in literature, Gayadin
had replied that the Principal's idea of literature only served to
prove his own immoral conduct. In the end both of them had
agreed that nothing more should be said about the letter
The very next day several rumours spread around Shivpalganj.
One was that a boy from Khanna Master's faction had written a
love letter to Bela, and had falsely put Ruppan's name to it. The
second was that Bela had written Ruppan a love letter, and Ruppan
had answered it, but that his letter had fallen into Gayadin's hands
and he had been thoroughly disgraced. The third rumour, which

164
was the most widely circulated, was that Bela was a girl of low
morals.
It was the wonderful effect of the third rumour that now
stopped Rangnath feeling scared, and made him start thinking
about Bela. After the day when he had talked to Ruppan about the
love letter, he had not had sufficient courage to raise the subject
again. Now, in solitude, he had only his imagination, his frustration
and masturbation to satisfy his curiosity about Bela and as, to a large
extent, these are the forces which inspire Indian art, Rangnath was
for these few minutes living his life as an artist.
What must she be like? Like Vijayantimala in Madhumati? Shubha
Khote in Godan? Waheeda Rehman in Abhiyan? All these actresses
had become old, like Mother India, but Bela must still be fresh. What
could she be like? He didn't know more than that whatever she was
like, she must be 'by God, without compare'. This fragment from a

Hindi film song stuck in Rangnath's throat like a bone, but he

smiled. In that darkness he smiled a beautiful, one-and-a-half-inch
smile.
He thought of Bela a lot. So much in fact that hundreds of breasts
and buttocks of all different shapes and sizes began to rise and fall
in his mind. They came in pairs, swelled in bunches, and ran away
jostling each other. Rangnath really wanted to create a picture of
one whole girl but he couldn't.
His imagination did grasp the body of a whole woman once, but
that wasn't any good because her face was missing. After a while
only a few circles of disconnected breasts were left in his mind.
Finally he tensed once, relaxed his body and dozed off underneath
the quilt.

The next night when Rangnath was lying in bed in the room on the
roof he did not think of Bela. He was recalling Vaidyaji's manly face
flushed with rage.
That day the co-operative farm which had been created through
the efforts of Sanichar and Kalika Prasad had been inaugurated.
Vaidyaji, mentioning the embezzlement in his Co-operative Union
to the official who had come for the inauguration, had referred to
the suggestion that the government should be asked to give a sum,
equal to that embezzled, to the Co-operative Union in the form of
a grant. Vaidyaji had explained to the official in a reasonable tone

165
that if the government did not give the grant, could only be
it

concluded that government officials did not want the co-operative

movement to progress.
The official must definitely have read Dale Carnegie's books,
and that was why he replied to each point Vaidyaji made with,
'What you say is right, but. .He had repeated this sentence seven
.
.'

times. When he opened his mouth to speak for the eighth time it
was not to say the melodious words 'You will get the grant,' but the
.'
same old, 'What you say is right, but. . .

As soon as he heard this Vaidyaji fell on the official with the ire
of the sage Durvasa, the tyranny of Hitler and the storminess of
Nehru, combined.
'This is the way you people are going to uplift the country? What
are all these ifs and buts and howevers? What are they? Sir, this is
the language of eunuchs! This is the way idle individuals do them-
selves and their country down! Your decision should be clear! But!
If! Thoor He spat.
After this Vaidyaji delivered a speechon the miserable state of
the country, and after that he began to grumble. The official, too,
despite his humility, also grumbled. Then other people began to
grumble as well. Sanichar's meeting was already over and this
grumbling did not affect its success. But in the end the grumbling
came out on top.
Rangnath lay on his charpoy. He had heard this sort of grum-
bling in the town everywhere, all the time. He knew that his
country was a country of grumblers. In offices and shops, factories
and workshops, parks and restaurants, newspapers, fiction and
non-fiction, everywhere people were grumbling. This was the
mentality of the age and he was very familiar with it. Here in the
village, too, he had heard the same grumbling. The farmers
grumbled against government officials and clerks. The officials
distanced themselves from the general public and complained
about them. Then in the next breath they distanced themselves
from the government and complained about it. Practically
everybody had some trouble or the other and no one went to the
root of the matter They grabbed hold of whatever reason came
immediately to hand and grumbled about that.
Vaidyaji's specialty was that he did not grumble. Today, by doing
so, he had shattered Rangnath's illusions. Rangnath had hoped
that he would thunder and then roar, but he thundered and sat

166
down to grumble, and that too when the wagging his tail
official,

and grumbling at the same time, had indicated that it would be

necessary to hold a special audit of the Co-operative Union's
accounts.
This is not a nation of thunderers but of grumblers, thought
Rangnath.
Breaking the stillness of the night, a coarse shout fell on
Rangnath's ears like a slap. Kusahar Prasad was sitting in his
doorway cursing someone. The wise old leader of the grumblers.
As he wasn't crying, it was obvious that his curses were not meant
for Chote Wrestler but for someone else. It was difficult to tell who,
because when Kusahar was swearing at anybody else, his curses
had no particular meaning but were simply instinctive, just like a
peacock dancing in the jungle or a leader making a speech at an
inaugural function.

In an atmosphere of faint voices and darkness Rangnath at some

point drifted off to sleep. As he slept he dreamed that he was
standing in a lift and was going down several floors. Suddenly the
lift shot up, passing three or four floors together. Rangnath stirred.

The scent of coconut oil and some cheap perfume filled his
nostrils. It was neither a pleasant nor an unpleasant smell, it was
just a smell. The tinkling of glass bangles jolted his slumber, and he
suddenly felt something which a lifetime's study of the erotic
sculpture at Khajuraho and Konarak could never give him.
She was sitting on the edge of his charpoy. One of her arms was
flung over the other side of his body and on his chest he felt the
intense pressure of two breasts. Between his chest and the breasts,
besides the clothes covering them, there was also a thick quilt. But
the warmth and firmness of the breasts could not be disguised.
Rangnath's breath stopped.
The quilt had been pulled from his face, but in the darkness they
could not see one another The warmth and explosive pressure on
his chest seemed to increase. Then a silky smooth cheek pressed
against his, and with a deep, long, drawn-out sob a voice said, 'Hai!
Have you gone to sleep?'
Rangnath was suddenly fully awake. He shook his head and said
unnaturally, 'Who? Who's there?'
For a moinent the heartbeat in the two breasts pressing into him

167
seemed to stop. Then suddenly the girl leapt up from the charpoy
and standing some way off said in a subdued voice, 'Oh, Mother!'
Respect for one's mother is a fine thing, but at this time these
words only indicated her agitation. Rangnath flung off the quilt
and leapt to his feet but by then she had climbed from the roof on
to another roof and from that roof on to yet another one.
Rangnath came out of the open door and stood on the veranda
roof. It was chilly. He listened carefully for a while but heard
nothing more than the sighing of the wind. After the pure-hearted
enunciation of her mother's name the visitor had no more mes-
sages for him.
When he had locked the door from inside and laid down again
on his charpoy, he realized several things. Firstly, that if the
swelling female statues of Konarak, Bhubaneshwar and Khajuraho
were to come to life, they would be enough to drive a man crazy
Secondly, that all he had learned about archaeology and Indian art
was incomplete and foolish, and that it was more of an achievement
to win the support of two live breasts posing like ancient goddesses
than to get a doctorate in Indian art.
Pushing these lighter thoughts aside he came to the real thought
which was churning him up inside. He told himself, 'Young man,
you are an idiot. Why did you have to say anything? Why did you
get nervous? Why didn't you give her the chance to do something
more?
'Young man, you are not an idiot, you're an ass. You've added
another line to the list of your life's missed opportunities, haven't
you? You're just another of those Indian students who are never
fated to enjoy a real woman.'
He tried to sleep again, but how could he? His hand moved
towards his breast of its own volition and he accepted regretfully
that there was nothing more there than his own rough chest.
Who was she? He couldn't think too much about this because
the path of his thought was blocked by two mountains.

168
TWENTY-ONE

The next morning news spread round the village that the police
had arrested Jognath. Like every arrest, this one too took place in
dramatic circumstances. At 4.30 a.m. the police surrounded his
house. They all knew perfectly well that it would never come to an
exchange of fire, and so every constable was armed.
Tight security arrangements were enforced. The constables all
sat like statues for a full half-an-hour without spitting tobacco or
smoking beedis. No one laughed or tried to make anyone else
laugh.One constable took off his shoes and tiptoed like a thief from
one man to another whispering, 'Keep calm. There's no danger,' as
if this was a great strength-inspiring charm. The Sub-Inspector,
with his pistol, and the head constable, with his rifle, stood at
Jognath's door.
A man came down the lane. He saw them and was about to turn
back when the head constable beckoned to him. He came forward
confidently. The head constable said in his ear, 'Trying to run away?'
'Run away?' the man replied unhesitatingly, 'I just want to avoid
having to see you first thing in the morning.'
The Sub-Inspector put a finger to his lips and made a shushing
sound. The head constable said softly into the man's ear, 'Sit down
on the veranda. We'll need you as a witness.'
The man replied, 'So why do you need me to sit down? Just call
—
me whenever you need me tomorrow, the next day, the day
after —and I'll stand witness. You can always count on me.'
He tried to slip away. The head constable whispered, 'Then it's
all right, go, but be careful, don't let anyone know about our

presence here.'
Poking his nose into the head constable's ear the man replied in
a similarly hushed tone, 'Who is there to tell? The whole village
knows.'
He left. The men posted back of the house began to long
at the
for their tobacco and By then dawn was approaching and
beedis.
they had begun to be able to make out each other's faces even from
a distance.
Suddenly there was a creaking noise. Perhaps the front door had

169
been opened. They heard a hasty conversation, and they realized
that the time had come to enter the field of duty and action. They
fixed bayonets and stood up.
The conversation coming from the direction of the front door
was growing louder and moving quickly away. The constables
became uneasy, and coughed, at the same time expelling air from
every orifice. Shortly afterwards a policeman's whistle sounded the
danger signal and they all ran round to the front door. From there
they ran about fifty yards to a spot next to a mango grove. The
moment they arrived there the circumstances became dramatic.
They saw Jognath sitting on the ground, and the Sub-Inspector
standing with a pistol pointing at his chest. On another side the
head constable was threatening Jognath with a bayonet. It was a
very theatrical scene and the curtain was not about to fall. The
constables immediately surrounded the players, and pointed their
weapons at the parts of Jognath's body unprotected by the pistol
and bayonet.
A short distance from Jognath was a lota lying on the ground,
water spilled around it. The Sub-Inspector told a constable, 'Seize
that pot. It can be used as evidence.'
The constable picked up the pot, inspected it closely and said in
admiration, Tt's a real Moradabadi one.' After a few moments
consideration he said, 'Should I seal it, sir?'

'It be done, but later.'

will
The constable thought again and pointing to the water-soaked
earth he asked, 'Should I also seize some soil?'
The head constable reprimanded him sharply, 'Don't try to be
clever. Just do what you're told.'

The Sub-Inspector made Jognath get to his feet, and had him
searched. Then the bayonets were unfixed and the pistol put back
into its leather holster. The constables began to chat amongst
themselves.
One 'He must have been going out to have his morning
said,
shit.' Another suggested, 'Who knows if there isn't a gang hiding

around here and he wasn't going to give them food and water.' A
third said, 'Now Vaidyaji is going to kick up a fuss,' and a fourth
remarked quietly that Vaidyaji had the Sub-Inspector in his pocket
and had been made on the order of the Senior
that the arrest
Superintendent of Police, The fifth said, 'Quiet! Quiet! Just look at
what's going on!'

170
 Jogiiath was in the same place posing like a folk- dancer, but from
his face it was he was not about to dance. Suddenly the
clear that
Sub-Inspector slapped him hard on the cheek and asked, 'Where
were you off to with that lota?'
Jognath rubbed his eyes to reduce the effect of the blow, looked
the Sub-Inspector straight in the eye and said, 'You can cut me up
into pieces but even then I won't say anything unless my lawyer
tells me to/
The Sub-Inspector ordered the head constable to handcuff him
and take him away as they now had to search his house.
'We have to give him a going over too,' said the head constable.

If anyone were to have asked the Sub-Inspector to describe the

whole incident he would have said:
'Some days ago some thieves came to the village. With the help
of the Village Protection Committee the police tried to apprehend
them. But as generally happens on such occasions, the thieves used
extreme cunning to disappear into the darkness, leaving behind a
gang member who was a local man, and due to the vigilance of the
police and the Village Protection Committee, even though they
were not apprehended, their criminal intentions were foiled. But
the local member of the gang, at the time when the entry of the
thieves was causing a commotion, took unfair advantage of the
villagers'panic and entered Gayadin's house with the intention of
committing a theft. Due to the shouts of alarm raised by the Village
Protection Committee, the residents of Gayadin's house awoke,
and then they saw a man climbing a ladder on to the roof. The police
arrived like the wind that instant, by which time the man had
disappeared. At the scene of the crime Gayadin handed a list to the
police, saying it was a list of the jewellery which had just been
stolen. Having examined the scene of the crime the police returned
and for approximately fifteen days made detailed and thorough
inquiries.
'From these inquiries the police reached the conclusion that on
that night Gayadin's house had been burgled. Not only that, the
man who was discovered hastily climbing from a ladder up on to
the roof, could be said with certainty to be the thief himself.
'After this the police discovered by means of an informer that at
the house of Jognath, son of Ramnath, resident of Village

171
Shivpalganj, were several ornaments which could belong to
Gayadin. After investigations were complete, this morning at dawn
a raidwas made on his house. At that time Jognath was going out
somewhere with a lota. In front of the police he confessed his crime
and he himself permitted the police to search his house in his
presence. The search, as required by law, was carried out in the
presence of a respectable citizen of the locality. It's also necessary
to say that in this village you can't find men easily, and if you do
find one it's very difficult to believe he's respectable. Anyway, this
search was carried out in the presence of Chote Wrestler, son of
Kusahar Prasad, and Baijnath, son of Triveni Sahai. Baijnath is not
a resident of this village. This respectable man was called from a
neighbouring viQage.
A hole was excavated in a room at a place indicated by Jognath.
From it a pot was discovered and from the pot were recovered four
—
ornaments one girdle of silver yarn, value about fifty rupees; one
pair of toe rings, value about three rupees; one necklace of silver
coins, value about twenty-five rupees; and one gold nose pin, value
about thirty rupees. A list of the recovered items was prepared and
signed by the witnesses. The items and the pot were tied in a cloth
—
and sealed. This action was carried out at the scene that is, within
the house.
'Jognath had resisted arrest. In the course of apprehending him
the head constable's shirt was torn and he sustained an injury to
his arm. The minimum necessary force was exercised to control
Jognath. Afterwards both Jognath and the injured constable were
presented for a medical examination. The constable went home
after taking permission for two weeks sick leave, and Jognath was
'

found to have twenty contusions, and forty abrasions. They were

all minor injuries, the result of falling on the ground.'

That day, for the first time, Vaidyaji doubted the eternal wisdom of
the belief that whatever the police do is right.
Vaidyaji had no very good opinion of Jognath, but he was living
in a world where a man was respected not for his goodness but for
his usefulness. Among his men, Jognath was the only one who was
a heavy drinker, and whether he was paying or someone else was
made no difference to the quantity of liquor he used to drink. All
together, he was an average-class of thug.

172
 Vaidyaji suspected that there may be some politics behind his
For some days he had seen that the Sub-Inspector was
arrest.
behaving deferentially not only to himself but also to Ramadhin
Bhikhmakhervi. At first he thought that Ramadhin had made him
a partner in the illegal opium business, but now it seemed that the
Sub-Inspector was suffering from the illusion that in the political
game Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi could prove comparatively more
useful than Vaidyaji. In any case, Vaidyaji felt that in the present
circumstances ifJognath was arrested, then, to start with, things
would go as the Sub-Inspector wanted, and what the Sub-Inspector
wanted was what Ramadhin wanted.
Ruppan Babu insisted that Jognath should be bailed out. So
against his better judgement Vaidyaji prepared himself to speak to
the Sub-Inspector.
The Sub-Inspector was no longer the vigilant officer of the
morning whose very glance could cause blue bruises and scratches
to form on a man's body. Now his healthy figure was shown off to
advantage by a silk kurta and a pair of khadi pajamas. Betel juice
was oozing from the corners of his mouth. Vaidyaji had heard the
account of the whole incident from the Sub-Inspector's lips, and
was only surprised by the fact that the police had not recovered so
much as a country pistol from Jognath's house. Having spent so
many years in close association with the police he had learnt that
on such occasions a crudely shaped piece of iron, which was taken
to be a pistol, was always found, and its crudeness immediately
made obvious the main reason for the historical fact that the British
defeated the Indians in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
He felt it necessary to thank the Sub-Inspector for his courtesy.
To start the conversation he asked, 'Only ornaments were
recovered from Jognath's house? No hashish, bhang or opium?'
T didn't search for opium. If I had, people would have said that
the last time I caught one of that party for opium dealing, so now
this time I caught one from the other party'
Tarty?' asked Vaidyaji in surprise, 'What sort of party? What sort
of language are you speaking?'
'Police language,' answered Ruppan Babu.
The Sub-Inspector rubbed his eyes and tried to clear his head.
He told himself that gin was the most deceptive of foreign liquors.
It looked just like water but when it got into the stomach it began

to make your tongue turn the wrong way. What you should say,

173
and what it made you say! He opened his eyes and saw that
Vaidyaji's facehad assumed a serious expression. Now he's going
to come up with some wickedness, he thought, gazing at the lustre
of the College Manager's face.
'Your hesitation is reprehensible,' said Vaidyaji, 'there should be
no pardon for those who smuggle opium. They are depraved, they
are traitors to their country'
The Sub-Inspector sat in silence. Inwardly he took an oath not
to make any more foolish remarks. Suddenly Vaidyaji asked, 'You
didn't even find a pistol in Jognath's house. What sort of search do
you call that?'
'You can call it a minor one,' said the Sub-Inspector humbly,
'Where are the pistols nowadays that you can produce one every
time you make a search?' Smiling, he thought that the gin was
proving very helpful when it came to acting.
Ruppan Babu's face was hidden behind a newspaper He said,
'Where have all the pistols gone then? What happened to all the
ones you had in stock? All finished?'
The Sub-Inspector said gravely, 'It's the result of the last speech
Vaidyaji gave here at the police station. After that all the badmaashes
went and got rid of their pistols outside the area. They sold most of
them to people from Unnao.'
Badri Wrestler had gone to Unnao. He had not yet returned.
Vaidyaji half-closed his eyes and reflected for a moment. He said,
'The climate of Shivpalganj is excellent. It's very favourable for the
advancement of the intellect.'
'I consider you to be the climate of the village.'
This time the Sub-Inspector did not curse the gin, in fact he
laughed heartily. He kept on laughing and didn't realize that the
gin had not only loosened his tongue but his throat as well.
Vaidyaji sat quietly. He had
ignored the Sub-Inspector's last
remark. The Sub-Inspector rose slowly to his feet to leave. When
he was crossing the threshold of the sitting-room, Vaidyaji said, as
if he had suddenly remembered something he had forgotten,

'Perhaps the bail papers for Jognath have been made out in my
name?'
The Sub-Inspector halted. 'If that had been the case 1 would
certainly have requested you to sign them. But don't worry, the
court will grant bail. Send someone there.'

174
 Vaidyaji did not reply. Now Ruppan asked bluntly, 'What's the
problem with granting bail here?'
'Theft is a non-bailable offence/
And murder?'
The Sub-Inspector you are referring to the
said lightly, 'Perhaps
Nevada-wallah case last year. But the accused there was a T.B.
patient. Who was going to kill him by locking him up?'
Ruppan Babu put down his newspaper and stood up. He said,
'Jognath is still in your custody. Have him examined there. He's sick
too, though it's another matter that he's got gonorrhoea not T.B.'
Vaidyaji said coolly, 'Ruppan, speak politely. The Sub-Inspector
is one of us, whatever he does he will do in a considerate manner.'

The Sub-Inspector repeated, 'So, may I go?'

'Yes, of course,' said Ruppan Babu, 'Ramadhin must be sitting
waiting for you at the police station.'
The Sub-Inspector smiled, and referring to the most regrettable
fact of any bureaucrat's life, he said, 'The country has gained
freedom, so now things are different. But otherwise, Ruppan Babu,
there would be a lot of very important people having to sit and wait
for me.'
When he left, Ruppan Babu said to himself, 'We've mistaken
quack medicine for elixir,' and to Vaidyaji, 'We've been badly dis-
graced.'
Vaidyaji was sitting peacefully. Seeing Rangnath coming out of
an inner room he said, as if giving a speech, 'Profit and loss, victory
—
and defeat, honour and dishonour they should all be accepted
with equanimity'
'Father is talking of the Gita/ thought Ruppan Babu, 'now we'll
see how far that Sub-Inspector will get!'

At Babu Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi's door, bhang was being

ground today. Opposite, underneath a thatched roof, cards were
being played. Unconcerned with either activity, Babu Ramadhin
was lying on a charpoy listening to Langar who was standing
below the veranda.
Rangnath and Sanichar were passing by that way Babu Ramadhin
called them over, sat himself on a corner of the charpoy and invited
them to sit at its head. He showed no formality towards Sanichar,
but just said, 'Why are you standing? Sit down, Pradhanji.'

175
 This was only the second occasion Rangnath had come this way.
The time there had been no sign of gambling or bhang. The
first

atmosphere was more congenial today. Rangnath looked towards

Langar and asked Sanichar, 'How is he getting on?'
'He's a brave man. You can take it that this time he has milked
the bullock.' Miming the action of milking he indicated just how
far your hands had to go to get milk out of a bullock.
Rangnath called out, 'What happened? Did you get the copy?'
Langar answered with the simplicity of a Vaishnavite saint, 'Yes,
father, you can take it that I have. The application has come back
from headquarters. Otherwise many applications that are sent to
headquarters get lost there, but mine wasn't. It's thanks to the glory
of the feet of people such as you.'
Sanichar said wisely, 'It's a very good sign. If the application has
come back then he will get the copy'
'When will you get it?' asked Rangnath.
This lack of patiencesomewhat displeased Langar, but to ap-
pease Rangnath he said, 'The copy clerk was telling me that my
turn is just about to come.'
Ramadhin said, 'Go, Langar! Go over there and get yourself
some good milky bhang.'
Then he turned to Rangnath and asked with interest, 'I heard
Jognath was arrested today?'
Rangnath had already prepared an answer to this question. He
asked Ramadhin, 'Who's Jognath?'
Ramadhin stared at him in astonishment, and then requested
Sanichar, 'Pradhanji, tell him who Jognath is.'
Sanichar replied, 'Please, Babu Sahib, don't call me Pradhan yet.
Only when you give your valuable vote to Mangal Das, son of
Dulare Lai, will I be able to become Pradhan. It's pointless until
then. Isn't that right, Babu Rangnath?'
A glass of bhang had been placed in front of Rangnath. He shook
his head and said, 'I don't drink it.'
Babu Ramadhin felt the same degree of insult which had led
ultimately to the Battle of Haldighati. He growled, 'How could you
drink bhang, brother? It's a peasant's drink.'
A ganjaha was sitting opposite Ramadhin. From the start he had
accepted Rangnath as his natural enemy because Rangnath was
cleaner and better-dressed than himself. He spoke out, 'He's a town

176
man, how could he drink bhang? You'll have to get out some bottled
booze for him, Babu Sahib!'
Ramadhin looked at Rangnath with great humour and said, 'He
won't drink the bottled stuff. Don't you see, he's a Brahmin!' Then
he said respectfully, 'But if you do drink it, just say the word, I'll
send for it!'
Having been brought down to the level of a Brahmin, Rangnath
was finding it difficult to reply, but Sanichar did not hesitate to say,
'Why should you send beanpole send for one,
for a bottle? Let this
after all he's the one who raised the issue.' With this he turned
towards the ganjaha and said with contempt, 'Stupid oaf!' Then he
quoted a local saying which translated in common speech to, 'You
are running around inviting sixteen hundred pigs to a banquet, but
you can't even come up with a drop of shit for them to eat.'
Rangnath thought it opportune to make a move as the conver-
sation was getting more and more unsatisfactory. 'Now may we go,
Babu Ramadhinji. I was going for a stroll, and it's getting late.'
'Strolling is work for a mare, not for the son of a man,' he replied
intimately, 'just do a quick five hundred squat jumps and you'll be
able to digest anything.'
Rangnath and Sanichar set off, stopping for a while to watch the
card players.
There were two groups of players. On one side several men were
sitting playing 'coat-piece'. By observing them closely they dis-
covered that coat-piece was a game played with fifty-two cards. The
cards should be old, worn and so tattered that a connoisseur could
tell from the other side which card was which. From watching this

group they also learnt that coat-piece was a game played with eight
players. Four of them sit holding their cards, desperately anxious,
their heads hung down on their chests. The other four sit behind
each of the players giving a ball-by-ball commentary on the play,
and are certain to speak whenever silence is necessary. Not only
this, they also rub chewing tobacco for the players, light their

beedis, call for water, and pick up the cards the players lay down.
At the end of a game when players work out their winnings and
losses, it's also their responsibility to provide change, and to order
betel nut paid for out of the winnings of the successful players. It
is their job as well to indicate to the player opposite which card he

should play, and to make a commotion in protest when his cheating

is discovered.

177
 To Rangiiath this game seemed sluggish, just like the intoxica-
tion of bhang, but when he inspected the second group his impres-
sion of gambling in Shivpalganj was completely transformed.
They were playing flush, which here was called 'falias' in accordance
with the same principle which turns the English Tantern' into the
Hindi 'lalten/
The game was being played very fiercely. On one side the
automatic weapon of bluff was causing mayhem. On the other a
player was proceeding with pure native cunning. Suddenly the
elephant of his intellect panicked, bolted, threw off its rider and
stood with one leg raised ready to crush him. He threw down his
cards and the other player immediately gathered together a fistful
of money and secured it under his thigh. The loser, who two days
earlier Rangnath had seen in Vaidyaji's home working as a labourer
for eight annas a day, lit a beedi without the least frown or com-
plaint, and began disinterestedly to watch the cards being dealt for
the next game. Inwardly Rangnath praised his fortitude and
courage.
These people had their own language. They called a pair 'jor', a
flush Tangri', a run 'daur', a running flush 'pakki' and a trey a
'tirrair. Rangnath thought. This is the proper solution to the

problem of translating English words into Hindi.'

Professional lexicographers and their committees had cast their
net over the country, and were inventing equivalents of English
words in Hindi and other regional languages. This work was quite
interesting because on the one hand a new language was being
invented inside closed rooms, and on the other so much time was
being taken that the language builders would have a job until they
could retire on full pension. It was also interesting because this
newly created language was meaningless except for the fact that
Indians could be told, 'Look, brothers, the very same thing that's in
English is now in your language too.' Not one expert was in the
least bothered whether his brothers adopted the new words or not.
Occasionally Rangnath considered this absurd problem, but he
could see no way out of it. But today, repeatedly hearing the words
'pakki', 'tirrail' and 'langri' being used, he thought, 'Why shouldn't
these four or five ganjahas form a committee and go and sit in
Delhi? They would come up with words in their own mother
tongue for the most technical phrases, and if they couldn't in any

178
instance, they wouldn't take much time to convert a trey into a
"tirrail"/

The two of them had wandered out into the fields, and Sanichar
was taking leave of Rangnath to go off towards a small pond
nearby. Rangnath said, T understand everything except why Chote
Wrestler standing as a witness against Jognath. That isn't right/
is

Sanichar was heading towards the pond like a rocket. He had

begun to feel for the cord of his underpants, and there was no need
to explain the reason for his haste. But as he went, he explained
Chote's action in thirteen words, 'Just wait and watch, Rangnath
Babu, these are the ways of the ganjahas.'
Then he pulled off his underpants as impetuously as if Miss
World were waiting for him, threw them aside and, completely
naked, in full view of Rangnath, he suddenly squatted down on
the bank of the pond like a participant in a partridge fight.

179
TWENTY-TWO

In the country, small wayside culverts are put to the same use as
tea rooms, committee rooms, libraries and state assemblies are in
the cities; that is, people sit there and gossip. At this time, about two
o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, Rangnath and Ruppan Babu were
sitting on a culvert sunning themselves and contemplating the
state of the world.
—
The state of the world that is to say, the warm touch of two firm
breasts in the darkness. Rangnath had raised the subject. He hadn't
wanted to tell anyone about the events of that night, but after a
while was spent discussing darkness, winter, ghosts and so on,
Rangnath realized that gradually, without intending to, he had
recounted the full story.
Ruppan and by the time Rangnath had
listened very attentively,
finished speaking he felt as if he was sitting in an oven. He sensed
within himself a strange heat and tension, as he always did when
girls were mentioned. He was certain that the girl on the roof had
been Bela, and the man she had wanted to surrender herself to was
himself. 'My love letter is working, and she is restless for me,' he
thought proudly, immediately beginning to feel restless himself. He
wished he had slept on the roof that night, and his regret brought
to mind a morose Hindi film song, but in front of Rangnath he had
to present himself as a sensible man, and so he sat as he was and
looked, superficially, to be a sensible man. Seeing him silent,
Rangnath repeated, 'I have no idea how she came and went. I only
.'
remember that she was sitting bent over me and. . .

Ruppan Babu said with the voice of experience, 'It happens.

Sometimes you can make mistakes like that. Who knows who it
was, whether there was any man there or not? There's no need to
mention it anyone. These country rustics will start thinking
to
about ghosts and spirits, and how will you be able to explain it to
them, Rangnath brother? Keep your mouth shut. It could be you
dreamt it, it really could.'
Rangnath objected to two points in this speech. Firstly that
Ruppan was trying to pass off his experience as a dream; and
secondly that he was using the masculine gender for the girl. He

180
said, 'There is no way I could have been mistaken. I was fully awake.
She came and on my charpoy and was bending over me.'
sat
'All Ruppan, fanning away some imaginary
right, all right,' said
mosquitoes with one hand, 'I believe you. There really was some
person there. But there is no need to do anything about it.'
Some person! Rangnath shut his eyes, made a summary ex-
amination of the beautiful goddesses of Konarak, and repeated to
himself twenty times, 'Not a person, a girl! Ruppan Babu, will you
ever be able to think of anything beyond "some person"?'

The next day!

They had run out of almonds and Rangnath had to go to buy
some.
He had heard that two miles from Shivpalganj was a village
where there were some grocery shops which might keep good
quality almonds. For some distance, the way to the other village
was just a narrow path, blocked in places by thorn branches.
Ditches and irrigation channels had been dug across it, and here
and there it was also traversed by mud ridges marking field boun-
daries. With every step it became clearer that the farmers didn't
want so much as a bird to be able to use this path. But Man, who
today is preparing to travel to Mars and the moon, had trampled
over these obstacles and cleared a way for himself across fields and
over ditches.
A gentleman was walking down this path. Rangnath followed
him. The man asked Rangnath whose son he was and Rangnath
replied that he was Vaidyaji's nephew.
The man said respectfully that he had heard Rangnath's name
and today he was having the good fortune of meeting him. He had
heard that Rangnath was highly educated and had passed his B.A.
and M. A. In reply Rangnath told him that the path was in a dreadful
state, and God only knew why people had stuck thorn branches
here. The man responded by saying that nowadays no one ques-
tioned anyone, and whoever felt like it stuck thorn branches in the
ground, or built field boundary walls. Rangnath asked why the
Village Council didn't stop them. He replied that all the Village
Council could do was impose fines. In the days of the big land-
owners people were beaten with shoes. He explained that India
was a country of bloody sheep, and nothing could be done here

181
 a

without shoe-beatings. The big landowners were broken, and their

shoe-beatings had stopped, but you could see that now the
Government itself was having to trade shoe-blows with the people.
Everyday, somewhere or the other, it had to resort to lathi charges
or a firing. Even if you wanted to do something about it, what could
you do? People worshipped kicks, they couldn't be persuaded with
words.
The man was in a bad mood, and so Rangnath said no more. After
proceeding a little further the man suddenly remarked, Ts a B.A.
more important, or a law degree?'
'How can I say which is more important? They are both the
same.'
'That I know. In this tatty country there's no difference left
also
between great and small. But really, which is the greater thing —
B.A. or a law degree?'
To put an end to the subject, Rangnath said, 'A law degree.'
'Then you should know that my son is a lawyer.'
'Where does he live?'
The lawyer's father said vainly, 'Where do lawyers live? They
don't go and live in villages. He's settled in the town, and has been
practising for three years.'
'Then he must be counted amongst the best lawyers.'
'Not just the best, the greatest. That man Jognath, from your
village, he's representing him! Vaidyaji was completely helpless
here. The Sub-Inspector didn't grant bail. But there in the court my
son got him bail just like that. He's a real gentleman. I filled in the
form appointing him Jognath's counsel myself, and he pushed five
rupees into my hand for it too.'
To encourage the lawyer's father, Rangnath said, 'That means
he must be earning good money.'
The man was suddenly on his guard. He turned to look
Rangnath in the face and said in a subdued tone, 'Good money?
Well, if you like I suppose you can just about say it's all right. It's
nothing very much, brother! Your uncle's the one who's doing well.
What a splendid sight his sitting-room is! Even if he just grinds a
tamarind seed to powder, ties it up and gives it to a patient, he can
charge a rupee. It's a matter of luck.' He made no attempt to conceal
his jealousy, and in purely peasant fashion began to lash Vaidyaji
with the words, 'Suddenly he's become a great leader Before he
was a simple, straightforward man. Now there's as much of him

182
below the ground as there is on top of it. And he profits from
—
everything he does even his piss can be used to light lamps/
In conclusion he said, 'But the Sub-Inspector didn't listen to him
when it came to Jognath. He sat Jognath in a cage like a monkey
and had him sent to jail/
He repeated, If my son hadn't bailed him out, he would be inside
with the jailer's children in his lap/
'When's the hearing?' Rangnath asked.
Tor Jognath's case? In some Honorary Magistrate's court. There
you can get a hearing whenever you want one. My son is back at
home at the moment. In two or three days he'll go back to town and
then he'll fix some date for the hearing.'
They were walking over low-lying ground surrounded by
bushes and shrubs. There was practically a forest of tall kans grass.
It was dry and stiff, and poked into you as you went down the path.

At one point tips of the grass were hanging across the path.
Instead of pushing them out of the way and walking past,
Rangnath grasped them and tied them into a large, fat knot. This
to some extent cleared the path. He tied another knot in another
clump of grass a little further on.
The lawyer's father stood watching what Rangnath was doing.
When Rangnath had finished tying the second fat knot, he asked,
'What's that?'
'What?'
'That knot you've tied.'

'That? That knot?' He was

about to explain that it would stop
the kans grass from spreading over the path, but seeing the expres-
sion on the lawyer's father's face he paused. It seemed that the
lawyer's father wanted to uncover some great mystery. Rangnath
thought to himself, if that's what he wants, that's what he'll get. He
said, 'Don't tell anyone. Uncle told me that on the way there's a
forest of kans grass. Tie a knot in the tips of the grass. Lord
Hanuman will be pleased.'
The lawyer's father said doubtfully, 'I've never heard that
before.'
'Neither had I,' replied Rangnath carelessly as he walked on. The
lawyer's father now fell in behind him and again began to talk
about the legal profession. 'M.A.s and B.A.s mean nothing. There
used to be a poem people used to repeat where I come from. How
did it go? Let's see, it's on the tip of my tongue. yes, the last line
. . .

183
was, ''He's a middle-class pass, but he's still cutting grass." Now you
can change it to, "Brother's a B.A. pass, but he's still cutting grass."
Nowadays M.A.s and B.A.s are two an anna. You should have taken
a law degree too. As a lawyer you can put your chair in the court
and sit like a king. The man whose uncle is a ganjaha, an ayurvedic
—
doctor and on top of that a leader when's he ever going to be short
of cases? Your uncle must have a dozen or so cases of his own
coming up everyday'
Rangnath expressed no opinion on this advice. He just stopped,
tied a third knot in a clump of kans grass and said, 'Victory to Lord
Hanuman!'
The lawyer's father stopped too. The moment he heard
Hanuman's name coming from Rangnath's lips, he took hold of a
clump of kans grass and busied himself tying a knot. He explained
to Rangnath, 'I think I might as well tie a knot myself. It's not as if

it's costing me anything.'

Rangnath said gravely, 'Victory to Lord Hanuman!'
The lawyer's father immediately joined his hands in reverence
and repeated, 'Victory to Lord Hanuman!'
A very dark-skinned woman was walking behind them with a
dirty bundle on her head. At first she was some way off, but when
they stopped to tie the knots, she caught up with them. She was
about forty-five, but looked an old woman. Two of her jacket
buttons were undone, but she appeared to be in a state of trance-
like absorption in God and certainly didn't know that her buttons
were undone, or that their being undone might cause her any loss
or gain. At first glance Rangnath had observed this natural sight,
and then averted his eyes towards the lawyer's father But the
lawyer's father didn't see that Rangnath was looking at him be-
cause he himself was engrossed in the same natural sight which
Rangnath had observed and turned away from.
The woman bleated like a goat, 'What are you doing, brother?'
Rangnath didn't have to answer. The lawyer's father had al-
ready said, 'Can't you see? We're tying knots for Lord Hanuman.'
The woman took the bundle off her head and put it down, 'I'm
a woman. Is it allowed for me to do it too?'
'In God's court all are equal —
men and women!' said the
lawyer's father with as much self-confidence as if he had just come
straight back from God's court himself. The woman pushed her

184
hands into a clump of kans grass and said with reverence, 'Victory
to Lord Hanuman!'

Rangnath didn't find any almonds in the neighbouring village, but

he did find Sanichar sitting in a barber's shop. Behind him the
barber was wielding a pair of clippers. The bush of hair around the
side of his head had already been cut, and the hair on the crown of
his head had been left long in such a way that from a distance it
would look as if he was wearing a round hat. In short, Sanichar was
having his hair cut English fashion.
He heard Rangnath's voice and, despite the powerful hands of
the barber and the pressure of the clippers, managed to turn his
head. Looking at Rangnath out of the corner of one eye he said, 'All
the barbers in Shivpalganj have gone for a funeral. So I thought I'd
come and have my hair cut here for once.'
He said this as loftily as if he hadevery other day.
his hair cut
—
But the truth was and Rangnath knew it that Sanichar 's —
hairdressing habits were completely idiosyncratic. For a whole year
he would neither touch his hair, nor let anyone else touch it, then
suddenly one day he would sit down in front of a razor Rangnath
couldn't understand the reasoning behind this haircut. He stood
quietly.
Seeing Rangnath standing there the barber stopped cutting
Sanichar 's hair and, pushing his head forward with two fingers,
said 'Get up! All done!' Sanichar immediately stood up.
Today he was in a strange mood. He kept clenching his fists and
sucking in his breath. He walked off very fast, as if he'd just been
kicked by a stallion, muttering something to himself which brought
froth to the corners of his mouth.
On way back to Shivpalganj, he and Rangnath walked
the
underneath a huge mango tree. A kite gave a shrill cry. Sanichar
made two remarks in one breath, 'That bloody bird's making a fuss
about nothing too. . . . Look out, Ramadhin, this time I'm taking to
the ring myself.'
Rangnath couldn't fathom the connection between the two
statements. He asked, 'What ring?'
Sanichar stared at him in surprise and avoided giving an answer
Shaking off some of the hair that had fallen on to his body, he said.

185
'He'll be cured, so he will. Just wait and see. Let the atom bomb
explode.'
They had passed the mango grove and had come to the spot
where the kans grass started. Rangnath went ahead so that no hairs
would float off Sanichar on to him. Suddenly he stopped dead.
The clumps of kans were a peculiar sight. Along the edge of the
path, for about a hundred yards, knots had been tied in the ends of
the grass, which looked like a line of puppet soldiers with turbans
standing to attention. A man was tying a new knot.
Sanichar bellowed like a bull, 'Eh, you idiot! What are you
playing at?' He said to Rangnath, 'Have you seen what these
peasants have done? They have ruined the whole forest. God
knows what bastard went and tied these knots.'
Rangnath started and looked Sanichar in the face. Curses were
flowing from his mouth somewhat faster than usual today.
Rangnath asked, 'Are these knots doing anyone any harm?'
'How are they not? Don't you know this land belongs to the
Shivpalganj Village Council?' He added imposingly, 'Do you un-
derstand, Babu Rangnath?' He raised his head like a camel to curse
the man tying the knot. Telling him which part of a woman's body
he had been born from, he asked, 'Is this kans your father's proper-
ty?'
The man turned round and said, 'And if it's not, is it your
father's?'
To prevent an argument Rangnath stepped forward and said,
'Please don't swear, brother,' and then asked the man, 'What are
you doing?'
'I'm justdoing what the whole world is doing,' he said haughtily
as if he was doing the most basic thing in the world.
Sanichar said, 'But do you realize that this land falls under the
Shivpalganj Village Council? By tying knots in it you kill the kans
hedge. Do you know it? If you're charged for it you'll be left
running round in circles. Then this "world" of yours will be of no
help to you.'
'What bastard is going to charge me?'
—
'Not a bastard a legitimate husband of your sister. Me! The
Pradhan!'
Looking at Rangnath, he explained, 'Yes, Rangnath Babu, me!
Today I'm going to file my papers for the Pradhan's election. In
under fifteen days, just you see, I'll be standing on Ramadhin's

186
chest and seeing what bastard dares lay a finger on a straw of my
councirs property?
So that was it! That was the reason for his English-style haircut,
and his objection to the cry of a kite perched in a tree. That was the
atom bomb that was about to explode. That was why he was being
so dictatorial about the Village Council's land.
Rangnath understood the whole thing. 'You'll file your nomina-
tion papers today itself?'
'Right away! This minute!' said Sanichar enthusiastically, 'I'll file
my papers even before I take a bath.'
He glanced over towards the man who had tied the knot to see
whether he had impressed him or not. The answer was clear. The
effect of Sanichar 's awe-inspiring speech was limited only to him-
self— ^just as India's claims to lead Asia and Africa are only taken
seriously in India. The man said with assurance, 'Jolly good, you
become the Pradhan, after all someone has to.' Then he added with
contempt. After all what is the Village Council? Just a ruse of the
government.'
Sanichar sensed he'd been insulted. He said, 'It is a ruse, but you
just see after fifteen days what happens to anyone who touches a
blade of kans.'
The man said lightly,like that, then I won't touch it. This
'If it's

"knot worship", started in Shivpalganj in the first place. It just

won't spread further than that.'
Looking at the dozens of knots in front of him, Rangnath asked,
'What sort of ritual is this?'
'Who knows what sort it is? I've heard that Lord Hanuman
appeared to someone in Shivpalganj in a dream. On his orders
people have begun to tie knots here.'
Sanichar anxiously joined his hands and said, 'Then go ahead
and tie as many knots as you like, brother, there's no restriction on
matters of religion.' With this he put whatever little brain he had
to work and said to Rangnath, 'But, Babu Rangnath, I've never
heard this. Who had this dream? When I came this way there were
no knots here.'
'I don't know anything about it,' replied Rangnath. 'Uncle had
told me knot in the kans grass if I came this way. So I tied
to tie a
one. These are Hanuman's
knots. Uncle said so.'
As soon as he heard this, Sanichar 's mind became absorbed in
Lord Hanuman. He leapt like a tail-less monkey towards a tall

187
clump of grass and began same time raising
to tie a knot, at the
Hanuman!' cursing Ramadhin,
three or four cries of 'Victory to Lord
and in conclusion saying, 'The truthful hold sway, and enemies are
disgraced today!'
Rangnath added, 'Ram's name is Truth. Speak the Truth for it's

salvation.'
Sanichar didn't hear him. If he had he would have objected,
although from the religious point of view it was a very sound point,
and being linked with Ram's name the saying could be used on any
occasion. After tying the knot, Sanichar took Hanuman's name
once more and wiped both hands on the back of his underpants,
unconcerned at his lack of a tail in that region. He began to walk
quickly ahead.
Slowly Rangnath's mind was filled with peace and self-esteem.
Today, without realizing it, he had founded a new sect whose only
philosophy, mythology and ritual was to tie knots in kans grass. He
found himself standing in the same line as the Buddha, Mahavira
and the Shankaracharya, and in his heart he asked them, 'Masters,
I know about myself, but you tell me your stories. How did you

come to think about starting new sects?'

188
TWENTY-THREE

In some village someone had murdered somebody. To settle scores

with someone else's enemy someone had had some man's name
mentioned as the murderer in the police report. Then to settle
scores with his own enemy someone else had agreed to give
evidence against him. Then someone else recommended his case
to someone in power, and someone else bribed someone on his
behalf. Someone threatened some witness, made someone look
stupid, and someone made love to someone. So by the time the
matter came to court, it had completely changed its character, had
ceased to be a murder case and become a drama entitled 'Blood for
Blood'. The lawyers on both sides played their parts well, and the
judge was confident that what was presented to him was an excel-
lent piece of theatre, but that the evidence presented was in fact
fraudulent. Finally, the fraud theory influenced him so much, that
he not only believed the defendant was innocent, but also that
there had never been a murder in the first place. The result was that
the defendant, Hari Ram, was cleared of the charge of murder
without a stain on his character.
The defendant Hari Ram didn't actually gain a stainless charac-
ter just because the judge said so. He remained the hooligan he
was, but the moment he was released from jail he invited all the
local people, with the exception of all those generally considered
to be of good character —that is, women, Harijans and Muslims to —
a feast. As a result, that day, all the leading citizens of Shivpalganj
had gone to feast at Hari Ram's place in the neighbouring village,
and Rangnath was left alone in Vaidyaji's house.
The whole day his time passed like a lacklustre, boring lecture.
In the evening he went out for a stroll and saw the Principal
standing at a paan shop. He was chewing betel-nut and attempting
to pay the paan-wallah the price of it. The paan-wallah had already
given him the betel-nut and, as for the pajmient, was telling the
Principal that the shop was, after all, his. At this point Rangnath
appeared on the scene, and the Principal began to seriously ap-
praise the items on display in the shop. Hanging from a door-frame
in a multi-coloured picture, Mahatma Gandhi was laughing a

189
monstrous laugh. His political heir, Nehru, was standing with
folded hands. The conclusion, written below, was that a certain
brand of coloured oil was a sure cure for dry itch in children.
Rangnath asked the 'Have you seen that?'
Principal,
He replied with a sa3dng in Avadhi, A harness t' suit the beast.
The picture's fitting for a rural area.'
'There's no rural-urban divide on Rangnath,
this issue!' said
'everyone respects Gandhiji.' After studying the picture for a while
he criticized it passionately. 'I feel like beating the painter a
hundred times with a shoe.'
The Principal laughed. From his laughter you could tell that he
thought Rangnath was being foolish. 'A drink will be as sweet as
the amount of sugar you put into it. What can an oil-presser or a
paan-wallah afford? No one's going to hang a Picasso in some
tin-pot shop.'
Rangnath interrupted him, saying emphatically, 'Stop it. Master
Sahib! Don't mention Picasso. Hearing a name like his coming from
your mouth makes me want to faint.'
Both had made their way on to the road and were taking in the
air among herds of cows and buffaloes, although there wasn't
—
much air to take in there was dust to inhale, cow dung to smell
and the horns of sacred cows to stab you in the back.
Rangnath's comment affected the Principal so badly that he
became serious, and began to talk like a really civilized human
being. 'So, Rangnathji, you consider me completely unlettered? I
too received an M.A. in history, and with fifty-nine per cent marks.
It's a matter of fate that now I am the Principal here.'
This grave overture knocked the wind out of Rangnath. He felt
that he had hurt the Principal by his remark about Picasso. He
apologized. 'I already realized that. If you had got some low

division you would never have been here.'

'That's true,' replied the Principal, 'I would have been a univer-
sity lecturer. Several of my third-class-pass friends have got jobs in
universities.'
For a short while the Principal walked along in low spirits. He
was attempting to be sentimental. Then he spoke: 'Babu Rangnath,
I know what you people think of me. You must be thinking that

even though I'm a college principal, I'm a thorough peasant. That

I simper in front of everyone. You're right. I listen very humbly to

—
whatever anyone tells me except for Khanna and his lot, those idiots

190
 .

are just boys. I especially always support what my seniors say. Now
you think I'm stupid, but there is a reason for what I do
'The reason is/ he said, laughing and moving to the side of the
road to make way for a buffalo, 'the reason is that stupidity, like
wisdom, has its own value. Whether you agree with a stupid man
or cut him short, he neither gains from it nor loses. He is stupid and
remains stupid. So it's my habit never to cross a stupid man. . .

*
'Sometimes when people see me tolerating stupidity, they think
I'm a fool too, but they're fools themselves to think that, wouldn't
you say, Babu Rangnath?'
Hearing this all at once from the mouth of the Principal Sahib
quite dazed Rangnath. That's why when a calf butted him in the
back, he felt no pain. The Principal caught him by the arm and
pulled him over to the side of the road. It was an experience in itself
just to witness this intelligent side of the Principal. Rangnath didn't
even notice when he started grinning and simpering again. The
next moment Rangnath was almost apologizing, 'Yes, yes, I realize
you know all there is to know about Picasso. It was only that you
mentioned him in Shivpalganj. If you think about it, could you ever
imagine you'd hear Picasso's name mentioned here! Thaf s why I was
taken aback. It's neither your fault nor mine, nor Shivpalganj 's, nor
the paan-wallah's. Sir, the fault is Picasso's.'
The Principal was watching Rangnath's personality crumbling
and disintegrating before his eyes. In an even graver tone he said,
'Once I too was in the habit of talking about ability. At that time I
was studying for my M.A. In the town you must have seen young
girls walking along the street. Some of them start putting on airs

—
and showing off at any male they see man or boy. 1 was just the
same. I never noticed which professors were genuine and which
were idiots, I used to show off my ability in front of all of them. One
professor was offended by this, and I was finished.'
They had now passed beyond the village market. The evening
was drawing in. The smoke from the ovens where gram was being
roasted, instead of rising, hung in the air before them. The sun had
set. But there was still sufficient light for Rangnath to make out the

daughter of the gram-roaster sitting in her shop, and to have a quiet

guess that she was worth looking at. They left the last of the village
houses about fifty yards behind and reached the stretch of barren
land which man could use only for writing poetry, committing
highway robbery, or shitting. As a result, several children who were

191
incapable of the first two activities, were squatting on either side of
the road shitting and hurling lumps of earth at one another. And
some way further on few adult women were squatting in
quite a
lines beside the road for the same purpose.
Their shameless presence was hurling a curse at the builders of
New India. But the builders of New India definitely knew nothing
about it, because at that time they were probably sitting in
lavatories in their house's smallest but cleanest room, considering
problems concerning newspapers, constipation and trips abroad.
When the women saw the Principal and Rangnath they imme-
and stood up straight, form-
diately ceased their crapping activities,
ing a kind of guard of honour. The two men wandered on
undisturbed. The women remained standing, equally unbothered.
A bleating goat pushed past Rangnath and the Principal, reached
the edge of the road and, knocking over a lota of water on the
ground, disappeared into a mango grove. Some of the children
began to scream, as well as throwing clods of earth and attending
to the calls of nature. Some of them got up just as they were and
started running after the goat. In this environment Rangnath and
the Principal Sahib remained quiet for some while.
When they had gone on another ten yards they turned to look
and saw that the women had sat down by the roadside as before.
The Principal Sahib continued, 'That's what happened,
Rangnath Babu! I had the temerity to correct a professor in class.
He got offended and he stayed offended. He began finding fault
with everything I did. Finally he got me a degree a class lower than
I deserved and fixed it that I should never get a job in the university

as long as he was there.

'If I hadn't upset that bastard I would be in his place now.'

The Principal Sahib finished his story and fell silent. They
walked on for a while. Then the Principal said, 'Afterwards I came
to the conclusion that that's the way everything works. Let it be. If
they're all crooks, then I'm not going to gain anything by pretend-
ing to be a big hero. And now I've reached the stage, Rangnath
Babu, when, if anyone says anything to me, I just say, "Yes, brother,
you're very right." And if Vaidyaji says anything, then it's "Yes,
Maharaj! Very right!" And if Badri says anything, it's "Wrestler!
'
Whatever you say goes!"
Rangnath didn't have the courage to interrupt. The Principal
went on, 'And that is the right thing to do, Rangnath Babu! I have

192
to marry off four sisters. And I don't have a rupee to my name. If
Vaidyaji threw me out on my ear, no one would give me a pice if I
begged for it.
'Now you tell me, should I go around treating that bastard
Khanna and his tribe like my father, or Vaidyaji. .?' .

During this conversation an altogether more human side of the

Principal's character had come to the fore, but his last words began
to reveal more of his familiar crudity, and the spell broke. Rangnath
spoke lightly, as he had done at first. 'No, no. You are doing the
right thing, and you're well off as you are. Whaf s the point of being
a university professor? Here are you any less than a Vice Chancellor?'
For the first time the Principal Sahib laughed. He said, 'Well,
that's true. I Even a
consider myself better than a Vice Chancellor
Vice Chancellor's From early morning you have to drive
life is hell.

around in your car paying respects to the members of the executive.

You either have to appear before the Chancellor, or the Minister, or
the Secretary The Governor tells you off at least four times a year
Day and night there's some commotion or the other The boys
march past in processions using four-letter words at you. There's
always the fear of being beaten up. You phone the police and the
S.S.P laughs at you and says, "Look at this Vice Chancellor, he can't
rest until he's had his students lathi-charged a couple of dozen
times a year" That's what it's like, Rangnath Babu!'
Hawking and spitting, he said again, 'So far I don't have these
sort of problems as a principal. And when you have Vaidyaji as a
manager, you can be assured that the Principal is like a lion. I don't
have to flatter anyone. I just hold on to Vaidyaji's coat-tails and
speak to everyone else with the shoe. What do you say, Babu
Rangnath?'
'You are absolutely right.'
'And to tell unhappy about not being a
the truth, I'm not at all

university lecturer Their life is even more hell. Complete hell!

Twenty-four-hour sycophancy! Some government board will give
you a miserable ten-rupee grant and then twist your ear to make
you write whatever thesis it likes. Wherever you look people are
grabbing for some research project or the other They say they're
doing research, but what research? They just sing the praises of
whoever 's paying them. And what are they called? Let me see,
what's the word? Yes, I remember they are called "intellectuals".
. .

So the position is that they are intellectuals, but to get foreign trips

193
they'll even disown their parents. To get one trip to America they're
prepared to undergo a public shoe-beating at a crossroads. That's
intellectuals for you!'
He quoted another saying in his mother tongue, 'If tha' hast to
eat dung, eat elephant dung. All I have to do is keep in with
Vaidyaji, but I'm not prepared to kowtow to everyone. I don't have
it in me to be a lecturer.'

The Principal shook his head as if refusing to become a lecturer,

and thereby spreading grief throughout the universities of the
world.
'You're absolutely right,' said Rangnath.
The Principal looked hard at Rangnath and suddenly began to
laugh lightly. He said softly, 'What's the matter, Babu Rangnath?
You're agreeing with everything I say?'
Rangnath replied, 'I was thinking that I should learn from your
experience. What's the point of contradicting anyone? Whatever
you say is right.'
The Principal roared with laughter 'Then you're also absolutely
right, Rangnath Babu! When I mentioned Picasso, you must have
'
nearly fainted I think

They walked back. Darkness surrounded them and there was a nip
in the air. Some banjaras were sitting by the roadside, warming
themselves in front of fires and speaking to each other in a dialect
which no educated person would ever understand. The Principal
crossed the banjara camp with the same equanamity with which
he had passed through the herds of cows and buffaloes on the
outward journey. Rangnath turned back to look just once, and said
merely, 'It's bitterly cold.'
The Principal was not prepared to comment on the weather He
turned the subject to Khanna Master. 'You people are still no judges
of character. I've heard that Ruppan has been taken in by Khanna.
But you should think carefully, Babu Rangnath, about what sort of
man he is.
'He's a very clever customer You see how he caused a fight in
the college that day? He lost nothing by it, but the name of the
college has been disgraced.'
'But I heard,' said Rangnath, 'that the quarrel was on both sides.'
The Principal replied in the tone of an ascetic, 'What does it

194
matter what you heard, Rangnath Babu! Now the case is before the
court. The Magistrate will decide as he thinks fit/
'But it's a very bad business/
'Bad? It's make you drown yourself in a mouthful of
enough to
water, Rangnath Babu! But this Khanna Master doesn't even have
that muchsense of shame. I'd have to tie a rock round his neck
myself before he'd drown.'
He was speaking with the selflessness common to officials of
the country's information departments —whether anyone was lis-

tening or not, he had to speak his lines. He went on, 'The police
slapped a case of Section 107 on both sides. That's what you call
police bloody-mindedness. Khanna caused the trouble, his com-
panions were the ones bent on having a fight, and then the police
go and charge his side and mine both. But then if the country's
mad, the rulers will be lunatics.
'The hearing was only yesterday I was told to make up with him.
I asked why on earth I should, and why they didn't hang me

straight away and put an end to the trouble. Then there would only
be Khanna Master and his hooligans left in Shivpalganj, and no
fights or quarrels.
'I came back quietly. He for his part had brought seventy boys
and he started them shouting "Down with the Principal!" —
in a
town court, in the presence of a hundred respectable people. They
asked who they were and so Khanna Master says himself, "They're
."
boys from Changamal College. . .

'If you want to be truly shameless, be like him.'

He quoted a third Avadhi saying, to the effect that: 'A tree

sprouted from the groin of a naked man and the fool began to dance
with joy and said, "Now I'll be able to enjoy the shade/'
'Do you follow, Babu Rangnath?' he continued, 'This is what
Khanna Master is like! Let Ruppan Babu know. Don't give him too
much lift or one day you'll regret it.'
They passed in front of the police station. A few constables were
walking around with lanterns and shouting. Some boys were
standing in the road singing some sort of chorus. Three trucks were
standing near the station in front of the Sub-Inspector's quarters.
Luggage was being loaded on to them. This was the real reason for
the constables' activity and the commotion.
The Principal remarked, 'It looks as though the Sub-Inspector's
loading up.'

195
 The full implications of this statement dawned on him before it
did on Rangnath. He shook Rangnath by the shoulder and chirped,
'That's what it is! This area was stinking, now it's clean/
Rangnath said, 'I don't know how the orders could have come
through so fast. Until lunch-time there was no news of them.'
The Principal Sahib's joy at the sight in front of him was pal-
pable. It seemed as if he might spread his arms, fly up to perch on
the top of a tree and sing like a bulbul. He said, 'Babu Rangnath,
you still don't know your Uncle after living with him for so many
days. He had the Sub-Inspector before this chased out of Shivpalganj
in twelve hours. It looks as if this one's got twenty-four.'
He whispered, 'Can anyone afford to cross Vaidyaji?
'The day he refused bail to Jognath, I knew it was time for him
to clear out. Then, on top of that, charging us under Section 107.
You tell me yourself, what need was there to charge me? But who
was going to tell him? Ramadhin had become his godfather. He had
him wound round his little finger, and now you've seen that within
ten days he's been packed off.'

The boys' chorus was continuing: 'The Sub-Inspector's packed

up, the Sub-Inspector's packed up!'
They were standing there to watch the luggage being loaded.
On one truck were several huge bedsteads of solid shisham
wood and remaining a fine cow and her calf.
in the space
'I can't see the buffalo,' said the Principal, 'it's a very first-class

—
animal a Murra.' He explained to Rangnath, 'The Thakurs of
Tikaitganj gave him the cow. It was a matter of the illegitimate
pregnancy of a widowed daughter-in-law. They were let off with
the gift of a cow.'
There were only bedsteads lying next to the truck. Rangnath had
heard that the Sub-Inspector was fond of beds, now he'd seen he
was. In spite of the darkness the boys singing a chorus on the street
had formed a circle around the centre of activity and were watching
the loading operations. One constable standing on a bedstead and
holding a lantern was encouraging the men doing the loading with
the words, 'Oh, well done! You've broken the joint, haven't you?
I knew you wouldn't listen until you'd broken it.' From his tone it

seemed as if a broken bedstead joint was the greatest mishap that

could befall Indian democracy.
Rangnath also offered a few words of advice to the men loading

196
the beds. 'Yes, brother/ he said reasonably, 'don't break any joints.
Load them carefully/
The Principal laughed rather loudly at Rangnath's words.
Without in any way preventing himself from attending on the
bedsteads, a constable called out, 'Who is it? The Principal Sahib?
Long live India, Principal Sahib!'
'What's happening, brother? Long live India! Has he been trans-
ferred or what?'
'Yes, Principal Sahib. The Sub-Inspector had applied to the SSP
It was a question of his daughter's education, he wanted a transfer

to the town.'
'She could have studied in our college. Is there any place better
than Shivpalganj?'
'Your college is a Hindustani school. Those people teach in
English medium. It's a convent school. Baby's already got her
uniform. It's all blue and when she wears it she looks just like an
English girl.'

'So he's being transferred into the town. That, in any case, is

good. But where will he keep this cow? Isn't he going to sell it?'

The constable exerted all his strength to lift a bedstead. He said

with a groan, 'No, the cow on an Army farm. The Sub-
will stay
Inspector's brother works there. There was nothing for this poor
cow here! She'll start getting a good diet now.'
Someone mentioned that Vaidyaji had just come to meet the
Sub-Inspector. Vaidyaji was wondering how the Sub-Inspector
could have been transferred as long as he was there to protect him
and offering to have the transfer stopped.
The Principal said to Rangnath, 'If the Sub-Inspector has any
shame, he'll be out of Shivpalganj before cock-crow tomorrow.'
He occupied himself for a while examining the Sub-Inspector's
belongings. Then he remarked, 'He's fond of beds.
'He's fond of everything he can get for free,' he added and then
addressed the constable in the back of the truck, 'Is the Sub-Inspector
at home? And Vaidyaji with him? Then let's go too, Babu Rangnath,
and pay our respects to the Sub-Inspector. The poor soul is a good
man, never did anyone any harm, or asked anything from anyone.
Whatever God gave him, he accepted gracefully.'
It's true. The poor soul really was a good man, and now has

passed away, thought Rangnath.

197
TWENTY-FOUR

On the outskirts of the village was a small pond which showed that
rurallife was not as idyllic as it used to be. The pond was dirty, full

of mud, stinking and very small. Horses, donkeys, dogs and pigs
were overjoyed at the sight of it. Worms and maggots, flies and
— —
mosquitoes all oblivious of family planning flourished there in
billions, teaching us that if we learnt to live like them, the country's
rising population would no longer be a problem.
To make up for any lack of filth, a couple of dozen boys, follow-
ing the dictates of their stomachs, came regularly to the banks of
the pond every morning and evening, and irregularly at any hour
—
of the day, to surrender gas, liquids and solids all three states of
—
matter and return lighter.
In the same way that any developing country, despite its back-
wardness, has some economic and political importance, this pond
too, despite its filthiness, had its own value. Its economic aspect lay
in the good doob grass which grew on its sloping banks, and which
solved the nutritional problems, of the horses belonging to the
zTc/cfl-wallahs was important because
of Shivpalganj. Politically it

Sanichar campaigned there among the grass-cutters and asked

them to vote for him.
When Sanichar reached the banks of the pond, he found two
men cutting grass. They were not in fact full-time grass-cutters but
ikka-waWahs, who, even after the spread of cycle rickshaws, were
still surviving with their horses. The rapid growth of the cycle

rickshaw-driving class in this country since independence only

goes to prove the success of our economic policies, and the poor
quality of our horses. It also proves that in the process of estab-
lishing a socialistic pattern of society we have first stamped out
discrimination between man and and will now consider
horse,
wiping out discrimination between man and man.
—
Sanichar was worried about his election elections being the
sole means of interaction between the man who wants votes and
the men who have them. Therefore he told the /^A:^-wallahs
without any preamble that he had filed his nomination papers for

198
the position of Pradhan, and thiat they should vote for him if they
knew what was good for them.
One wallah looked him up and down and soliloquized, 'This
zTc/cfl-

man wants to be Pradhan. Not a rag on his back but he'll still eat
betel-nut.'
Begging for votes humbles even the greatest leaders, and
Sanichar was just Sanichar. At this remark his pride collapsed, and
he began to grin ingratiatingly as he said, 'Arre, brother. Til be
Pradhan only in name. You can take it that Vaidya Maharaj will be
the real Pradhan. You just remember that you are voting for Vaidya
Maharaj. Take it that Vaidya Maharaj himself is begging you for
your vote.'
The z7rA:fl-wallahs exchanged glances without uttering a word.
Sanichar said, 'Well then, brothers, what do you say?'
'What is there to say?' said the second //c/ca- wallah. 'When
Vaidyaji is asking me to vote for him, how can I turn himdown?
What am I going to do with my vote anyway? I can't make pickle
out of it. So take it. Let Vaidyaji have it.'

The first ikka-wa\\ah said warmly, 'After all it's not as if a vote's
worth anything. Let anybody have it.'
The second zTc/ca-wallah contradicted him, 'How can you give it
away to anybody? This is the first time Vaidyaji has asked for
anything from us, and so we should give it to Vaidyaji. Let him have
it.'

Sanichar said, 'So the decision's final?'

They both replied at the same time, the gist of their replies being
that a man is always true to his word, and that though, really, they
were not worthy to give anything to anyone, when Vaidyaji asked
for something it was very difficult to say no, and that they hoped
that when Sanichar became Pradhan he would keep his feet on the
ground and not think he could stick his bamboo in the sky.
After Sanichar had left, for some time they cut grass and dis-
cussed the shortage of Suddenly they noticed a man approach-
it.

ing.He wrote his name on all official documents, but his name was
known to only a very few people in Shivpalganj. In the village he
was known as Ramadhin's brother. He was at this point the real
Pradhan of the Shivpalganj Village Council. It was another matter

that the people behaved as if Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi himself

was the Pradhan.
In recent years the fish from the village ponds had begun to fetch

199
high prices at auctions. The income had also
Village Council's
increased by leasing out barren land. Quotas of sugar and flour
were sometimes distributed through the Village Council too, and
for these reasons the Village Council was becoming rich, and
everyone in Shivpalganj knew that the wealth of the Village Council
and the wealth of the Pradhan were one and the same thing.
Consequently the position of Pradhan was profitable and benefi-
cial.

Not only this, it was also respected. Even if the Sub-Inspector

and the Tehsildar did summon the Pradhan a few times and abuse
him a bit, and even if one or two village hooligans did chuck a dozen
or so clods of earth at him from time to time, it did not detract from
the respectability of the position, because in Shivpalganj, as in the
man won respect simply by becoming rich, no
rest of the country, a
matter what means he used to do so. And in Shivpalganj, too, as in
the rest of the country, a man's reputation was not destroyed just
because he pocketed the funds of any institution.
For these reasons Ramadhin's brother was anxious to become
Pradhan again.
He had just pulled out some gram plants from a field next to his
own, and was on his way home holding them under one arm and
swearing loudly so that people might think that gram plants were
being stolen from his own field. He saw Sanichar by the pond
talking to the iTcA:^- wallahs, and immediately changed his plans and
headed in their direction. Seeing him approaching, and reassuring
themselves that Sanichar had disappeared from sight, the ikka-v/a\-
lahs greeted him and said, 'Brother, are you standing for the post
of Pradhan this time too?'
Referring to the impending theft of gram from the fields,
Ramadhin's brother said that his year as Pradhan was coming to an
end, and that was why thieves were going back so confidently to
their old ways, and that as long as he was running things thieves
had held their breath and kept in hiding. He drew the conclusion
that if the ganjahas loved peace and comfort, they would damn well
make him Pradhan again. To end he said nonchalantly, 'What was
old Sanichar saying?'
'He was asking for my vote.'
'What did you tell him?'
'I said, take it. It's not as if I can make pickle of it.'

200
 'If you vote for him, you'd better consider the pros and cons of
it first/

'That I've done. If you want, you can have my vote,' said the first
f/c/cfl-wallah, and repeated, 'after all, it's not as if I can make a pickle
out of it.'

'So then, you won't vote for old Sanichar?' asked Ramadhin's
brother.
'If you like, we'll vote for him. We'll vote for whoever you say.
Your word our command,' said the z7c/cfl-wallah, beginning to
is
.'
repeat, 'after all, it's not as if. . .

Ramadhin's brother interrupted him and ordered, 'You are not

to vote for Sanichar.'
'Then we won't.'
'You have to vote for me.'
'We will. If you want, you can have the votes.'
Ramadhin's brother went off abusing the gram thieves as before.
The virulence and volume of the abuse increased in proportion to
the distance he covered, because he was approaching the village
and he liked to impress upon people there that he too, in his own
way, was a thug, and that today he was angry.

Instead of dogs barking, today people were talking on the Gandhi

platform which stood between Chamrahi, where the houses of the
Harijans were, and the area of the village where the upper castes
lived. In view of the elections Ramadhin's brother had improved
the platform because, as perhaps is laid down in election law, or for
goodness knows what reason, big leaders have improvements
all

made few months before the elections.

in their constituencies a
They may build a bridge, or have a road laid, or distribute grain and
blankets to the poor. In the same way Ramadhin had tried to give
the area around the platform a face-lift.
There was a neem tree there which, like many intellectuals, was
completely hollow even though it kept its limbs outstretched to
demonstrate its existence. Beneath it Ramadhin's brother dug a
well. In fact, the well already existed, but he resurrected it and
according to current practice registered it officially as a Well
Construction Scheme. It was a political ploy to extract a good-sized
grant. Earlier, this well had collected rainwater which fell on the
nearby hillside during the monsoon, thereby preventing floods in

201
this area of the village. Now a wall had been built around it, and it

was work had been carried out in connection with a

clear that the
Five-Year Plan. To make this even clearer two pillars had been
erected, one on each side of the well. On one of them was an
inscription in stone, reading, 'Third Five-Year Plan. Village Council
Shivpalganj. Foundation stone of this well laid by Dr Jhaulal,
Vetinary Surgeon. Council chairman Mr Jagadamba Prasad.'
Now that the wall had been built, water from outside had ceased
toflow in and water from inside had begun to flow out. The water,
when it first made its appearance, was cool, soft and fragrant.
Standing stagnant in a large gutter it seemed to be suggesting to
the villagers, 'Since you've already had plenty of experience with
stomach worms, leave them be and come and take a little malaria
and filaria away with you too.'
At the same time that the well had been resurrected, the Gandhi
platform had been raised. Some new bricks had been added to it,
and the cement, despite the contractor, was so good that it hadn't
disintegrated a whole two weeks later
In this atmosphere of innovation, the platform had become
comparatively more attractive and sometimes idle students from
the college would sit on it and play cards. In the evening the lads
from Badri Wrestler's pit had begun to come there to scrape off the
plaster of mud left on their necks from the wrestling pit.
Today was election day. A holiday had been declared at the
college. The election was to be held at another location, definitely
one that was nowhere near Chamrahi, but at the moment there was
a fair crowd at the Gandhi platform, and as Gandhiji would have
wanted, all kinds of people were sitting there in unity. The card
players had put their cards away in their pockets; the lads from the
wrestling pit were spreading the fragrance of their renown all
around without having fought a bout, or being smeared with mud,
but just with the aid of a mustard oil massage.
Ruppan Babu was walking wearily and his face showed none of
its usual alertness and intelligence.
Seeing him approaching the platform, one of the young
wrestlers winked and asked, 'Well then, babu, how are you doing?'
In reply Ruppan Babu neither winked back nor asked, 'You tell
me, raja, how are you doing?' He just shook his head to make it
clear that the wrestler might joke, but he wouldn't because he was
in a bad mood. He walked up in slow motion, dark glasses over his

202
eyes, a silk scarf round his neck, and sat down with a thud on the
platform. For a short while silence descended on the assembled
multitude.
The boy wrestler idly stretched out an arm and bent it up at the
elbow. Above the elbow swelled a childish bleep the size of a mouse.
Looking at it repeatedly with pride, the boy came up to Ruppan
Babu and sat beside him. He winked again and, rubbing Ruppan
on the back, said, 'What's up, babu! Today you're looking a bit
off-colour.'
Ruppan Babu paid not the least attention to his friend's
presence. He sat in silence. A boy from the college said, 'Guru, you
didn't us anything to do, and there's not the spirit in Sanichar's
tell

campaign that there is in Ramadhin's.'

Ruppan Babu said in a voice pregnant with meaning, 'Now it no
longer matters who has spirit and who hasn't. The election result's
just been announced. Sanichar has won.'
The young wrestler and the college boys erupted in tumult.
From all directions came shouts, 'How? How? How did Sanichar
manage to win?'
Winking, Ruppan Babu's companion asked, 'Tell us, babu, how
did old Sanichar do it?'

'By the Mahipalpur Method,' replied Ruppan Babu wearily.

There are three ways to win an election: the Ramnagar Method, the
Nevada Method and the Mahipalpur Method.
Once, in Ramnagar, there were two candidates contesting the
—
Village Council elections Ripudman Singh and Shatrughan
Singh. They were both from the same caste and so there was a
problem with the natural caste break-up of votes. The Thakurs
were confused because the candidates were both Thakurs, and they
couldn't work out who to vote for. The non-Thakurs were in a
muddle because as neither of them belonged to their caste it made
no difference who they voted for. Some days later it became obvious
that Ripudman and Shatrughan were both Singhs (literally, lions)
who devoured their enemies. When this became clear, the villagers
reached the conclusion, in accordance with the traditions of
democracy, that it didn't harm them whoever was Pradhan, and
that the candidates should be allowed to eat each other.
When the candidates went out campaigning, people would

203
 —
generally tell them, 'It's not as if we can make pickle out of votes.
Take as many as you like/
The was that both the candidates reached the
result of all this
conclusion that no one was going to vote for them. They began to
appeal in the name of democracy, and to tell people the value of
their vote. They said that if they gave their valuable vote to the
wrong man, it would endanger democracy. Most people didn't
understand this point; those that did just replied that democracy is
not going to be endangered if we vote for the wrong man.
Democracy is quite satisfied just if you can vote. Choosing the right
man is a hit-and-miss affair; just look at what's happening in the
rest of the country.
There were only one or two people who talked like this but they
were enough to render democracy meaningless. So both sides
changed their propaganda methods and began to talk about the
rights of the Pradhan to give the village's fallow land to others, and
displace all those people who had grabbed the land against the
rules.
Farmers love the land dearly Not only that, they love other
people's land more than their own. So as soon as the villagers
realized that the Village Council had something to do with land
dealings, and that their neighbour's fields may become their own,
and if such and such a farmer died without an heir they could be
installed as his inheritors, they began to brim over with simple
affection.
Before one's eyes the whole village divided into two parties
one which was agreed to having the fallow land distributed by
Ripudman, and the other which recognized Shatrughan as the
more capable man for the job.
When there were only four days left before the elections, both
sides could be seen making elaborate preparations. People were
screaming out the slogan 'Long live the Revolution!' abusing their
opponents' mothers and sisters, oiling their lathis, polishing their
knives and taking their lives in their hands, together with a pipe of
hashish. While all this was happening, Ripudman Singh called his
younger brother Sarvadaman Singh and asked him affectionately
what he would do if, in the coming battle, he and twenty-five of his
men were killed.
Sarvadaman Singh had a degree in law, but had given up his
practice four years back to leap into local politics in much the same

204
way as in former days great barristers resigned their practice to join
national politics. The only difference was that no one could ever
find out how the barristers who entered the freedoom struggle
earned their income, but everyone knew very well how
Sarvadaman Singh made his living, and were, of necessity, im-
pressed by it. He had ten gas-lamps which were rented out during
the marriage season. He also had two rifles, which were rented out
to dacoits during the dacoity season. All in all, Sarvadaman Singh
earned enough for him to be able to comfortably conduct village
politics. His gas-lamps and rifles travelled great distances earning
him goodness knows how many wide-ranging and deep social
contacts, thanks to which he now spoke with a new self-confidence.
Sarvadaman answered his brother with appropriate self-as-
surance, 'Brother, if you and twenty-five of your men are killed in
this battle, then on the other side Shatrughan and twenty-five of
his men will also be killed. That would be the arithmetic propor-
tionately. Beyond that, whatever you say will be done.'
Ripudman Singh embraced Sarvadaman and tried to weep, but
only a film-star or a leader can weep at will, and due to lack of
practice Ripudman's attempt was unsuccessful. Sarvadaman slow-
ly disengaged himself and said, 'Let it be, and tell me what's to be
done after the 25-25 account is settled.'
Ripudman said, 'Imagine that the elections are held again, and
you wanted to become Pradhan, what would the position be?'
Sarvadaman brought out a pencil and paper, made a calculation
and said, 'Brother, if you and Shatrughan die with twenty-five men
each, then not only me, but any one from my side could bring in
fifty more votes than anyone from the opposition. Because among

the voters in the village there are at the most only twenty-five men
who are really ready to do or die for the other side, and on our side
there are more than forty. If twenty-five men from their side die,
you can say their whole locality is wiped out, but even after twenty-
five men of ours die the field will be left in the hands of our
remaining fifteen men.'
Three days before the election Ripudman filed a petition in the
Sub-Divisional Magistrate's Court against Shatrughan Singh and
twenty-five of his men, saying that they were endangering his life
and property, and that a disruption of the peaceful electoral process
was apprehended. The police supported the petition.
In response, Shatrughan Singh filed a similar petition against

205
Ripudman Singh and forty of his men. The police supported that
too, but made the calculation that it was only applicable to
Ripudman and twenty-five of his men. On the day of the election,
first there was a hearing of both candidates, and both sets of

twenty-five men. The Magistrate, as is laid down by law, asked

Shatrughan and his twenty-five men for a certain amount of bail
and personal bonds, which they began to consider giving. Then the
Magistrate asked Ripudman Singh and his men for bail and per-
sonal bonds. Ripudman replied, 'Your Honour, we shall not give
bail or personal bonds. Remember what I say —
tomorrow there will
be a massacre in our village. Not even the highest amounts of bail
will be able to stop Shatrughan Singh and his thugs from causing
trouble. We people are simple farmers, and there's no way we can
stand up to them. So please, sir, lock us up on the grounds that
we're not able to pay the bail. If we are locked up at least our lives
will be safe.'
After this Ripudman hugged the railings of the dock and at-
tempted to weep.
The police supported this statement too. Therefore the
Magistrate decided that as Ripudman Singh and his party would
remain in jail during the elections, Shatrughan Singh and his
party's bail should not be accepted, and they would have to stay in
jail too.
In this way, for a few days the candidates and fifty of their men
died.
After that the election took place in a very peaceful and civilized
atmosphere. As for the efficiency of the two sides, Shatrughan's
—
supporters proved completely useless in fact you couldn't tell
whether he had any supporters left in the village or not. On the
other side Sarvadaman was present to fight for Ripudman, as,
thanks to police support and his law degree, he was considered a
peace-loving man and was not locked up. He fought the election
solidly,and the same result was declared as he had already calcu-
lated on paper.
This method of winning elections was patented under the name
of Ramnagar
The Nevada Method was somewhat more idealistic.
In Nevada several people of different castes were standing, but
there were only two main contestants who were, according to the
Rig Veda, respectively, the Mouth and the Feet of Brahma, the

206
Cosmic Man. In today's terms it was a struggle between Brahmins
and Harijans, but in Nevada the issue flourished in a highly cul-
tural and practically Vedic manner.
The Brahmin candidate recited the Turush Sukta' of the Rig Veda
several times among the upper castes, and explained that it was the
Brahmins who were the Mouth of Brahma, the Cosmic Man. He
also explained that Shudras were his Feet. He cited several ex-
amples regarding the position of Pradhan, showing that it was
related to the intellect and the voice, neither of which are found in
the feet. Therefore Brahmins should naturally become Pradhans
and Shudras should not.
The Brahmin avoided using the customary abuse denigrating
Shudras; he just kept arguing on this cultural level. He did concede
that any jobs which required a lot of running around, for which
feet were essential —
for instance the post of chaprassi of the Legal
—
Council should definitely be given to Shudras, but maintained
that it would be against the Vedas for them to become Pradhans.
But, as generally happens, the voters did not accept the argu-
ments made on a cultural level, and the Brahmin candidate was
forced to alter the tone of his campaign. He began, in his position
as the Mouth of the Cosmic Man, to make somewhat more
generous use of his mouth. Simultaneously his supporters too
began to make more use of their mouths during campaigning, and
in a few days the issue had descended to the time-honoured level
of, 'Tell me this, Thakur Kisan Singh, are you going to desert me

and vote for that Untouchable?'

In a very short time the Brahmin candidate's side had created a
climate of violent abuse in the village and then suddenly one day
the real meaning of the Rig Veda's Turush Sukta' in which Shudras
were accepted as the Feet of the Cosmic Man, became apparent.
One of the Brahmin's supporters was freely abusing the other
candidate. He was sitting on a veranda, and through the stream of
abuse issuing from his mouth he was asking the central question.
Tell me, Thakur Kisan Singh, are you going to vote for that. ?'
. .

Here followed a number of curses, and then the second half of the
sentence, '. . .and desert us?'
Suddenly he was stopped in mid-sentence by such a sudden and
intense pain in his midriff that he was unable to utter a word of
protest. He just rolled down on to the ground where he was kicked
ten more times, and when he opened his eyes he realized that the

207
world was an illusion and he had just renounced the slumber of
worldly attachment. Several similar incidents occurred after this,
and the Brahmin candidate realized that the Mouth of the Cosmic
Man was not too far from his Feet, and that when feet are used to
answer words the latter cannot hold their ground for very long.
This piece of research stunned the Brahmin candidate. But on
this occasion he was helped by the advent of a Babaji who was one
of those many saints easily able to gather disciples from among
people ranging from disaster-struck farmers to the most senior
officials, leaders and businessmen.

One day the Brahmin candidate, despite having made very

limited use of his mouth, had been flattened by a kick from the Feet
of the Cosmic Man, and was thinking over the problem of how to
save the Pradhan's chair from being polluted by this Untouchable
and how to put it underneath a Brahmin. These deliberations were
taking place by a well outside the village in the early evening under
the soft, blue shade of a wood near a banyan tree. Suddenly the
candidate saw some bats flying out from beneath the branches of
the banyan, and at the same time he heard a hoarse voice reciting
several epithets of Shiva! The Brahmin candidate became con-
vinced that there was some Babaji beneath the tree.
And there was. The Babaji was reciting Shiva's name and smok-
ing hashish. Even if a man is not in distress, he will fall down
prostrate before a Babaji. In this case the Brahmin was in distress,
and the Babaji appeared before him. Without thinking, the can-
didate fell at the saint's feet and began to beg for help.
This sort of thing had happened to the Babaji several times
before in the course of his life. On the basis of his previous ex-
perience he assured the Brahmin candidate that he would protect
him and explained that there was no need to worry. If he had a
problem of night emissions, or premature ejaculation, or was af-
flicted with impotency due to evil habits in childhood, he could be
sure that after trying the Babaji's formula he would be able to put
a thousand women to right.
But the Brahmin candidate shook his head and refused to take
advantage of the Babaji's generosity. Then the Babaji told him that
with this extremely secret recipe he would become a master of
immense sexual potency, and at the same time if he were to use the
recipe as a basis for medicines and were to start selling them, within
a very short time he would also be bound to become a millionaire.

208
Despite this the Brahmin candidate kept on crying and shaking his
head, and when the Babaji coaxed him a little, the candidate said,
'I don't want toput a thousand women to rights, TU be happy if I

can just settle one Untouchable/

The Babaji consoled the Brahmin and when he had understood
the whole problem, he set off towards the village to solve it, push-
ing his pipe into a fold of his dhoti, and throwing a little dust on to
his wig of matted locks. He pitched his camp in front of a temple,
and the next day began to recount the stories of saints from Kabir
and Ramanand to Guru Gorakhnath, all of which reached the
conclusion that no one should ask a man his caste, and that any
person who sings God's praises, belongs to God.
On the very same day people also began to understand just what
God was. A lump of hashish was placed in a pipe, and glowing
embers were stuffed on top of it. The hashish was lit by sucking in
the cheeks and puffing them out an equal number of times, and
then the smokers drew deeply on it. In between puffs Shiva's name
was recited in several ways and with several meanings. The pipe
was passed around the devotees either clockwise or anti-clockwise.
The devotees imagined this was God.
Songs in praise of God were sung in the Babaji's court for forty-
eight hours at a stretch. Those who didn't smoke hashish were
given a continuous supply of bhang, and as long as the hymns went
on, the grinding stones kept grinding. The harmonium kept play-
ing and Hindi film tunes with amended lyrics were sung to
propitiate Radha and Krishna, and Sita and Ram.
Within two days the Babaji had been accepted as an incarnation
of Krishna. It was another matter that instead of drinking Yamuna
water he smoked hashish, and seemed, like demons are, to be closer
to Shiva than Sri Krishna. All this time his pipe was constantly
burning, proving that whether hashish is obtained illegally or from
a government shop, and whether Ganga water is taken from the
source of the river or from its confluence with a dirty drain, its

effectiveness under all conditions remains the same.

The Babaji was a very carefree individual. He not only listened
to hymns, he also sang them. If he hadn't smoked hashish his voice
would have been clearly audible, and if the harmonium hadn't
been playing, you might have been able to make out some tune.
But despite these natural impediments, the Babaji managed to put
the whole village under his spell in no time at all. He sang such

209
bhajans of Kabir, Rai Das and Ramanand that people began to raise
slogans in their praise. Had these saints been there themselves they
would have cheered the Babaji for creating such original poetry.
Under the Babaji's influence, casteism was completely removed
from the entire village.
Then, one day, when in an atmosphere of hashish, bhang and
song, he hinted that the Pradhan of the village was a very religious
man, people were amazed. One bhang-drinker said that there was
no Pradhan yet as they still had to hold the first elections for the
post, at which the Babaji indicated that God had already held an
election. In short, even before they'd sobered up, people realized
that God himself had already chosen the Brahmin candidate as
Pradhan. On the basis of this piece of knowledge, even though still
intoxicated, practically all the villagers accepted him as such. In this
way the Feet were numbed, and the Mouth triumphed.
The Nevada Method had proved extremely useful. In other
villages people had adopted it with amendments and won many
great contests.
Wherever they couldn't lay hands on a hashish-smoking saint,
or sufficient hashish, they generally turned anyone available into
a Babaji and began to make arrangements to worship the Goddess.
At such places they would begin to offer goat sacrifices, and give
liquor as prasad. This also led to the same result —that the Feet were
numbed and Mouth triumphed.
the
The method patented in this way was entered in the Election
Code as the Nevada Method.
The Mahipalpur Method was by far the most simple and purely
scientific. It owed its development to the error of an electoral officer,
and later on this error was accorded recognition and repeated
elsewhere. The error was connected with a wrist-watch.
The election was
be held at twelve noon. Since the watch of
to
the electoral officer was set by the town clock, and the town clock
was set by the household of the Chairman of the Town Council, it
was an hour-and-a-quarter fast. Consequently, despite opposition
from a number of candidates, the electoral officers held the election
at a quarter-to-eleven with whatever voters and candidates were
present, and there and then announced the result. By the time the
remaining voters and candidates arrived on the scene to fight their
election, the electoral officers were at home having the meal that is
eaten at quarter-past-one.

210
 A petitionwas filed against this election, and in it the entire
debate hinged on watches. The case proved quite scientific, and the
court had the opportunity to learn a great deal of mechanical
information about watches. In the end the case carried on for three
years, but neither was it likely to be proved, nor was it that the
electoral officers had made any error. The man they had declared
Pradhan always kept his watch set an hour-and-a-quarter fast, and
ruled the village according to that time. The other candidates, to
quote Chote Wrestler, sat there like fools with clocks instead of
watches in the hope of catching him out next time.
The Mahipalpur incident was purely accidental; but then the
apple falling in front of Newton which led him to work out the
principle of gravity was equally accidental. Later on, experts in the art
of elections also worked out a principle based on the Mahipalpur
incident. This was that all watches do not show the same time at the
same time, and not all voters arrive all together at the same place.
After this principle had been established, it was used in several
ways in village council elections on several occasions. With the
example of Mahipalpur before them, electoral officers' watches
would stray slightly, becoming half-an-hour slow or fast, and be-
cause watches were mechanical, no human being could be held
guilty for their behaviour. The victorious candidate generally
turned out to be the one whose watch told the same time as the
watch of the electoral officer.

In geographical terms, Mahipalpur was further away from

Shivpalganj than Nevada, and so Ramadhin was very familiar with
the Nevada Method. He made free use of it. On the other side, on
Sanichar's behalf, Vaidyaji relied more on history than geography.
After contemplating all past methods, he gave the opinion that the
Mahipalpur Method should be adopted by Sanichar's side.
As a result, they won for the sole expense of a cheap watch
which, by mistake, the electoral officer took home strapped to his
wrist.
Meanwhile the followers of the Nevada Method were defeated.
They collapsed in a field under the influence of despair and alcohol.
They got nothing out of the experiment except for some experience
in drunkenness.

211
TWENTY-FIVE

Come my Sweetheart, my cruel Beloved,

I miss you so, but how does the moon know that it is loved by a

chakor.That poor chakor can look from afar but make no sound. You
do not know that you are my temple, you are my worship, you are
my God, you are my God. Your memory robs me of sleep and I toss
and turn all the night long.
Now I have reached the point where I can endure no more, nor
live any more like this. Did you see how perverse my heart is —
it

saw you and it changed. And there you are, sometimes flying away,
sometimes turning away, but, my love, let me know the secret of
your heart. I have this complaint against you, that you have the bad
habit of hiding your love. Somewhere burns a lamp, somewhere a
heart, come and see, oh moth!
I have many things to say to you when we meet. To whom can I

present these smouldering emotions? I feel like squandering my

love, but my innocent beloved knows not my heart. That's why I
came to meet you that day. I went to meet my Beloved. But my
moonlight has been torn from me, my house is in darkness lying. I
wanted to tell you that I want nothing from you. Just be kind
enough to let me rest in the shade of your eyelashes. But this is the
ancient way of the world, to make some fall and to destroy others.
I came to the roof but there was someone else lying on your bed.
I died of shame. Returned helplessly. Whirlwind, laugh at me,
laughat my love.
am being disgraced and you are silent. How long will you make
I

me yearn for you? Even in my yearning I shall sing songs of you. I

have to meet you soon. Will you come today, because today without
you the temple of my heart is desolate. I am alone, come to me
wherever you may be. Embrace me, who knows if this fair night
will come again? This is my desire, that at your doorstep I expire.
Alas! I am sitting in hope, see that you don't break my heart.
Remembering you.
Someone mad with love

212
The grubby package, tied to a stone, which fell on the veranda
outside the room on the roof, turned out to be a love letter con-
cocted from the lyrics of Hindi film songs. Rangnath read the letter
once, and then again and again, and didn't take long to realize that
it was written by the same person whom he had felt leaning on his

chest, and who had reminded him that night of Konarak and
Khajuraho. It was also clear to Rangnath that the love letter was
not intended for him, but for someone else.
Who was that?
Ruppan?
So had Bela written the letter to Ruppan? If so, was the girl who
came on to the roof that night none other than Bela?
Putting the letter in his pocket he left the house. Today was the
date of Jognath's hearing in the town, and whoever counted in
Shivpalganj was running off there. Whenever a case is going on
against a hooligan, it is the natural inclination of village brethren
to take a trip in to town to see the court. They get heartfelt satisfac-
tion from seeing the hooligan humiliated. And the hooligan too
gets heartfelt satisfaction from thinking that so many people have
come from the village to support him.
In accordance with this tradition several people had already left
for town, and many more were just about to leave.
Rangnath saw Badri Wrestler approaching at his most attractive,
dressed in a muslin kurta beneath which he felt no necessity for an
undervest. Despite being cold for the month of Phagun, his body
was gleaming with perspiration. A loincloth was of course tied
round his waist, but what was surprising was that he was wearing
a lungi on top of it. On his feet were polished, black boots. His clean,
closely shaven head shone with mustard oil, and above it a long —
—
way above it was the blue sky.
At first Rangnath had thought that he would present the love
letter to Ruppan Babu, and making a few remarks on 'cinema's
contribution to the degradation of Indian culture', prevent him
from falling in love with Bela. He knew that it would be difficult to
speak to Ruppan on this subject, but it didn't seem right to him to
dismiss such an earth-shaking event as the receipt of a love letter
in an unimaginative way. But the moment he saw Badri he changed
his plan, just as occasionally we change our economic plans the
moment we lay eyes on an American expert.
Badri Wrestler examined the love letter from a distance. To make

213
thiseasy for him Rangnath stood holding the letter up with both
hands about one-and-a-half feet away from him. Badri read the
whole letter through slowly. Once, when he screwed up his eyes,
Rangnath with the aim of assisting him, read out who knows '. . .

if this fair night will come again,' and added, 'Fair. That means

beautiful.'
Badri belched as perhaps to say that there was no need to
if

explain, as he understood such phrases very well. Having read the

entire letter, he took it, folded it and put it into his pocket.
Rangnath said, 'Ruppan Babu is heading down a very
dangerous path. And that girl! God knows what sort of rubbish
she's filled that letter with.'
Badri laughed heartily in reply. He said, 'That old bag of a village
social-worker must have written it. She's the only one around here
who knows this kind of language.'
'So. . . so has Ruppan fallen into the clutches of some social-
worker?'
The wrestler laughed as before, then controlling himself he said,
'No, no. You get everything the wrong way round. The poor old
soul doesn't do that sort of thing, she just writes letters for other
people.'
Badri Wrestler went his way. Seeing the confused expression on
Rangnath's face, he said as he walked off, 'Don't you worry about
this piece of paper. I'll settle it.'

The court was in the town, but practically the whole of Shivpalganj
had gathered there. The prosecution witnesses were giving their
testimony against Jognath.
The atmosphere was rude and vulgar. Citizens were lying on the
veranda like dogs. The festival of Holi was approaching, so people
had jokes and obscenities on their lips. They wore dirty but colour-
ful clothes or rags. Grimy, unshaven plaintiffs, defendants and
witnesses, either smoking beedis or chewing tobacco behind dis-
coloured teeth, were holding shrill conversations. One woman was
lying on the floor, her baby suckling from the breast she had thrust
—
into its mouth a scene which several of the citizens present were
finding of great interest.
A strong wind was picking up dust and leaves and spreading
them over the whole veranda.

•14
 Two uniformed but bare-headed police constables, their legs
wrapped in khaki puttees, were wandering around the veranda.
One constable's shoes, which were always ready to give anyone a
hammering, were being hammered into shape themselves by a
cobbler sitting under a nearby banyan tree. The other constable had
taken his shoes off and left them by the courtroom door as they
were still new and were pinching his big toe. The lawyers went
repeatedly in and out of the courtroom weighed down with work,
even when they had none.
Stretching contentedly, the court's record-keepers came out
every fifteen minutes or so, walked over to the paan shop opposite
and then walked back explaining to the litigants following behind,
and to the others hanging from their arms, that today they had a
lot of work, and that the litigants should come the day after tomor-
row. Then, with their mouths full of betel-nut and lime, holding
their necks high like camels, the record-keepers slipped back once
more into the security of the courtroom.
Langar too was sitting in one corner of the veranda.
As the Pradhan, Sanichar's attendance among those who had
come to watch the spectacle was essential, and also because today
Chote Wrestler had come to testify for the police against Jognath.
This was an event of historic importance because Chote Wrestler
was considered one of Vaidyaji's men, and Jognath was also one of
Vaidyaji's men, and it had suddenly transpired that two men of the
same man were to stand separately, one as the accused and the
other as witness for the prosecution. As Ruppan Babu had put it in
—
a style typical of folk theatre two flowers blossomed together, but
destiny tore them apart.
Sanichar, along with many other villagers, had entered the
courtroom. Langar, whom Sanichar had brought along on his cycle
rickshaw just for the fun of it, was sitting outside on the veranda
relating his life's experiences to his new audience. He had only one
life, and only one experience, and at that moment he was recount-

ing it at some length.

'.
. . so, father, after such a long time, after one year and three
months have passed, the matter has now been settled. There is now
nothing missing from the application for the copy, and the file has
come back from headquarters to the Tehsil Office too. Yesterday
when I went to the Tehsil Office I found out that the copy clerk has

215
my work in hand. He must be making a draft today. Then he'll
compare it with the original.
'Now if s only a matter of waiting two or three days more.'
One lawyer who was
leaning against a column smoking a
cigarette, said, 'You've been running around from pillar to post for
so long. If you'd come to me or any lawyer first, the job would have
been done in three days.'
Those days Langar had learnt to smile a sweet, saintly smile,
which when it wreathed his face made it seem as if the person he
was talking to was being childish, but that due to his saintliness he
was enduring it. Making fairly generous use of this smile, Langar
replied, 'There was no need for a lawyer, father. It was a battle for
truth. If I'd given five rupees to the clerk, I could have got the copy
in three hours, not three days. But he was not going to take it like
that, and neither was I prepared to give it.'
The lawyer asked, 'Why wouldn't he take it? You gave him the
money and he wouldn't take it?'
Langar was tired and was preparing to lie down. He said, 'It was
a battle for truth, father; you're a lawyer, you wouldn't under-
stand.'
People started laughing, but Langar just lay down and shut his
eyes.Then he moaned softly
Someone asked him, 'What's the matter, Langar? Are you feeling
off-colour?'
His eyes still shut he shook his head and said nothing. A man
sitting next to him touched him and said, seems to be a fever.'
'It

An old woman was sitting silently regarding the world

philosophically with her owl-like eyes. She commented, 'It's a bad
time. Two of my sons are down with fever too. The crop is ripe and
there's no one to cut it. The rats are eating it.'

The Court of the Honorary Magistrate.

Gayadin was giving his testimony. The cross-examination was
coming to an end. Suddenly Jognath's lawyer asked, 'You have one
daughter?'
'Yes.'

'Her name is Bela.'

'Yes.'

'She is about twenty years of age?'

216
 Tes.'
The Magistrate looked at him sharply and with suspicion, as one
should look at the father of a twenty-year-old girl.
'Does any other woman live in your house?'
'Yes. My widowed sister.'
'But she doesn't always live with you?'
'Yes, she always lives in my house.'
The lawyer thundered, 'You have taken an oath, if you lie you
willbe prosecuted. Is it not the case that your sister lives with her
in-laws most of the time, and for those periods you daughter is left
alone in the house?'
Gayadin stood in silence. The lawyer thundered again, 'Why
don't you speak?'
'How can I? You're losing your temper so badly it's difficult to
say anything.'
In the same tone as before the lawyer said, 'I am not losing my
temper.'
Gayadin said nothing. Then the lawyer said more softly, 'What
is your reply?'
'My widowed sister lives with me all the time.'
'Is your daughter married?'

'No.'
'When do you intend to arrange her marriage?'
'That's in God's hands.'
Hearing the mention of God's name, the Magistrate raised his
head. Until now he had been perusing some other papers which
had nothing to do with this case. Now he told the lawyer, 'These
questions have nothing to do with the case.'
'Your Honour, I shall establish the connection later,' replied the
lawyer.
Seeing the Magistrate held in check, the Public Prosecutor too
became anxious to protect his witness. He objected, 'Your Honour,
these questions are irrelevant.'
The Magistrate answered his objection with a stern glance.
On the opposing side, Jognath's lawyer saw that the
Magistrate's mood was deteriorating and refrained from asking
Gayadin any more questions about his daughter. The next witness
was called.
This was the same witness who had appeared when Jognath's
house was being searched and had run off the next moment

217
assuring the police that they could him to give evidence any
call

time. His name was Baijnath and he was the disciple of

—
Shivpalganj's Pandit Radhelal the same Pandit Radhelal who had
attained the highest degree of expertise in bearing false witness,
and whom up till now not even the greatest lawyer had been able
to shake in cross-examination. It was this ability to lie faultlessly
\\^hich had won him unprecedented prestige among the litigants
and witnesses of the entire district. Recently, however, ever since
his passion for his lady love from the eastern districts had rendered
him somewhat housebound, he hadn't been able to find enough
time for his private practice of giving testimony. As a result, in
comparison with before, he had practically given up appearing in
court. Like senior lawyers and doctors, he now no longer ran a
general practice but a specialist practice which was limited only to
civil cases and, among those, only the ones to do with inheritance.

With a view to maintaining the standard of false evidence in the

criminal courts, he had trained several disciples over the past few
years. Baijnath was the foremost among them.
Baijnath came from Bhikhmakhera but for the purpose of giving
evidence he was accepted as already being present in any of the
nearby villages. Consequently his practice was well established not
only in Bhikhmakhera but in several villages in the neighbourhood
as well. It was also only by accident that he really was in Shivpalganj
on the day of Jognath's arrest, as for him to give evidence it was
irrelevant whether in fact he had been there or not.
Baijnath repeated the whole prosecution case. He said that
Jognath's house was searched in his presence, and that the three
ornaments in custody were recovered and sealed in front of him,
and that the report of their recovery was written in his presence,
and his signature was also signed on the report in his presence, etc.,
etc.

Jognath's lawyer began the cross-examination. 'You live in

Bhikhmakhera?'
'Yes.'

'Bhikhmakhera is two miles from Shivpalganj?'

'I don't know.'
'Then how far is it?'
'If there's a nautanki show in Shivpalganj you can hear it in
Bhikhmakhera.'
'It must be one mile?'

218
 'I can't say.'
'Half ate?'
'Don't know.'
Twenty miles?'
'Idon't know. I've never measured it.'
The Magistrate stared at the witness and said, 'What is the
distance between the two villages?'
'There are some fields between them.'
'How many?'
'There must be ten, twenty, perhaps fifty.'

'Give a proper estimate. How many must there be?'

'I don't know, I've never counted them.'
The Magistrate turned his stare on to the Public Prosecutor, who
said, 'Your Honour, the witness is correct. He hasn't counted the
fields.But the two villages are close to one another. They're a mile
apart, it was mentioned in the Sub-Inspector's testimony'
The Magistrate said to Jognath's lawyer, 'Then what is the need
to cross-examine him about the distance? Are you challenging the
Sub-Inspector's evidence?'
'I don't challenge it, Your Honour, but I do have to conduct a
cross-examination.'
'Why?'
'To demonstrate the level of the witness' intelligence.'
'Or to demonstrate the level of your own intelligence?'
Hearing this from the mouth of the Magistrate, the face of the
defence lawyer began to turn red, but by then the Magistrate had
begun to laugh loudly, proving that his comment was not an insult
but a jest. As soon as he laughed, one by one, as they realized it was
a joke, other people began to laugh too. Ultimately Jognath's
lawyer also joined in. It is an unwritten law of the courts that
magistrates and lawyers occasionally display a ready wit on the
same scale as the humour of the Mughal Emperor Akbar and his
minister Birbal, and exchange repartee. After the completion of this
unnecessary ritual, the Magistrate expunged all the questions
which had between Bhikhmakhera and
dealt with the distance
Shivpalganj. But the questions were only expunged after the
answers had already been committed to paper.
Baijnath's cross-examination continued.
'Until now, in how miany cases have you testified for the police?'
'1 can't remember.'

219
 '

'I am asking you until now in how many cases have you testified
for the police?'
'You can ask as often as you like, I can't remember/
'Before this have you ever appeared as a police witness in any
case?'
'What on earth is a "police witness"?
'Don't you answer a question with a question. Give a straight
answer.'
'Don't start being rude to me. I'm not riff-raff.'

After this rebuke, the lawyer appealed to the Magistrate for

protection. The Magistrate said, 'Answer the question in a proper
manner.'
bowed and said, 'The question should also be a proper
Baijnath
one, O Protector of the Poor! He is asking me how many times I
have been a police witness? What do I have to do with the police?
Ibear witness to the truth. I do not hesitate to say what I know,
whether the police call me or the defence.'
Before the Magistrate had time to reply, Jognath's lawyer had
become enraged. In fact he was one of those lawyers who are
celebrated for their displays of temper, and his agents used to catch
hold of new litigants and bring them to the court simply to show
them his wrath.
Rage alone was his discipline, his wisdom, his knowledge of law,
his weapon and his armour It was his signboard, his advertisement,
his father-mother-helper-Lord-and-friend. When he lost his
temper, whether or not other people trembled, he himself quivered
like a leaf. Wise judges proceeded quietly with their work, unaf-
fected by his anger and expressing no opinion on it, considering it
a commonplace exercise in the same class as coughing and sneez-
ing. If any Magistrate did take objection to his anger, the lawyer
would criticize him in a speech to the Bar Association, and the
Association would pass a resolution.
This Magistrate was wise, and so paid no heed to his temper.
Below him the lawyer roared, 'I have asked a simple question, do
not try to be clever with me. Tell me, up till the present time how
many times have you given evidence for the prosecution in cases
brought by the State?'
Baijnath replied, 'So my question is also Lawyer Sahib!
simple.
You tell me, up till the present time in how many cases you have
represented dacoits and murderers?'

220
 The lawyer had seen people struck with terror at his anger, or
made intractable, but never had he seen anyone responding with
such self-assured impudence. Faced with this response, his rage
began to wag its tail, and then lay down on its back and waved all
its four legs in the air in front of the Magistrate. The lawyer lifted

his eyes to the Magistrate and said, 'Your Honour, now you can see
for yourself the behaviour of this witness. His vulgar remarks
constitute contempt of court.'
Baijnath wagged his head craftily as if the lawyer had been
running along and he had managed to kick his legs out from under
him. He remarked, 'Lawyer Sahib, you can say whatever you like,
but if I ask something you go and complain to the Magistrate.'
The Magistrate was busy reading some urgent papers, and so
the lawyer was forced to rely on his own genius to wriggle out of
this hole. Clenching his teeth he said, 'You give evidence for the
police for the most minuscule amounts, and then you turn around
and start cross-questioning me!'
Baijnath looked around vaingloriously, gazed with pity upon
the lawyer and said, in a voice that all could hear, 'Everybody has
his own business to conduct.'
The Magistrate had finished signing the urgent papers. Now he
said in all innocence, 'It's not right to talk amongst yourselves.
Lawyer Sahib, please continue the cross-examination.'
The lawyer said, 'Your Honour, it is difficult to cross-examine this
witness. He avoids answering any question. Please note this fact.'
The Magistrate gave Baijnath a penetrating glance. Baijnath had
begun to look towards the Public Prosecutor. The Public Prosecutor
was looking at the Magistrate.
The Magistrate told the lawyer, 'Proceed.'
The lawyer changed legs like a crane, thereby ending one his-
toric phase of cross-examination and entering another.
'Were you a prosecution witness in the case of the State versus
Churrai under Section 379?'
'I can't remember.'
'You gave evidence only this month.'
Baijnath thought for a few moments, then said, 'I did give
evidence once this month. I was leaving my mango grove, when a
man ran past carrying a bundle '

not necessary for you to repeat what you said in court, just
'It's

say whether or not you gave evidence within the past month.'

221
 'I did give evidence but I can't remember the name of the case/
At last the Magistrate lost his temper. He said, 'How can that be?'
Tm a peasant, my Lord, not educated/
The lawyer said, 'Your Honour, please also make a note of this
duplicity/
Baijnath remarked, 'How much His Honour note down?
will
Note it down yourself. Tell your clerk, he'll note everything down
for you.'
This time the Magistrate reprimanded Baijnath. Very severely.
So much so that for a while Baijnath really was frightened. His face
turned pale, while above him the Magistrate's turned red. But
when the reprimand entered its third minute, Baijnath recovered
himself. He recalled his guru. Pandit Radhelal, who had explained
to him, 'Son, when you're giving evidence, sometimes the lawyer
or the judge will lose their tempers. Don't be upset by this. The poor
wretches are working with their brains all day every day. Their
stomachs are bad, and they generally suffer from indigestion,
dyspepsia and piles. So they get cantankerous. You should not be
upset when they tell you off. You should just remember that they
aren't scolding you but their digestions. Not only this, you should
also remember that they are all big men, educated people. They just
cannot understand what you're about, so when they get cross keep
a clear head, and work out how you can get the better of them.'
Finally the Magistrate instructed him to answer questions with
a simple yes or no. The tank of cross-examination now began to
rumble over level ground.
'Six months ago today, did you give evidence for the prosecution
in the case of the State versus Bisesar?'
'No.' (This answer was correct because Baijnath had given this
evidence seven months previously.)
'A year ago did you give evidence in the case of the State versus
Chunnu?'
'No.' (This answer was also correct —
Chunnu's case had been
heard fourteen months before.)
'.
.
.?'

'No.'
'. .
.?'

'No.'
',..?'

'No.'

222
 'Yes/
'. . .T
'Yes/
'In this way you have up till now been a state witness in a
number of cases/
'You have only counted two such cases/
'In a large number of cases the police have found you as a
witness. Is there any special reason for this?'
Baijnath looked towards the Magistrate and said in a martyred
tone, 'The reason is that I am a spirited young man/ He thrust out
his chest.'No one where I come from dares to testify against
ruffians. I am a bold man, and vehemently opposed to
troublemakers. Therefore I do not hesitate to state in public what I
see.'

The lawyer tried to interrupt him; the Magistrate waved his

hand and told him down from the witness box, but
to stand
Baijnath's speech did not end. He went on, 'I have sworn that I shall
only rest when I have driven all ruffians from my area. I am
unshakable in my purpose. If need be, I am happy to lay down my
life for this cause.'

'Your name?'
'Chote Wrestler.'
Amending his statement, the Public Prosecutor said to the clerk
of the court, 'Write Chote Lai.'
Chote Wrestler looked at him as if he been belittled. He gulped
with anger. The second question was, 'Father's name?'
'Kusahar.'
The Public Prosecutor amended this too, saying, 'Kusahar
Prasad.'
This time Chote Wrestler looked at him as if he had insulted his
father.
'Caste?'
'Brahmin.'
'Village?'
'We are ganjahas.'
'Fine, but what is the name of your village?'
'Ganj.'

223
 'What ganj?'
Chote said haughtily, 'It's not as if there are hundreds of ganjes!'
He paused, then said, 'Shivpalganj.'
'Swear by God, that you shall speak the truth and nothing but
the truth.'
'Take it as said.'
'No, we can't take it as said,
it should come from your mouth that

you will speak the truth and nothing but the truth.'
'It did come from my mouth.'

The orderly turned to the Magistrate as the negotiations had

reached a deadlock. The Magistrate took a close look at Chote
—
Wrestler ^bulging cheeks, a neck like a bullock, in the words of
Gayadin, 'an elephant without a trunk.' On the other side the
Magistrate was an intellectual character. He instructed the orderly,
'Tell the witness to go outside and empty his mouth.'

'First go outside and empty your mouth.'

Chote Wrestler wiped some imaginary sweat off his face with a
small towel, and then leant confidently on the side of the witness
box, peering out like someone at the rails of a ship watching marine
creatures. The Magistrate ordered, 'Get the witness to go and empty
his mouth.'
The Public Prosecutor told Chote Wrestler, 'Go outside and spit
out your betel-nut.'
At that moment Chote was indeed chewing betel-nut with great
aplomb. It seemed to him as if he was being told to go and spit out
his aplomb. He ignored the instruction, but gradually swallowed
the betel-nut and wiped his face once more with the towel.
The Magistrate then instructed, 'Administer the oath to the wit-
ness.'
The orderly, looking askance on this compromise, told Chote,
'Swear by God to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.'
Chote glanced around him and this time took the oath effortless-
ly. 'I will tell the truth and nothing but the truth.'

'Swear by God.'
'I swear by God.'

The Public Prosecutor first asked Chote Wrestler about the

search of Jognath's house. Chote answered up to the point where
the Sub-Inspector had gone with Jognath into his house.
'Then was the house searched?'
'Yes.'

224
 'What was found?'
'Nothing/
The Public Prosecutor's eyebrows shot up. Emphasizing his
words he repeated, 'I am asking you what was found?'
'What do you think they found? A gong?'
Jognath and his lawyer both began to smile. From behind,
Sanichar said, 'Well done! Keep it up, son!'
'Who said that? What incivility is this?' inquired the Magistrate,
but by then Sanichar had already left the courtroom.
The Public Prosecutor said, 'Three ornaments were recovered
during the search. They are placed before you.'
Jognath's lawyer leapt to the fore and said to the Magistrate,
'Your Honour, this is a cross-examination.'
The Magistrate responded gravely, 'Proceed.'
Jognath's lawyer raised an objection, 'Your Honour, please note
that the Public Prosecutor is accepting that the witness has turned
hostile.'
'Very well, proceed with the cross-examination.'
The Public Prosecutor turned towards Chote Wrestler and
repeated his question, 'These three ornaments which are placed
before you, were they or were they not recovered from Jognath's
house during the search?'
Chote Wrestler addressed the Magistrate with the air of a man
who doesn't want to indulge in any meaningless fuss, 'I have given
whatever statement I have to give. Nothing was found during the
search.'
The Public Prosecutor took a sheet of paper from his file and said,
'Was this list of recovered items written in your presence?'
'There was only a lot of swearing and abusing when I was there.
They never came down to writing anything.'
'Did you sign this list? See it and reply'
Chote Wrestler didn't even glance at the list. He replied ar-
rogantly, 'No.'
The Public Prosecutor pointed to the places on the paper where
Chote's signatures were and said, 'Look at this, look at it well. These
signatures are yours.'
Chote Wrestler told the Magistrate, have made my statement,
'I

my Lord, now why does he keep on harping on the same old

question?'
This time the Magistrate showed him no sympathy. He warned,

225
'See the paper and then reply. If you make a false statement you
will be sent to jail.'
Chote was unaffected by this. He threw out his chest saying,
This is all only a business of jails, Your Honour. When you set foot
in a court you already have one leg in jail and one out of it. But
what can I see in any paper? Reading and writing is beyond me. I
have nothing to do with it.'
The Public Prosecutor raised his voice. Then how can you sign
anything? Are these not your signatures?'
For the first time in some while Jognath's lawyer opened his
mouth. Like a man lovingly caressing a calf, he said. Ask the witness
gently, one question at a time. It's not as if he's going to run away.'
Paying him no attention, the Public Prosecutor asked. Then how
can you sign?'
'Who is signing? Has anyone in my family for the past seven
generations ever signed anything, that I should start signing? Go
and see, I have five hundred papers. On every one of them there's
a thumb-print. Every one.'
Chote gazed proudly around the court. The Public Prosecutor
repeated, T am saying you have signed this paper.'
'If you want to, you can go on squeaking like a partridge, who

is stopping you?'

The Magistrate interrupted, 'Be polite.'

Chote Wrestler was coming He
'Everyone has
to the boil. said,
their own idea of politeness, my Lord. Why should I be forced by
this bluster into saying something that's wrong?'
The Public Prosecutor gathered his papers together and said, 'I
have nothing more to ask.'
Chote gathered his lungi around him and began to leave the
witness box, but then Jognath's lawyer spoke: 'I have some ques-
tions to ask. Your Honour!'
The Magistrate made no objection. The lawyer asked, 'Do you
know Gayadin's daughter, Bela?'
'Who doesn't?'
'Don't evade the question. Speak about yourself. Do you know
her or not?'
'How can I not know her?'
'What is the girl like?'

'Immoral.'

226
 .

The Magistrate said, 'This line of questioning is irrelevant. It has

no bearing on the case/
'It certainly does. Your Honour! I will make the point clear just

now,' replied the lawyer, snapping his fingers. He asked Chote

Wrestler sharply, 'How do you know that Bela is immoral?'
'I've seen it with my own eyes.'
'What have you seen?'
'That she had immoral relations with Jognath. That's why
Gayadin has got him involved in this case.'
After this the cross-examination returned to the old familiar
pattern whereby it's already been proved a thousand times that no
one in this world is abut that, in fact, the man who is thought
thief,

to be a thief is the lover of the wife or sister or daughter of the master

of the house, who was summoned to bed them in the loneliness of
night, but whom the master of the house does not refer to as his
brother, brother-in-law or son-in-law. He is reduced to calling him
a thief and. Your Honour, the result is that. . .

The Sub-Inspector was no longer in Shivpalganj. He had arrived in

the town with his broken bedstead, his milch cow and his convent-
going daughter, and was living in a pokey rented house which he
had located with great difficulty. He had been given some special
assignment, which made it necessary for him to live like an ordinary
citizen, and since for government officials living like an ordinary
citizen is a sign of being in a very sorry state, one felt sorry to see
him in that state.
However, since he had investigated the robbery case brought
against Jognath, he was forced to be in court and come into contact
once more with ganjahas. When he heard Chote's evidence he at
once muttered, 'Oh dear, oh dear,' and before he caught the
Magistrate's attention he grasped Gayadin by the hand and pulled
him out of the courtroom. For a few moments they were both silent.
Finally the Sub-Inspector said, 'These ganjahas. . . . There is a
limit to dishonesty. His tongue should have fallen off saying such
things about a girl like Bela!'
Gayadin was staring at the ground. A pin was lying between two
bricks. It seemed as though he was wondering whether to pick it

The Sub-Inspector was saying in a tone full of censure, 'Anyone

227
can say what they like about anyone. No one gives a damn about
respectable people/
Then Gayadin remarked in his familiar, world-weary tone, 'This
had to happen, Sub-Inspector Sahib! The day you caught Jognath
I realized that no one in my house would be left with their honour

intact/
T am very sorry/
'There's no need to be sorry. It's not your fault. The man you
want to call a thief and send to jail is not going to leave any stone
unturned to stop you.'
am burning with anger.'
'I

'Don't burn yourself for my sake, Sub-Inspector Sahib! This is

the way our country works. When you see the inside of a
courtroom you have endure everything. You can say that the
to
man who is forced to struck down by misfor-
come here has been
tune. What is the point of burning with anger, Sub-Inspector
Sahib?'
Jognath's lawyer shot outside like an arrow and ran off to
another courtroom. To the clients running behind him he said,
'Don't be in a hurry. Let Jognath be released. Then I'll deal with
—
everyone involved yes, even the police.'
The Sub-Inspector started and looked up, but there was no one
left there for him to see.

228
TWENTY-SIX

The Principal Sahib was considering the problems of the college in

the company of Vaidyaji, that is to say, he was abusing Khanna
Master. The day before, when he had gone to court for the case
registered under Section 107, he had seen it take a new turn as
Khanna Master's lawyer had in his argument made remarks along
the following lines:
Tour Honour, this is a case of the "haves" versus the "have-nots".
On one side is the College Manager, who is known as Vaidya
Maharaj, and who in fact is less of a vaid and more of a maharaja.
Backing him are hundreds of his henchmen and thugs. They also
include the Principal of the college and a dozen or so masters who
are either his relatives or the relatives of his relatives. They are all
well off, and if they are not, the college fund makes good what they
lack. Your Honour, on the other side are Khanna and his dozen or
so masters, who are poor and who are continually oppressed by the
plots of their opponents. This is the principle reason for the strug-
gle between the two sides.'
The Magistrate said in English, 'That is to say it's a question of
loaves and fishes.'
The lawyer edited, corrected, reduced and expanded his argu-
ment, and then, manoeuvring and evading the issue, said, 'No,
Your Honour, that was not what I meant. I was just saying that the
disagreement is over principles.'
'That's not what you said.'
'I was about to. Your Honour,' continued the lawyer, 'Khanna

and his like-minded colleagues cannot bear to see the public's

money being misspent in this way. Your Honour, they are all young
men and are still not in the habit of compromising with dishonesty
'
and deceit
The Magistrate smiled and said, 'In that case they should have
no fear of lawsuits or jails.'
Without paying attention to this comment, the lawyer continued
to argue, 'This is why
they raise their voices, in a constitutional
manner, about impending mismanagement of the college. Your
Honour, only recently an election was held for the post of

229
College Manager, and by force of arms Vaidyaji was again elected.
A complaint about this has been made to the Deputy Director of
Education.Khanna and his colleagues had objected to the election.
Not only that, they also met the Deputy Director and now, very
soon, an inquiry is to be held into the whole matter. Similarly, there
was an embezzlement in the same co-operative of which Vaidya
Maharaj is the Managing Director. This fact was suppressed for six
months. Khanna and his companions met the Registrar of
Cooperative Societies and have had an inquiry started into that too.
If it is can call both senior officials as witnesses.
required I

'Your Honour, in order to suppress Khanna and his companions,

and to force them to keep their mouths shut during these inquiries,
this case has been initiated. In a way this case too is a plot. Your
.'
Honour. . .

It's not important what the PrincipaFs lawyer said in court. But

that day back in the village, the Principal told Vaidyaji that there
were about to be inquiries both into the college election and into
the embezzlement in the co-operative.
Not a line of worry marked Vaidyaji's face. He bowed his head
to dharma and after saying, 'If s God's will,' fell silent.
But today the Principal Sahib had come with a definite plan and
being highly excited said in Avadhi, 'Maharaj, 'tis my opinion that
we should break every limb in that bastard Khanna's body and
chuck him into some ravine. If that doesn't work, we grab them all
by the ears and throw them out of the college and give them four
latai kicks in the chootar back four times each.'

But this too had no effect on Vaidyaji. He simply said, 'I don't
like talk of violence,' and belched. The Principal waited for him to
say 'It's God's will' again, but he said nothing, perhaps being
silently entangled in the problems of non-violence, the display of
the pistol, the embezzlement and the welfare of the country.

About a hundred yards beyond the liquor shop was a peepul tree
inhabited by an evil spirit. The spirit was quite old and despite
hundreds of events like the winning of independence, land
reforms, the establishment of the Village Council and the opening
of the college, he had still not died. Whoever knew about his
presence would never pass that way after sunset. If anyone did, he
would hear all kinds of strange noises which would later on give

230
 —
him a fever of which he would generally die. If he didn't, people
would say that Pandit Radhelal was excellent at exorcizing spirits.
One evening a cyclist rode beneath the peepul tree. The tree was
beside the road, and so he had to pass underneath it. The cyclist
knew of the spirit and if a truck had not been driving slowly along
in front of him, he may not have had the courage to pass by that
way at this time. Guided by the red lights at the rear of the truck,
and taking the few remaining lines of brightness in the west as
signs of daylight, he cycled on right underneath the tree.
Then he heaved a sigh of relief. The wind of the month of
Phagun blew against his face and he took immense pleasure in it.
Becoming a little more enthusiastic he said 'katilon-katilon' two or
three times, imitating the call of a partridge for an imaginary
audience, and then began to hum a song called, 'He went off like a
tiger after killing the hunter' from Amar Singh Rathor's famous
nautanki. Gradually, the volume of his voice increased.
Suddenly the cyclist jumped. Just by the edge of the road he
heard a noise gon-gon-gon/ This was no human voice. Without
'

even being told, the cyclist realized that this was the voice of the
spirit. He held his breath in the upper part of his body, and expelled

air from the lower end. It seemed that the spirit had changed his
area of operation without informing anyone, had descended from
the peepul tree, and perhaps climbed a pakar tree.
He heard the 'gon-gon-gon' noise again, this time slightly louder.
At the same time two kinds of voices belonging to a number of men
could be heard. One laughed loudly; the other said, T told you not
to drink too much but you didn't listen, did you? Drink some more,
my son!'
Then came the sound of a man's voice singing. As he laughed
someone else started to sing a song from the nautanki 'Hamid the
Dacoit 'Don't make a fuss, chik-chik, I bow my head to everyone.'
':

At that point there was some modulation in the 'gon-gon-gon'

noise. First someone made an introductory 'gon-gon'. Then, per-
haps with the thought of showing some originality, he gave a
throat-splitting cry for help, and ended with the same old 'gon-gon-
gon'. But this time there was no power in his voice, it was no more
than a ritual.
At the same time the singer of the song from the nautanki 'Hamid
the Dacoit' terminated his musical programme. Then perhaps it
was he who said, T told you, my son, don't drink too much. Except

231
 .

when the liquor's for free/ Then the same laughter. And the same
song from 'Hamid the Dacoif
The cyclist's internal upset had been due to the ghost. He had
no fear of men. Therefore when he heard men's voices, and smelled
trouble, he jumped down from and challenged, 'Don't
his bicycle
you worry, wrestler! I've come! Look out, don't lay a finger on him!'
There was a bush on the far side of the pakar tree. Half-a-dozen
men were moving around it in the twilight. Several types of voices
could be heard.
'Gon-gon-gon!'
'Help!'
'Don't talk so much nonsense, my son! I told you not to drink too
much.'
'Don't make a fuss, chik chik, I bow my head to everyone.'
The cyclist was looking around and had raised his voice
alertly,

to save some person unknown from some unknown danger. Sud-

denly a man came out from behind the bush and walked smartly
up to the cyclist. His mouth smelled of country liquor as he said
with authority, 'What's the matter, soldier? Why are you shouting?
What's your problem?'
The cyclist pointed to the bush and said, 'Someone over there
was screaming for help.'
'The fools are all merry with drink, and wanting to talk non-
sense. But what do you want?'
Two more cyclists were pedalling down the road. Seeing the two
standing there they slowed down and began to prepare to dis-
mount. The voices from behind the bush had now become even
louder, but no words were intelligible. The man said in a military
style. There's no need for you to stop. This is a ganjaha matter. The
bastards had a few and are well tanked. You fall in and get on your
way/
Hearing this discourse both cyclists increased their speed. The
first cyclist too moved on, his nostrils pinched with anger. He left

with the parting remark, 'They're all layabouts. The whole area
stinks of these drunkards.'
The military style man replied, 'You're very right, soldier!
Alcohol's a curse.'
Now the road was deserted. The man stood where he was and
said, 'Let's go, boys, on the double! Forward march!'
A conversation was being held in a strange lisping tongue.

232
 Tesh, brother, letsh go now/
'Shall we keep the gag in thish buggersh mouth or take it out?'
'Letsh keep it in/
Some five men came out from behind the bush
on to the road.
Not one of them was unsteady on his feet. They were all silent and
from their gait seemed to be proceeding with the same prepared-
ness as an ambush platoon entrusted with the task of recapturing
border territory occupied by the Chinese. As they approached the
haunted peepul tree they left the road. This could have been out
of regard for the spirit, and also because of the car heading towards
them with dazzling headlights. As they descended from the road
they crossed into a field which had been surrounded by thorn
branches. There was no crop in the field; the thorns were just there
to protect the land.
One man out a suppressed scream and said, 'Oh, my god-
let

father! Thornsh!'
A second said, 'Whosh the bastard whosh put thornsh here?'
The first man replied, 'Ram Channa.'
'When?'
'After you'd been shent to jail/
'Thatsh when! Well, now I'm back Thish field ish mine. Did
he think thish wash hish fathersh land that he went and planted
thornsh on it?'

'Don't loosh your temper Now you're back. Everything will be

put to rightsh.'
'All right. But where did he get these thornsh from? Who gave
them to him ?'

The detachment had climbed up from the field on to the road

again. They were about fifty yards from the liquor shop. The men
stopped speaking their lisping language and one said, 'Ram Channa
doesn't have a single thorn tree of his own. Did he cut one down
and bring it here?'
'Who's to know whose thorn tree it is?'
'Don't tell me then. I'll find out for myself anyway'
'Ifyou're going to find out for yourself, why ask me?'
'To find out what kind of man you are.'
The second man laughed and, addressing society at large, said,
'In jail Jognath has learned how to cross-examine people.'
'Don't you worry, you you a lesson too.'
idiot, I'll give
They disappeared into the liquor house. There were only half-a-

233
dozen or so people there already. One said enthusiastically,
'Jognath! When did you come out of jail?'
'This afternoon/
'What was it like?' asked the man with even more enthusiasm.
'Very fine.'
'Did you meet anyone you knew?'
'I got to know every one of them.'

'Bisesara must have been in there. Meet him?'

'No, but all of the people there turned out to be fathers of
Bisesara.'
'Did you have to do hard labour?' asked a hoarse voice from a
corner.
'
Jognath said angrily, 'Who's that? Son of a chicken
'It's our guest.'

'Tell him not to blow his trumpet. It's not appreciated in

Shivpalganj.'
'Did you hear that, guest? This is Jognath. He's just come out of
jail. He's telling you not to blow your trumpet.'

'Now listen to me. I'm telling you right from the start. I am a
first-class bastard. Quietly drink up your liquor and throw up there
in the corner If you mention hard labour again, I'll damn well show
you some.'
'Did you hear, guest?'
'Who's to hear? There's no one in the corner over here.'
'Arre, where's the guest? Has he slipped out?'
'Arre, well done, guest!'
Jognath took out a ten-rupee note, pushed it into the landlord's
hand, and said, 'Give everyone a peg each. No one should be left
out, I've returned to my land after a long time.'
'You've brought a lot of money with you.'
'Sanichar's become the Pradhan. It's his orders that everyone
should drink deeply today'
'But where has Sanichar got any money?'
'Now Sanichar is no longer the old Sanichar, he's the Pradhan.
Do you follow?'
Everyone sat down with a peg each on the veranda of the shop,
which was separated from the road by a wicker fence. The shop
itself was in the small room inside. A hurricane lamp was burning

on the veranda by the light of which you could make out the faces
of the drinkers. A small earthenware oil lamp was burning inside

234
the shop, by the light of which you couldn't make out their faces.
Two men were sitting on a bench on the veranda. Jognath sat down
there too. The other people were sitting on a piece of jute sacking
on the floor, and a few on the mud floor itself. The shop was
Shivpalganj's answer to Omar Khayyam's wine bearer, flask and
cup. The smell of country liquor spread quite a distance down the
road, revealing to people far and wide that country liquor was sold
here. Where we come from, the smell of country liquor is its
advertisement. That's why while you find advertisements for
English liquor in the major newspapers, there's no mention of
country liquor. It needs no such publicity.
After taking two or three gulps, Jognath looked around and said,
Tt's been watered.'
'What?'
'Water! The liquor's watered down.'
'I think so too.'
'Me too.'
'Me been thinking so for a long time. In fact now I've
too. I've
got so used to that it tastes the same to me as the real stuff.'
it

The landlord rose from his seat and came over to Jognath. He
said coolly, 'Enjoy your drink. You're getting high just on your first
peg. If you want to drink a quarter bottle or so on the house just
say so and I'll give it you. But it's cheats that water down liquor. It
doesn't happen here.'
This had the necessary effect on Jognath. He pulled several five-
rupee notes from his pocket and said, 'If I had to drink for free, I
certainly would. But don't you fret, take a look at this! Have you
ever seen so much?'
The landlord was a scrawny man, but didn't lack courage. He
walked back boldly and replied, 'My days of looking at money are
over. If you've just discovered what it looks like, go ahead and look
at it.'

The second peg was served. One man asked, 'So what are you
going to do now, Jognath?'
remarked Jognath in a tone which indicated
'I'm short of money,'
that no one should believe it, 'Right now I have to settle scores with
the Sub-Inspector. What's it to me if he's been transferred? I'm not
going to leave him alone. Even before I came here I put in a claim
against him in the town. A dozen hearings will loosen up his
plaster.'

235
 'What sort of case?'
'Civil. Don't you know he filed a false case of robbery against
me? I had to stay in the lock-up for two or three months/
'Didn't Vaidyaji bail you out?'
lie would have, but my mind was made up. I said I'll stay right
here as the Sub-Inspector's prisoner. After all it wasn't as if I had to
pay rent to stay there.'
'Then?'
'Then what? I was disgraced, my crops were damaged. Ram
Channa grabbed one of my fields. For all these losses I've lodged a
claim for damages of eight thousand rupees. When the decree
comes the Sub-Inspector will have to sell himself.'
'But what about the legal fees? Civil cases are very expensive?'
'All that God will give.'
'Now look here, brother Jognath, you were born in a Brahmin
home so don't start making up stories. Who's going to pay the legal
fees?'
'I told you —God is.'

'Now he's annoyed, he won't say. Don't

us then, let it pass. tell

So are you going to stick in the claim or have you stuck it in

already?'
'I've stuck it in.'

'When did you stick it in?'

'Today.'

A man staggered out from behind a bush and, moaning, began to

walk along the road. The meaning of those of his words which
filtered through to the liquor house was that just a short while
previously he had been attacked by the roadside, beyond the
haunted peepul tree, and some men had robbed him. He was on
his way to file a report at the police station to get his own back on
every single one of the robbers.
A little later, when the group staggered out from the liqour shop,
there was no one on the street but a couple of scrawny dogs.
The man who had gone past earlier, moaning about being
robbed, now walked straight back past the group without any of
them even noticing him. His sins had been washed away, and his
faith in religion strengthened because before he'd even reached the
police station a knowledgeable gentleman had advised him, 'What

236
 .

will you get from writing a report? Whatever 's gone, is gon^. Does
the year that's passed ever return?
'Tell me, are you a Hindu or a Muslim? If you are a Hindu then
you believe in karma, don't you? Those forty-five rupees were not
written in your karma. Now running from pillar to post will serve
no purpose. God had ordained that you should lose the money. . .

'Go home, your life is safe, that is enough. Last year at the very
same place a man was butchered like a goat.
'Take the name of Lord Rama, go home and get a priest to recite
the glorious deeds of Satyanarayan. Spend the money you would
have spent on court cases on religious works.
'Drink warm milk with turmeric and turn over before you go to
sleep. By tomorrow morning you'll have forgotten all about it.'

237
TWENTY-SEVEN

There was a time when philosophers used to argue about the

existence of God. Now they argue about wheat. One group is of
the opinion that the country has sufficient wheat, but that mis-
chievous traders prevent it from reaching the bazaars. The second
group is of the opinion that there is no such thing as wheat, and
even if there is, at least there's none in India. Recently this stage of
the discussion had also reached Shivpalganj, and people there had
begun to exhibit a disbelief in milk, curd and ghee as well.
How could the wrestling pit manage to keep going in the
prevailing atmosphere of starvation? A few years previously, when
the boys came back home worn out with exercises and wrestling,
at least they could rely on getting some soaked gram and butter-
milk. Now they couldn't even do that. This and several other facts
of a similar nature were together creating an environment which
left the village boys with no option but to become layabouts. They

covered their skinny legs in old, torn, but colourful trousers or

pajamas; and whether there was any flesh on their chests or not,
their hearts swelled with the desire to sleep with Saira Banu. They
roamed aimlessly, distributing their betel-juice red spittle over the
alleys and by-lanes. Many of them occasionally took a round of the
fields, workshops and jails too. The ones who baulked at this went

to local colleges to obtain a rustic education. These colleges were

generally founded at the inspiration of a local leader to spread
education, and even more so to prepare his ground for the next
state assembly or parliamentary polls, and their main achievement
was to exploit teachers and government grants. The colleges were
run entirely according to current fashion without any manner of
foresight or hindsight, and it was a certainty that the boys studying
in them would never cease to be servile and try to assert themselves.
Therefore the people who controlled the senior bureaucracy and
professions didn't find their monopoly the least bit threatened by
these colleges.
However that may be, amidst clamour over food, the
all this

wrestling pits were closing down and the physical development of

village's youth had now reached the same level as their mental

238
development. From this point of view, it was significant that
Shivpalganj had a wrestling pit and that several boys attended it
regularly. It goes without saying that this was due to Badri Wrestler.

For several years he had been going to the pit, exercising, making
his disciples wrestle one another, throwing them, injuring them,
and then accepting them as fully fledged wrestlers. After several
days of exercise and wrestling, when any pupil came home groan-
ing it was proof that he had returned after having received his
degree from his convocation.
Two wrestlers came swaying from the wrestling pit. One was
Badri, the other Chote. Both had shaven heads, and their bodies
were plastered with sweat and earth. On the backs of their necks
were rhinoceros-like folds of skin. Both had let the front ends of
their loincloths dangle down like elephants' trunks. On both sides
of the narrow strips of cloth a limited part of their testicles was
displayed to the world. But in the same way that, in the name of
art, Henry Miller and D.H. Lawrence are forgiven their obscenities,

both these wrestlers, in the name of physical exercise, had been

given licence to expose themselves.
Chote Wrestler had attended his convocation ceremony several
years previously, but had now perhaps received a post-graduate
degree, which would explain why he was groaning very softly and
intermittently. Out of self-respect he groaned not with an 'Ow!' but
a sigh and an 'oh!' Badri Wrestler was walking along with him as if
he had nothing whatsoever to do with all this.
Today Badri had flattened Chote with the dhobi-slab throw. The
wrestler using this move has to work like a high-class poet. Fie has
to see the wrestling pit as an attractive lake, himself as a dhobi, and
his opponent as a petticoat. Then, grabbing hold of his opponent's
—
hands he pulls them behind him, and ^just as a dhobi beats clothes
—
clean on a stone slab he throws his opponent over his shoulder
and down on to the floor in the middle of the pit. As he makes the
throw he has to be careful that the petticoat falls with its front
—
uppermost that is, his opponent should land on his back. After
that 'Victory! Victory! Glorious victory! The enemy lies speechless,
.'
astounded, with bended knee and bowed head . . .

Badri Wrestler had been rather too imaginative when he had

thrown Chote today. Fie had imagined the wall around the wres-
tling pit to be a dhobi's slab. The result was that when Chote had
been flattened on his back sparks had seemed to fly before his eyes.

239
The lower part of his body was outside the pit and the upper part
ir\side, and it was just his shamelessness which prevented his back

from breaking.
If Badri Wrestler had not been his guru, Chote would at this
point have showered him with thousands of curses, with tears in
his eyes and froth falling from his mouth. But out of regard for his
guru he was quiet and when it became difficult for him to walk in
silence he let out an 'oh!'
But his affliction was not going to end there. As they walked on,
Badri Wrestler asked, 'Well then, what did you go and say in
evidence for Jognath that day?'
'What bastard was witness for Jognath? I went to give evidence
for the police,' replied Chote carelessly, suppressing the pain in his
back.
Badri remarked peaceably, 'When you're asked a straight ques-
tion, give a straight answer. . . What did you say about Bela in your
.

testimony?'
'What did I have to say? I just said what came into my mouth.'
Badri was speaking very gently. He held Chote's hand and
asked, 'Is she carrying on with Jognath?'
Chote slowly withdrew his hand. When you hold on to a man's
fingers, you can catch hold of his wrists, and when you've caught
hold of his wrists you can flatten him with a dhobi-slab throw all —
this he had just seen. To avoid the issue he said, 'How would I know
who is carrying on with who? There are fields of arhar all round
the village, do you expect me to go peeking into all of them to see
who's hugging who?'
Badri continued in the same gentle tone. 'But you said that you
had seen Bela and Jognath all over one another.'
'Just saying something doesn't mean anything.'
Suddenly Badri stood still. In a harsh tone he said, 'Why doesn't
it? Did you say it or not? Speak up!'

Chote Wrestler now became apprehensive. The ring of self-

assurance in his voice disappeared. In the same way that the
greatest and most visionary authors stammer when faced by radio
interviewers, Chote was suddenly overawed by Badri Wrestler.
He said apologetically, 'Why shouldn't I have said it. Guru? You
can say I said a great deal. was a court matter I said whatever
It

came into my mouth. It's not as if I had to tell the truth.'

240
 Badri Wrestler stood silently in the darkness for a while. He was
—
doing what no wrestler can do with ease he was thinking.
Chote was now even more overawed. Hesitantly he asked,
'Guru, what are you thinking about? Thinking is for cheats and
bird-catchers. Tell me whaf s the matter.'
Badri said slowly, 'Fm thinking whether I should kick you or give
you a shoe-beating. You bastard, puppies' piss on your youth. I spit
on you!' With this he spat on the ground with venom.
Chote stood dumbfounded. Haltingly he said, 'Don't say that.
Guru! Tell me where I've been at fault.'
'How will you understand, you bastard? You've dirtied the name
of a girl from a good family in front of the whole world. And as far
as you're concerned you've done nothing!'
So that was all it was! Chote Wrestler heaved a sigh of relief. He
remarked carelessly, 'Guru, whatever I said, I said in a full
courtroom under oath. Everyone knows that you can never rely on
anything said in court. How has it done anyone any harm?'
Badri's silence encouraged Chote somewhat. In his natural style,
that is as if regarding the whole of humanity as maggots, he
completed his point. 'This is what you want to give me a shoe-
beating for. Guru? Great! Even you make such a fuss over things
sometimes! I just couldn't think what was the matter.'
Badri Wrestler rubbed his neck with both hands and slapped it
two or three times. In this way he knocked off the mud plaster stuck
there and threw off the thoughts which had so far been assailing
him. Then suddenly he laughed, 'You're a born fool. Can't you see
what's going on around you? This Bela is about to become your
mother. Now you can call her a slut, or whatever you like. The insult
will rebound on you.'
'What did you say. Guru?'
'What is there to say? Within a month, Bela will be married to
Badri Wrestler! And you will blow a trumpet! Do you follow, my
son?'
Circus clowns talk nonsense and perform acrobatics Drummers
at nautankishows take a stick from under their arm and start beating
an irregular rythmn. In the wrestling pit two or three wrestlers
stand on their hands and walk with their legs curved back like
scorpions. When calves come home in the evening, they lower their
heads, run from side to side, rush off in the opposite direction and

241
jump into the pond. Without any reason, Sanichar would suddenly
say, Arrrrr, rrrrr!'
Listening to Badri Wrestler, seemed to Chote almost as if there
it

was a pile of such absurd things before him, and someone had just
thrown him down on his back on top of it. From his mouth came
the words, 'What are you saying. Guru?'
Aren't you listening to what I'm telling you?' replied Badri
Wrestler lightly, as if making a joke. 'What's the matter? Are your
—
ears full of dirt? Here it is again I am marrying Bela. I've already
promised her. That day when you defamed her in court, every hair
on my body was burning. I felt like thumping you and bashing your
head down into your stomach. But you are my disciple. As my own
fostered child, I forgive you.'
With a deep sigh he concluded, 'Anyway, whatever 's done is
done. Keep a rein on your tongue from now on.'
Chote still felt as if he were lying on his back on a pile of
absurdities, and that whatever Badri Wrestler was sa3dng was a
dream. He said, 'Guru, you're a Brahmin, she's a Bania. Think twice
before you speak. If Vaidya Maharaj objects, your scheme will fall
to pieces.'
Badri Wrestler replied, 'Elephants go their own way, dogs just
keep barking.'
Chote was practically imploring him when he said, 'You're talk-
ing in sayings. But that's never going to make Vaidyaji accept it!'
It seemed as though Badri Wrestler felt lighter for having

revealed his heart's secret. He gave no reply but just began to

whistle.
After walking on for a while the matter penetrated Chote's brain
with all it's weight. Only recently there had been a rumour about
Ruppan Babu writing a letter to Bela. The story floating around
about some coming on to Vaidyaji's roof at night, running into
girl

Rangnath and running back again had also reached Chote's ears.
The roof of Gayadin's house was among the roofs which could be
reached from the roof of Vaidyaji's house. Ruppan Babu had also
told him one day that Rangnath had laid his hands on a letter
written by some girl, but that Rangnath was saying nothing about
it. Chote Wrestler had suspected that Ruppan Babu had been out

to ensnare Bela for some time and had now succeeded in doing so.
In this state of mind the sudden revelation that Badri Wrestler was
involved with Bela, and that it had gone so far, unsteadied him.

242
 He asked, 'But, Guru, Fve heard that Ruppan Babu wrote some-
thing to Bela/
Tes, he did. He's a boy. They do daft things.'
And I hear that some letter also came from her side?'
Badri growled, 'Who told you?'
'No one at all, Guru!'
'Then how do you know?'
'I heard it. Guru!'
'Who from?'
'I can't remember. Guru, but someone mentioned a rumour of
it.'

Badri Wrestler fell silent. When, in the course of conversation,

anyone adopts the expression of a professional witness facing a
cross-examination under oath, it's pointless to question him fur-
ther
After an interval of silence, Badri Wrestler said clearly, 'Yes, there
was a letter was for me. But it wasn't a letter the pranks of girls
It —
—
these days it was all about songs and music'
Chote said, flattering him, 'So, Guru, this affair must have been
going on for some years? On the roof itself.
.'
. .

Badri replied, 'You are theperson I've told about this impor-
first

tant matter That's enough. Now don't try looking into it too deeply.
—
And see here don't tell anyone else about it yet.'
In the dusk Chote Wrestler collided with the corner of some
platform which, according to local custom, someone had built with
the intention of grabbing more land. Swearing once, and then
uttering an 'oh!' out of consideration for the pain in his back, he
vowed, 'I shan't tell anyone, Guru.'
'In a few days the news will in any case spread, but for the time
being keep it to yourself.'
'I've given my word. Guru. I won't tell anyone.'

A while later Badri Wrestler began to laugh. He said, 'But what

a great match you made, young Chote! Bela involved with Jognath!
Huh! The bastard's like a paisa worth of jaggery! If Bela was to take
his hand he'd start whimpering, and he's the one you linked with
Bela! You really are a complete idiot.'
Chote felt a sudden smarting pain in his back, as if after the
dhobi-slab throw, someone had thrown him down again.
Before they parted Badri again cautioned Chote against men-
tioning anything to anyone about his relationship with Bela just

243
yet. Chote faithfully took the oath of secrecy, but his oath was like
all the oaths of secrecy which are taken in governors' residencies

by members of state governments and, as a result, the very next day

Badri Wrestler met several people who looked upon him with new
eyes.

244
TWENTY-EIGHT

There was an unhappy lad in the village and his name was Ruppan
Babu. A few days previously his influence had spread far and wide
and he had a high status because his father's name was Vaidyaji,
and on top of that he had made a name for himself too. He had been
studying in the tenth class for several years and was a student
leader. The Tehsildar was his companion, the Sub-Inspector of
Police his courtier, and the Principal his subordinate. At home his
status was that of a bright, skittish calf, and it seemed certain that
he would learn the art of grazing the political pastures like other
capable progeny, and that on Vaidyaji's death he would spend six
months to a year wandering on various roads and then one day be
seen ruminating on his father's old patch.
Five months ago a young man by the name of Rangnath had
come to the village. People recognized his greatness because his
uncle's name was Vaidyaji and apart from that he had a greatness
of his own. He had an M.A. in history He looked a good and
straightforward man but he could make some wry remarks when
he wanted. He was among the ninety-five per cent of intellectuals
whose intellect makes them deliver speeches on what others
should and should not do, and keeps them miles removed from the
vulgar thought that they also have some responsibility for all the
things which are left undone.
The young man whose name was Ruppan Babu had become sad
because for some days his own personal preferences had been at
odds with his political likes and dislikes, and the evil in the latter
which had never been visible to him before had now begun to hang
from his eyelashes like a football. Before, Ruppan had considered
the Principal merely his father's slave, but now it seemed to him
that he was extremely foolish and stubborn, and in his malice
against some teachers he was drawing Ruppan's father into fac-
tionalism. Some masters had seemed to Ruppan to be fools and
idiots before, but recently he had felt that even though they were
idiots they were not ruffians, and should be protected. Just a few
days ago Badri Wrestler had looked the ultimate in strength, and
Ruppan had been proud of it, but now he had begun to notice the

245
ruffians from neighbouring districts who sometimes came to
Shivpalganj, talked to Badri, and returned. That is to say that
Ruppan's heart had begun which turns a
to feel the restlessness
man into a Vibhishan, Trotsky, or Subhash Chandra Bose, and
makes him want to achieve something, and which finally cul-
minates on the gallows, in jail, or in a belief in the asceticism of
Jayprakash Nayaran or Achyut Patwardhan.
The second young man, Rangnath, was in rather low spirits
because in these five months he had seen that people had begun
to get their arms and legs broken in games that had started only in
jest, and the dust which had been laughingly thrown into people's

eyes had blinded them. When the matter of Sanichar becoming

fradhan had been raised, or when Chote Wrestler had gone to give
evidence against Jognath, everything had seemed a joke. But when
Rangnath saw that Sanichar really did become Pradhan and Chote
came back laughing after getting Jognath released from jail, it had
given him something of a jolt. The day Sanichar had won,
Rangnath thought a great deal. He visualized goodness knows
how many Sanichars in state capitals slipping into a line of in-
numerable Vaidyajis, ministers and chief ministers.
Another incident occurred when the restlessness of the young
man called Ruppan Babu was stirring, but it had nothing to do with
that particular restlessness. He had needed a girl for a very long
time, and while recognizing this fact he had mistakenly come to
believe that he needed only Bela, he loved Bela and, not being in
possession of the full facts, he also imagined that Bela must love
him too. He had written a love letter to Bela, to which Bela didn't
reply but which he himself had to answer for in several places and
on several occasions. He had defended himself stoutly but in his
heart he'd been ashamed. Then the day he heard from Khanna
Master that Bela and Badri were involved with one another and
that Badri was going to marry her, he felt an immense disquiet in
his heart and for some reason this disquiet compelled him to think
insulting thoughts about the Principal, Vaidyaji, Badri Wrestler and
Sanichar.
At the same time Rangnath realized that it's not enough to learn
by rote stories of oppression and exploitation, and that even load-
ing a donkey with the weight of the Vedas, Upanishads and
Puranas, and making it Chairman of an International Scholars

246
Council, doesn't make it human. To be human you have to do more
than just carry the load of scholarship.

Before he told Ruppan Babu about Badri's love story, Khanna

Master also told him something else. This meeting took place three
days after Holi, as the moon was rising, on a small roadside cul-
—
vert the same culvert where a few days earlier Rangnath and
Ruppan Babu had sat and Rangnath had told Ruppan about his
experience of sleeping alone on the roof.
Khanna Master had Malaviya with him too. They were both
sitting on the wall of the culvert. Ruppan Babu was exhausted from
drinking bhang continuously through the Holi festival. In order to
rid himself of his weariness he had started imbibing bhang all over
again and then set out for a stroll with Rangnath. Seeing two men
sitting on the culvert he said naturally, 'Who's there then?'
'Who is it? Ruppan Babu? Good evening, Rangnathji, I'm
Khanna here.'
'Who's that with you?'
'It's Malaviya. Good evening, Ruppan Babu, please come and sit
down.'
Giving a curt reply to his teacher's greetings, Ruppan Babu sat
down on the culvert. The Big Four Summit had begun.
It was about nine o'clock in the evening, but there was no peace

anywhere. The battery-powered radio at the paan shop opposite

the Tehsil Office was still blaring away. Near at hand jackals were
calling. But the most powerful noise, which drowned out all the
others, was that of the trucks which were racing towards the town
at seventy miles an hour, their horns blaring. Night had already
fallen. In some cheap bar in the town rum bottles must be emptying,
in some wayside restaurant meat and hot tandoori rotis must be
ready and somewhere some girl must be puffing on a beedi and
—
waiting for me such thoughts were enough to rouse longing in
the truck drivers coming in from hundreds of miles away, and to
make them push their feet down as hard as they could on the
accelerator.
As a result every five minutes a truck would roar past down the
road, and as it passed the four great men seated on the bridge would
hold their breath. Then, once it had gone, they would assure

247
themselves that they had survived, and complete their unfinished
sentences.
Despite this inconvenience the talks were progressing. Khanna
Master was appealing to Ruppan and Rangnath for help in an
aggrieved tone. He took a piece of paper from his pocket and said
to Ruppan, Tlease read this. See what your Principal has written.'
Ruppan Babu replied, 'I can't read in the dark. If you can, then
you read it out.'
Then Khanna Master recited a summary of the letter. It was
about Malaviya's conduct. If the summary was to to be believed,
one would have had to accept that Malaviya loved his students and
that his love for some students was on a purely physical level. The
handbill described several occasions when Malaviya had taken a
boy into the town to the cinema, spent the night with him, and after
giving him the maths paper for the coming examinations, returned
to Shivpalganj. The handbill had not been written with any literary
purpose in view, but to inform the general public of these incidents.
Its descriptive style was therefore clear, simple and occasionally
obscene. The paper appealed to the Principal and Manager to
throw such masters out of the college by their ears.
After reciting the summary, Khanna Master asked Ruppan Babu,
'Do you still want us to keep quiet after this? To say nothing against
the Principal?'
Ruppan Babu, well under the influence of bhang, asked, 'Then
what do we do?'
'We have incontrovertible evidence. This handbill was published
by the Principal. We will file a defamation case against him.'
'It's a shameful matter,' observed Rangnath.
Ruppan Babu said carelessly, 'See here, it is true that at one time
things like this were said against Malaviya. One boy had told me
himself that Malaviya was asking him to go to the cinema with
.'
him. . .

A rather strange noise interrupted him. Malaviya was blowing

his nose very forcefully. Then the others remembered that he was
there.
Khanna Master became enraged, and said, 'This — this is charac-
ter assassination. A decent man is being disgraced. We hoped for
some sympathy from you, and then you go and make the same kind
of comments.'
Ruppan Babu replied unkindly, T am just saying what I've

248
heard. You masters are always getting up such things. Even if
to
this complaint is true, if s nothing new. But I oppose this sort of
publicity campaign. Rest assured, I shall oppose it openly'
Khanna became even angrier. 'Ruppan Babu, you are going on
repeating the same thing. I disagree with you. This is false
propaganda against Malaviya. It is character assassination. Anyone
—
can say anything they like about anyone is that in any way right?'
He continued, 'Look, people have also begun to say things about
Badri Wrestler. God knows what nonsense they're talking, but I
don't believe any of it.'
It was Rangnath who asked first. 'What nonsense are they

talking about brother Badri?'

Then, rambling introduction, Khanna Master related the
after a
story of Badri's love affair, which he had heard from a student, and
which the student had heard from a wrestler at the wrestling pit,
and which the wrestler had heard from God knew who. In the
report which Khanna Master gave Ruppan and Rangnath, he also
added the point that even without getting his daughter married,
Gayadin was going to become a grandfather in seven or eight
months time, and Ruppan Babu was about to get a nephew as a gift.
The news was so earthshaking that Ruppan Babu almost fell off
the culvert and Rangnath had to try to cover this up by blaming it
on the effect of bhang. But it was clear that Ruppan Babu had been
shaken. A little later on, when he'd regained his composure, many
things which he had never taken any notice of before became
significant.He remembered that recently Badri had been staying
on the roof doing his exercises for rather a long time, and that he
would shut the door at the top of the stairs when he was doing
them. It also became clear who the girl was who had come to
Rangnath's charpoy.
Now Ruppan Babu really felt the warmth of the bhang, and he
began to look around uneasily. Simultaneously, he also began to
feel pity for these masters and for himself. He started to rant abuse
against the Principal and when Rangnath tried to calm him down,
and to tell the masters, as he had before, that
it was nothing, just

the effect of bhang, Ruppan Babu shut him up with a growl.

In onecomer of the town was a large, spacious bungalow sur-

rounded by a high wall, which seemed from its appearance to

249
 —
belong to an old landowning family. After land reforms it had been
rented out to a member of the aristocracy of the new age.
In a cornerroom of the bungalow was the Office of the District
Inspector of Schools; the rest of the bungalow was his residence.
The government paid the entire rent for the portion which was his
residence, supposing it to be his office. The District Schools
Inspector paid the full rent for his office, as the rent for his
residence. This amicable arrangement gave the inspector what is
known in English an 'office-cum-residence,' and in Hindi as an
as
'ofiice-kam/residence-zyada' —
less of an office and more of a
residence.
Vaidyaji, the Principaland Ruppan Babu came out of the office,
that is to say, the corner room. To anyone observing them, they
would have looked like three thieves who had just pulled off a
robbery. After taking a dozen or so steps they slowed down, and
began to look around, inspecting the extent of the lawn and the
beauty of the flower beds. Looking up at the portico Ruppan Babu
said, 'The Inspector Sahib's car is turning to scrap.'
The Principal glanced at it and said, 'He's had some restrictions
placed on his travelling allowance.'
'That explains it!' Ruppan Babu looked around the lawn, gar-
dens and building, and said, 'Whatever else you say, this is style!
And everything for free!'
A chaprassi appeared at the gate. Seeing the Principal Sahib he
made The Principal pulled a different face and rolled his
a face.
head stupidly Then he took an eight-anna coin from his pocket and
gave it to the chaprassi, saying, 'Now, brother, are you going to ask
for a tip everyday?'
The chaprassi said in a civilized tone, 'I eat only from what you
gentlemen give me.'
Ruppan Babu 'Can we doubt it?'
said,
Vaidyaji gave him a sharp glance and walked off in silence to the
road. This did not affect Ruppan's good humour. He told the
Principal lightly, 'On such occasions it's not right to give more than
two annas. You can buy two paans for that much. It's more than
.'
enough to give as a tip. . .

This was the part of town which the British had named Civil
Lines and had left to their heirs and spiritual progeny. There was
very little traffic here. Occasionally some sleek automobile either —
paid for by the government, or by a loan, or provided for free

250
zoomed past leaving pedestrians cowering on the roadside, happy
that by God and good fortune they had survived; occasionally
—
some rusty hulk of a car would rumble past a genuinely private
car, appearing emaciated and anaemic for lack of sufficient
allowances.
was four o' clock in the afternoon. Class Four government
It

servants were pedalling down the street, their whirring cycles

loaded down with the children of senior officials. The children were
on their way back from their English Medium schools. All of them
had some or other important message to deliver at home. Two
children were discussing the statement, 'If your mummy doesn't
buy you another sketch-book, you will be punished for it tomor-
row' One was sitting on the crossbar, the other on the carrier. In
between them on the seat was a uniformed chaprassi.
Eventually Vaidyaji spoke, and when he spoke his voice was
thick with emotion, 'Look at the education these children are
getting! What a world of difference!'
The Principal Sahib stuffed both hands into his pockets, thereby
preparing himself to make a very important point. 'I think that
whatever happens from next July we should start the boys in our
college wearing uniforms too.'
'It's a lofty thought,' said Vaidyaji.
Ruppan Babu's voicecame from behind the Principal Sahib,
'Which sort of uniform will you introduce, one like the chaprassis'
or one like the children's?'
The Principal replied, 'Ruppan Babu, I am a thorough socialist.
I look at them as equals.'
They walked on in silence. Then the Principal Sahib said to
Vaidyaji, 'We didn't get the barrel back from the Inspector Sahib's
house.'
Vaidyaji walked on gravely. Pondering the matter, he remarked,
must have been at least ten kilograms.
'It When you've given so
much ghee why worry about the barrel?'
The Principal laughed, 'All right. Let it pass. When the cow is

gone, why regret the loss of its tether?'

became even more serious and began to relate
'Quite.' Vaidyaji
a story: 'When you have given away an elephant why argue over
the goad? When Ram anointed Vibhishan king, Jambvant said,
"Maharaj, you could have kept one golden palace for yourself." At
this, the image of most righteous conduct. Lord Ram Chandraji, the

251
 '

most superior of men replied, "Oh, Jambvant, when you have sold
an elephant, there is no profit in arguing over the goad/'
It seemed as if a thorn had been removed from the Principal's

heart. He nodded like a first-class fatalist and said bravely, 'Then

it's all right. Let it pass. What's in a barrel, an5rway?'

'But this is fundamentally wrong,' objected Ruppan Babu, 'he

should have returned the barrel. Where are we going to get a new
barrel from every time? If you are afraid to say anything, then tell
me and I'll ask for it back.'
But no one did tell him.
They had reached the bazaar. Even today there are two tj^es of
bazaars in Indian towns. One built for the blacks or 'natives', and
the other for the white rulers.This one belonged to the latter kind.
Here were cinemas showing English films, English liquor stores,
hotels and glittering shops. Flashing neon signs advertised cigaret-
tes and alcoholic drinks. Here it seemed that even though you
might not get bread in India there was cake to be had in abundance,
and that if your throat was dry for lack of water, you could always
refresh yourself with beer. In short, here it seemed that your
problems with food, drink and clothing would only last as long as
you were one of the masses, and that if you wanted to rid yourself
of these problems then you should stop being one of them and
work out some way of joining the upper classes.
On the footpath was a group of about half-a-dozen gentlemen
in dhoti-kurtas and Gandhi caps, strolling along and gossiping, all
very pleased with themselves. Occasionally, in an excess of
pleasure, they would spit out long streams of betel juice near one
another's feet. Ruppan Babu, who had been born after the slogan
'Quit India' was raised, said with great conviction, 'God is feeding
jalebis to his donkeys. Idiot owls are sitting on every branch.'

This expression was very much in vogue and well known to the
general public. By repeating it Ruppan Babu was not displaying

any originality, but from the tone in which he said it, he seemed to
be growing serious. The Principal called out to him and said to
Vaidyaji, 'Let's go, Maharaj, and have a snack and something to
drink. The boy is losing his spirits.'

First they thought they would look for paan shop. This is not
a
a difficult task for Indians. Had an Indian been shipwrecked on a
desert island instead of Robinson Crusoe, he would have dis-
covered a paan-wallah instead of Man Friday. In fact, the definition

252
of a true Indian a person who, wherever he is, can make arran-
is

gements for paan and find a place to piss. But in this bazaar there
was no need to look for paan shops; the paan shops themselves
came looking for customers. There were paan shops in front of you
and paan shops behind you, paan shops to the left and paan shops
to the right. These three men went up to the paan shop right in
front of them. Vaidyaji adjusted the angle of his turban, looking at
shop window; Ruppan Babu half-closed his
his reflection in a large
eyes and attempted to smile, and the Principal Sahib began talking
to the paan-wallah.
He said softly. Three glasses, a rather thick mixture.'
Vaidyaji pretended ignorance and said, 'Whaf s that? What's
that?'
The Principal Sahib replied, 'Nothing, just making arrange-
ments to drink some water before the paan.'
The paan-wallah mixed the bhang and poured it into three
glasses. The Principal said, 'There should be just a touch of black
pepper and almonds.'
All around was the delightful prospect of English culture. Shop
names were solely in English. There were clerks with dirty collars,
the children of businessmen in flashy clothes, a large number of
political riff-raff wandering around like vagabonds, and satiated,
—
pampered officials, their chins in the air all of them speaking in
English. People in western dress came and went, exuding pom-
posity. In a poster for an English film a European woman, practi-
cally naked, was l3ang half supine on a bed being kissed. A few
black-skinned, dirty children were standing nearby examining it. A
record of western pop music was playing at a gramophone shop,
—
and some young lads oblivious of the fact that their country had
had to display the leprosy of its poverty to bring in the wheat they
—
ate from abroad were engrossed in throwing their arms and legs
around in some form of dance. Turning Rudyard Kipling on his
head, the twain cultures of East and West were meeting on an
enormous scale.
Two girls with wildly abundant hair, and dressed in tight
churidar pajamas and kurtas which showed off their bodies to good
effect, were walking along talking in English.
It occurred to Ruppan Babu that he might pounce on them both

and carry them off, but all he said was, 'Do you see? It looks as if

253
they have all come from Europe, that they were born of European
urine/
The Principal Sahib refrained from joining this sociological
debate. He might hear. If s the influence of
said, so that Vaidyaji
that Khanna Master's company over you which is speaking, Ruppan
Babu! You have also begun to speak in obscenities!'
Ruppan Babu banged down his glass on the counter and asked,
'Is urine obscene?'
'It's not a matter of urine, it's a matter of mixing with Khanna
Master.'
Ruppan Babu addressed his father, 'Please could you restrain
this Principal Sahib from raising the matter of Khanna Master here?
If he does and I do some plain speaking, he'll not be able to escape

even if he runs for it.'

Vaidyaji fluttered his wings like a messenger of peace and for-
giveness from the gods, that is to say, he wiped away the bhang
from both sides of his moustache and said, 'Don't bring me into this,
Ruppan! The Principal deeply regrets that you've started speaking
up for Khanna. Talk to him yourself and settle the matter.'
They were heading towards the rickshaw stand. At this remark
Ruppan Babu stopped dead. Putting his bag down on the footpath,
he said, 'Come on then, Principal Sahib, first let's settle the matter
of Khanna Master'
The Principal Sahib turned away and said without stopping,
'Some other time.'
Ruppan Babu lost his temper. 'The bird-catcher-cheats who put
off today's work till tomorrow live somewhere else, not here. This
matter will be settled now. If you ever let a bird fly, you'll never get
it back again.'

Vaidyaji had noticed a Shiv lingam standing beneath a peepul

tree. Around it a small shrine had been built. The moment he saw
the Shiv lingam Vaidyaji became gripped with devotion. This was
the bazaar of the white rulers where the name of God should be
taken only furtively. But oblivious of this he went and stood
beneath the peepul tree and began to recite the praises of Lord
Shiva.
Back on the footpath the Principal Sahib and Ruppan Babu were
standing ready to perform tomorrow's work today.
Vaidyaji closed his eyes. Behind him motor cars drove past, and
the English-stained voices of girls made the air throb.

254
 Toy-sellers, in imitation of a tune which some female toy-seller
had played in some film, were creating an ear-splitting racket. But
in the same detached way that a true minister accepts as illusory
the shouts, screams, imprecations and abuses of the opposition,
and continues to walk straight along the road to nepotism, Vaidyaji
too ignored all the noise around him and prayed to Shankarji.
He ground the herbs of thousands of hymns, the sifted powder
of his prayer being as follows:
'Oh Shankar, strike down my enemies!
'You are Rudra. You are Wrathful. You infuse the whole world with
the spirit of destruction. In the village Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi
has lost He has sent a petition to
the election for College Manager.
the Deputy Director of Education saying that the election was won
atgunpoint. He's also complained to the District Inspector of Police.
You imbibe bhang and thorn-apple. Oh Shankar! Pour your bhang
and thorn-apple into the rotten minds of these officials, and make
them a little more rotten. Inspire them to write in our favour. Oh
Lord of Ghosts, strike down Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi!
'Oh Triambak, Fragrant One, Source of the Energy of Creation,
tear me from the company of death, just as a cucumber is broken
from the stem; but do not tear me from immortality. And, oh Shiva,
tear my enemies from the vine of immortality and thrust them into
the blind well of death. You accept the obstacles of your servants as
obstacles to you. Remove the obstacles of Sanichar, the servant of
myself, your servant. Against him enemies have produced a peti-
tion on the subject of his election as Pradhan. Give Sanichar victory
in this. If the enemies do not withdraw the petition, strike them
down.
'Oh Spouse of Uma, Inceptor of the World, Shiva Adorned with
Snakes! Raising the question of Ram Swarup, the Co-operative
Supervisor, my enemies are speaking of embezzlement in the union.
They are screaming that I hand
too had a in it. The Co-operative
Inspector is a low rascal, and honest, and is not raising his hand.
Last time, alone with me, he tried to scare me. Strike down that
Co-operative Inspector.
'Oh Rudra! In the heavens your weapon is rain, in space your
weapon is wind, on earth your weapon is food. By lightning, by
whirlwind, or by cholera or gastroenteritis, whatever means
pleases you, strike down my enemies!
'Oh Shiva, Oh Mahesh, I meditate upon you. You are Full of

255
Celestial Bliss, your Effulgence Nine Heavens; you are
lights the
Unsleeping, Ineffable, Eternal, the Origin, Without Equal, Without
Attachment.
Tor this reason, Shiva, strike down my enemies/
Vaidyaji worshipped Shiva with great humility. In less than five
minutes standing by the roadside he lay before Shankarji more
humility than could be produced by hundreds of government
servants put together, sitting for up to five hours in their puja
rooms in the early morning, all afflicted with the desire for promo-
tion and profit in this big town.
But a glut of humility had caused its market price to fall, and this
may have been the reason that the highest quality and measure of
humility had no apparent effect on Shankarji. The Shiv lingam
stood firmly just as before. It didn't even emit a spark. Not so much
as a single garland fell off it.

When Vaidyaji opened his eyes he saw that the material world
was just as it had been before he had closed them. The only difference
was that ten yards away Ruppan was screaming at the Principal.
'You are pretending to be a big hero. You tell me Tm Khanna's
boy? Fm not in any bugger's faction. I only support the side of
truth. Do you understand, Principal Sahib?'
The Principal Sahib replied with the laugh of an elder statesman,
'That's enough, Ruppan, calm down now'
'So far nothing has happened. Principal Sahib! I am telling you
the case you brought under Section 107 should be settled out of
court tomorrow itself. If there's any hearing after tomorrow, you
can rest assured that all the students will be raising slogans of
revolution, and all be of no use.'
your politicking will
'Ruppan!' cried Vaidyaji sternly as he approached them, but the
student leader was unperturbed by his presence. He said, 'Father,
I didn't speak then, but I was there at the fight between Khanna

Master and the Principal Sahib. Moreover, I separated them. This

107 case is entirely false. It's being done to trap Khanna Master. The
student community will never support it.'
Vaidyaji said coolly, 'It's nothing to get upset over. We'll go home
and consider it.'

Heaven knows what got into the Principal Sahib at this point.
All of a sudden he shrieked, 'You can consider it by all means,
Maharaj, but Ruppan has disgraced me in public, right in the
middle of a bazaar. God knows what he hasn't been led on by

256
Khanna to say against me! Now, how can I tell you how Mrs
Khanna has corrupted his mind? How can I tell you here about
what's going on behind the curtain?'
Vaidyaji said gravely, 'There is no need to tell me. I know every-
thing.'
He began to move on, but Ruppan Babu stopped him with the
words, 'No, Father, this should be settled on the spot. Tell me, what
do you know? Tell me! Speak! Why are you dragging Mrs Khanna
into this conversation?'
Vaidyaji paused, and then looked dramatically at the Principal.
The Principal was crushed by that glance. Then Vaidyaji turned it
on Ruppan Babu. If Ruppan had been a weaker type of man he
would have collapsed before such a look, but in such things he was
master of his own father.
Ruppan said why have you stopped?'
aggressively, 'Speak up,
Vaidyaji drew in his breath and replied, 'Ruppan, I know why
you have suddenly turned against your guru and why you have
joined company with Khanna Master. One thing is clear—your
frequent vists to his house seem to me to be inappropriate.'
Ruppan Babu stood for a while without uttering a word. Then
he tightened the scarf around his neck and, swinging his bag from
one hand, said, 'I understand. You are casting aspersions on my
character. I understand it all.' He lifted his finger and stood in an
oracle-like pose. 'This Principal Sahib has filled your ears, I know!
But no good will come of it.'
Suddenly he turned and remarked, 'And Badri brother? The
whole village is condemning him. He's bringing Bela to sit in our
house. Don't you have the courage to say anything to him? His
character is being. . .
.'
I

The Principal realized that lightning was about to strike. Before

Vaidyaji could fall on to the footpath in a faint at hearing a com-
he interrupted Ruppan,
plaint against his elder son's misconduct,
saying, 'What are you talking about, Ruppan Babu? Come to your
senses.'
He told Vaidyaji, 'Please let it pass, Maharaj, Ruppan Babu's still
a boy. He must have heard something somewhere and is going
around shouting about it.'
But Vaidyaji was in no need of shielding or consolation from the
Principal. He was bearing Ruppan's charge with serene gravity.
Apart from one or two flutterings of his moustache, his face

257
betrayed no sign of uneasiness. Ruppan Babu began heatedly to
denounce Badri's love affair. First he went into
then he its history;
put forward some facts and figures about the immediate cir-
cumstances of the problem; finally he criticized Vaidyaji's habit of
pretending not to see what he did see as a cowardly and partisan
policy. He also tried to prove that Vaidyaji was applying double
standards to himself and Badri, which was against the fundamental
principles of democracy. As he concluded his speech, his face
turned red, his lips became wet with froth, and he began to screw
up his eyes.
The Principal had realized that his words of consolation were of
no use and had gathered them up and put them back into his bag
like a piqued dried-fruit merchant.
Seeing no sign of a reaction in Vaidyaji, Ruppan Babu too fell
silent, and began to think up some method of slipping away.
Vaidyaji had heard the whole speech as if, instead of Ruppan's
frenzied jabbering, the essence of the detached philosophy of the
Gita was being fed lovingly to him on the footpath. He said to the
Principal Sahib, 'Let's go back to the station. It must be time for the
train.'

Ruppan Babu was shaken by his father's unperturbedness. He

blurted out in astonishment, 'I am staying here. I'll come by the
night train.'

His words were ignored. To reduce the tension the Principal tried
to make a reasoned comment on the subject. 'About Badri
.'
Wrestler. . .

Vaidyaji silenced him with a gesture of his hand, and then stated
simply, 'There is no need to say anything. I have already made up
my mind.' '

Ruppan was torn apart with curiosity but to display his indif-
ference he stood a short distance away watching the traffic. Vaidyaji
said in such a loud voice that even those who were not interested
could hear, 'I am
not so conservative. Gandhiji was in favour of
inter-caste marriages. So am I. Badri's marriage to Bela will be
accepted as a model in every way. But I've no idea what Gayadin's
reaction will be. We shall see,'
With this he turned to Ruppan Babu, who didn't have the
.'
courage to look him in the eye, and muttered, 'I'm off. . .

The Principal Sahib wasn't prepared to see such a simple end to

the love story either. In his dismay, he began to speak in Avadhi,

258
'Maharaj, I knew from the very start what tha'dst say. Such a great
'
reformer as thee
With this, he hailed a cycle-rickshaw.

259
TWENTY-NINE

Itwas approaching late afternoon on the day after Vaidyaji, Ruppan

and the Principal had returned from the town and there was no
one on the veranda except for Vaidyaji and Badri Wrestler. This
was the part of the house which was reserved for men, where
women seldom ventured. It was quite still. Ruppan Babu was lying
down quietly in a room off the veranda. It was a college holiday
that day and he had lain awake quite late the previous night. That
was why, even after having sufficient sleep, he was attempting to
go to sleep again. It was then that he heard his father's priestly
tones, 'I had no conception that you could fall so low!'
Any ears which did not prick up immediately at such a remark
would be even worse than a dog's tail. Ruppan's ears pricked up,
and he slowly peeped out of the door. Vaidyaji was sitting cross-
legged on a charpoy, and Badri Wrestler was squatting on the
platform just nearby.
Without announcing it, the two of them were quarrelling infor-
mally. The atmosphere was so homely that if Ruppan Babu had not
heard that remark of Vaidyaji's he would have imagined that his
eider brother and father were holding preliminary consultations
on some subject of importance to the community, such as the
immediate necessity of a further embezzlement in the Co-operative
Union.
However Ruppan had heard Vaidyaji's remark and then he
heard him say something more in the same tone, 'You are a fool
—
too I would never have imagined it.'
Badri Wrestler said carelessly, with a yawn, 'What's the point of
cursing and abusing each other in the home? It's no good thing.'
Perhaps this comment about behaviour had the necessary effect
on Vaidyaji. He dropped his melodramatic tone and said, as if it
were a normal conversation, 'And is what you've done a good
thing? Do you even have an idea what the result will be? How
much anguish it will cause me? Do you know?'
Perhaps Badri Wrestler had not drunk bhang this morning. It is
a fact that people unaccustomed to bhang yawn when they drink
it, and that people accustomed to drinking bhang yawn when they

260
don't. So a second edition of the yawn appeared on his face. He
chased away a mosquito sitting on his shoulder with a gentle slap,
but the mosquito was the kind that preferred to die rather than fly
off. After this he replied to Vaidyaji's comments, 'What is there to
be upset about, tell me? Whatever trouble there is will pass.'
Vaidyaji lowered his voice, 'When you're so sensible, how on
earth did you get trapped by Gayadin's daughter?'
Badri Wrestler sat for some moments without speaking, then
said, 'It's pointless talking to you.' He pulled down a kurta from a
peg, threw it over his shoulder and headed for the door. Vaidy '

said, 'Now where are you running off to?'

'Who's running? If you have anything sensible to say, then say
it. But if people begin to talk nonsense even at home, then I'm not
staying to listen to it.

Vaidyaji changed gear. 'But this matter will have to be discussed

at some point.'
Badri braked, and remarked from where he stood, 'At the mo-
ment your tongue is saying some very odd things. This is not right.
We'll talk again some other time.'
'When? When my nose has been cut off in disgrace?'
Badri Wrestler was compelled to return. Still with his kurta over
one shoulder, he went back and squatted down on the platform.
'Don't talk about things like having your nose cut off. Where is your
nose in the first place? It was cut off in the days of Pandit Ajudhya
Prasad.'
Vaidyaji replied, 'You are making low remarks.'
still

Badri Wrestler began to rock back and forth on the balls of his
He said in a thick voice, 'If I am, then for now just let me do
feet.
it.

You say that I have been trapped by Bela. You are my father, how
can I make you understand? Trapping is the work of cheats and
bird-catchers. In your family, a great saint like your grandfather
Ajudhya Prasad was trapped by a sweeper woman. That's what
you call trapped! Yes! And if not, then what do you call it?' After a
pause he said at great speed, 'Anyway, now we can close this
conversation.'
down on the accelerator.'Yoi/r family! Your
Vaidyaji put his foot
grandfather! You're using such language! This family is ours! Isn't
it yours? Aren't these forefathers yours
too?'
Badri's car jerked to a halt as if faced with a red light at a

261
crossroads. He said with self-control, Isn't it happening again? I tell
you one home-truth and you get irritated. Anyway, let it pass/
Vaidyaji said in a voice that sounded like a car engine when a
learner is trying to drive with the clutch and accelerator both
pushed down together, 'No, Badri, I will not let it pass. Today I won't
letmatters stop here. We are Brahmins, she is a Vaishya. But it's
not just a matter of caste, it's a matter of principle! A girl of such
morals. .What did Chote say in court?'
. .

Badri Wrestler leapt to his feet. 'Enough! The matter's closed!

And I have just one more thing to say and then I'll shut up too. I
can't behave like Baba Ajudhya Prasad. What I do, I do properly. I
don't like any mucking around.'
He walked towards the door Suddenly Vaidyaji got up from his
charpoy and, despite lacking matted locks, beard and begging
bowl, he struck a pose like a Hindu ascetic delivering a curse, and
bellowed like a double-powered motor horn, 'You low creature!
.'
Then hear what I have to say too. . .

Ruppan Babu was listening to this conversation in amazement.

In the town the day before it had seemed from Vaidyaji's remarks
as if he would allow Bela and Badri to marry, and that if there was
any obstacle it would come from Gayadin and he could be brought
round. But from this conversation he realized that what he had
thought to be the end of the struggle was in fact just the beginning.
He could restrain himself no longer. Springing nimbly from the
room, he began to play peacemaker
'Father,' he said, 'What can be gained from arguing now? Why
not say exactly what you said yesterday in front of the Principal.
Just keep on repeating that. We will say that we don't accept
casteism. When Badri brother has already been trapped by Bela,
'
then
Ruppan was unable seemed as if his
to finish his sentence. It

neck were breaking. It was a routine occurrence. Every day Badri

Wrestler laid hands on somebody's neck. Today he'd grabbed
Ruppan's. In one second Ruppan's eyes saw the courtyard whirl-
ing by ten times and then turned upwards until only their whites
were visible.
Badri was grinding his teeth and saying, 'You even want to play
leader in this house? You're saying that I've been trapped by her?
And that too to my face! You chimirkhi ass!'
Giving Ruppan's neck a violent jerk he shoved him over to the

262
far side of the courtyard in an unusual fashion. Ruppan was so
unnerved that he couldn't even decide whether to accept or return
the title of 'chimirkhi ass' which he had thus received.
On the other side of the courtyard Badri Wrestler was saying to
Vaidyaji, 'This is what you call He wrote a two-page
a real leader!
letter to her himself! God knows what nonsense he put in it! He
was trapped himself, and turns round and tells me that I've been
trapped.'
Ruppan Babu had recovered himself before he could fall. He said
inan offended tone, 'I am not so low as to talk to you on that matter'
He said to Vaidyaji, 'Father, it's useless saying an5^hing at all to him
now. Let him do whatever he likes.'
But at this time Vaidyaji was eager to give, not take, advice. He
said in a stern voice, 'Whatever the case, Ruppan, this is not a
subject for you to speak on. I have complaints against you both. I
am also well aware of your own behaviour'
Ruppan Babu lost his temper completely. 'So that's it!' he replied,
holding his head high and pushing his chest out, 'Then I am also
well aware of your behaviour'
was the last scene of the battle. Badri said sarcastically to his
This
father, 'See that?' Ruppan Babu rushed out of the house, and
Vaidyaji stood in silence next to the charpoy. He didn't even do the
easiest thing for a man of his profession— he didn't even appeal to
God.

It was late afternoon. At a sweetshop sat a vendor who looked like

a vendor of sweets even from a distance. On the road below his
shop stood a local political leader who looked like a leader even
from a distance. There, too, holding the handlebars of his bicycle,
stood a police constable who looked like a police constable even
from a distance. The sweets on display at the shop looked stale and
—
prepared from adulterated ingredients which they were and —
the milk looked watery and thickened with arrow root which it —
was. This was a corner of heaven on earth where the whole truth
was apparent before your eyes. Nothing was hidden, nor was there
any need to hide anything.
On sale were jalebis, pera and gatta. Next to them in small glass
jars were some dry, rather wood-like things, which were local
substances baked in the European tradition of biscuits, cake, rusks

263
and so As in the town, so here too, these substances were
forth.
giving the message that East is East and West is West and both meet
in Shivpalganj's sweets.
Here too Ruppan Babu met Langar.
Ruppan Babu regarded Langar rather as a first-class passenger
regards a third-class passenger who
suspected of ticketless
is

travelling. But today Ruppan Babu was in such a depressed mood

that he could easily act upon all the principles of Panchsheel. So he
asked in a subdued tone, 'Whaf s happening about your copy,
then?'
Today's a holiday, father! I couldn't find out. But anyway the
copy must have been made by now.' He began to recount the
progress made in recent days. 'It had been made then itself, but I
couldn't go and collect it. I had a fever for a long time. That day
when I fell down at the district courts, I couldn't get up again. Then
I thought that if I have to die, I'll go and die in my own village. A

Thakur from my village had in fact come to the court. He took me

back with him. There people told me it was typhoid.
'But one day some people came to the village in a motor car
Goodness knows what they wrote in English with ochre over the
walls of the entire village. After that, father, they took my blood,
poured it mto a machine and looked at it. Now look at this, father,
—
what a wonder it is of this Black Age here I am, an Indian, and I
go and catch an English disease. The people who came in the motor
car said, "Langar is a big man, he's got malaria."
'How can I tell you, father? After that the motor-wallahs did a lot
of work in the village. Two or three of them, with a machine each,
went all around ponds and ditches making a "kirr-kirrr"
to the weDs,
noise. Two men went to every single house and wrote on the front
of each one prayers to the Goddess Malaria with ochre in English
letters. It was the influence of those letters, father, which chased the

mosquitoes away. I too, father, suffered for a whole month before I

could stand on my feet again to have the privilege of a sight of you.'
The political leader said, 'What a tale that is, Langar old fellow:

They've written with English letters, look

and the malarial mosquitoes have us forsook.'

The vendor of sweets praised the leader, 'What a poem it is you

have recited! It calls tor ajalcbi.'

264
 The leader waved away the flies with familiarity, took four or
from the tray and began to eat them.
five jalebis
The constable opposite said to Langar, 'So you can say that you
were saved from the brink of death.'
'That is indeed right, father, but I knew that I wouldn't die. In
God's court there can be no such injustice. Until I have got the copy
from the Tehsil Office I cannot die.'
The leader suggested, 'Go and build your hut there, you'll save
yourself a lot of running around.'
Ruppan Babu sat on the bench stretching his legs for a few
moments before saying to the vendor of sweets, 'Give me a bowl of
milk.' After consideration he added, 'Give Langar one too.'
Ruppan Babu drank his milk and was about to get up, when the
leader said, 'So how would that be, Langar? Shall we have your hut
built just there in front of the Tehsil Office?'
By his saintly laugh Langar made it clear that the leader was a
fool and that he himself was meek.
The leader said, 'In a few days' time go on hunger strike. It'll be
good. Your name will come in the papers. Whether you get the copy
or not, you'll be famous. Think about Langar old fellow.'
it,

Langar 's laugh this time was not merely the gentle, contented
one of a Vaishnavite saint. It obviously bore the stamp of the Kabir
School, the Gandhian School and the School of Social Service, and
there was also some influence of the local Lucknow School too.
Faced with it, a man's only response could be to grin
and try to
chuckle. The leader did precisely that. At the same time he clapped
his hands and said, 'Well done, Langar old fellow!'
The mood Ruppan Babu was in made him disapprove of the
leader's jokes. Suddenly he felt he was making fun of Langar by
calling him 'Langar old fellow'. 'We call him Langar too,' he
—
thought, 'but what sort of name is that the Lame One? What is
his real name?'
The moment this occurred to him the flood gates of his mind
opened. Suddenly he remembered several such names. A lame man
was called 'Langar'; a blind man used to come to their door and
—
people used to call him 'Soore' the Blind One; anyone whose ears
were pulverized by too much wrestling was given the honourable
'Tutte'— Broken Ear.
title

There was an old man who everyone honoured with the name
Deaf Grandpa. A man whose face bore the scars of smallpox was

265
 'Honeycomb' Prasad/Changu' or 'Six-Fingered'
called in Shivpalganj
Ram naturally had to have six fingers.
This is how we traditionally show our love for cripples and
amputees. Thus thought Ruppan Babu, adding to himself, 'If this
man calls him "Langar old fellow" once more I'll give him a shoe-
beating.' Aloud he said angrily, 'Eh, Squint-Eyed Prasad, why are
you him Langar?'
calling
Ruppan Babu had thought that the leader would be thoroughly
upset at being called Squint-Eyed Prasad. However the epithet
caused him no effect, as, in his own village, he was known simply
as Squint-Eye. The leader felt gratified at receiving the blessing of
'Prasad' from Ruppan Babu, in the same way that a menial
employee called 'Booby', after spending his days working in dirt
and dust, being cursed and abused, feels gratified when he is about
to appear in court and hears himself being addressed as 'Mr Booby'.
The leader remarked to Ruppan Babu, 'What else should I call
him? He is lame and so he's called Langar'
Ruppan Babu threw his empty bowl into the middle of the street
in front of him, as people do after drinking milk at shops. Tens of
millions of flies descended eagerly upon it, but had no proper
words to thank Ruppan Babu. Two pedestrians, near whose feet
the bowl fell and shattered, jumped over to the side of the road but
didn't have the courage to abuse Ruppan or object to his action.
Ruppan paid them no attention. He said to Squint-Eyed Prasad,
'You shouldn't mock anyone by calling them nicknames. You
should address him by his real name.'
Now the leader turned to Langar and asked, 'What is your real
name?'
'Now everyone just calls me Langar, father,' said Langar, after
some consideration, 'But my real name, given to me by my parents,
is Langar Prasad.'

Following the edges of the fields Ruppan came to the end of the
village which has already been mentioned under the name
'Chamrahi'. It was deemed an event for Vaidyaji or any member of
his family to walk through Chamrahi. Once upon a time if any
Brahmin or Thakur passed by, the people there would hastily put
their hookahs on the ground or throw down their pipes and stand
in their doorways. The men would join their hands and raise the

266
slogan, 'We touch your feet, Maharaj!' Women would pull their
children's hands away from their necks and sometimes in their
confusion begin to rain punches on to their babies' backs. The
Maharaj would hand out blessings in all directions, and note whose
daughters had begun to look more womanly in the last four
months, which girl had come back, from her in-laws' house, and
would pass on, his chariot taking to the skies as chariots used to in
the Treta Yug of Raja Ram Chander.
The abolition of landlordism had resulted neitherChamrahi
in
being absorbed into the rest of the village nor in any properly
constructed wells and houses being built, but at least what had
happened was that visiting Brahmins were no longer afforded the
guard of honour they once were. And so, to escape the feeling of
nostalgia and regret for the good old days, Brahmins and espe- —
cially Vaidyaji —
had given up taking this route as far as possible.
Ruppan Babu only realized that he was in Chamrahi when once
or twice he heard the words, 'I touch your feet, Maharaj.'
A man was sitting at ease on the platform outside his door, as
men can be seen doing throughout our country. At the sight of
Ruppan Babu he stood up. Ruppan said, 'Sit down, Churaiya, the
old days have gone.'
Churaiya, whose real name was Churai, and in the meaningless-
ness of whose name lay its beauty, replied, 'I touch your feet,
Ruppan Babu.'
'Nowadays no one touches anyone's feet. It's come to the point
where they just hit them with a stick.'
—
A boy a bundle of dust, lampblack, saliva, mud and spit was —
standing in front of Churai. Churai gave him a shove like Rahul —
—
being offered for initiation to the Buddha and said, 'Go on, lad,
touch Ruppan brother's feet.'

Ruppan Babu blessed him. 'What's the boy's name?'

'Chand Parkas.' That is to say, in correct Hindi, Chandra Prakash,
Light of the Moon.
Ruppan Babu smiled. 'Chand Parkas, son of Churai the Chamar.
You've managed to find a very powerful name.'
He walked on. Churaiya said, 'How did you manage to stray
here today, Ruppan Babu?'
'Is there a ban on walking through here?'
'The Village Council election is over. Now what election is in the
offing, brother?'

267
 For a few seconds Ruppan Babu stood in astonishment at
Churaiya's impudence. Then he laughed for the first time that day
and said, 'Bastard, showing off at me!' He passed down an alley Its
speciality was that although not having been constructed as an
integrated development scheme it had become a part of our in-
tegrated development programme. It was an alley. At the same time
it was a drain which carried away thousands of streams of water

from smaller drains. It was a depot where the filth flowing in the
drains was rotted to manure. As well as all this, due to the fact that
there was no street-light in the vicinity, after dark it also functioned
as a community meeting place for couples eager for love. In short,
simply by being there, it was really a rather good scheme for village
improvement.
Ruppan Babu made his way out of the far end of the alley
without pinching his nostrils. Beyond it was an open field; then the
Tehsil Office and the police station came into view. A little further
on, the Changamal Vidyalaya Intermediate College's thatched
roofs were visible. At one corner of the alley a man was buying a
chicken from an old woman. The old woman was saying, T have
prayed for a boon from the tomb of Pathan Baba, and I am raising
this chicken to offer to him.'
The man buying the chicken was extremely anxious to get hold
of it, and was prepared to put up with all kinds of tribulations. He
began to explain to the old woman that Pathan Baba's only care was
that he got a chicken and that he wouldn't mind whether it was
this one or not. He also explained that there are two ways of selling
—
a chicken one straightforward, and one where you get a kick in
the backside.
He very kindly granted the old woman the liberty to sell the
chicken by whichever way she chose. He also said that he wouldn't
only buy the chicken, he'd also give her money for it.
Ruppan Babu remarked in passing, 'It's some official coming or
what?'
In reply the man abused someone roundly with a dozen or so
different expletives, in between adding the autobiographical detail
that he had been searching for a chicken since the early morning,
and the geographical observation that Shivpalganj was an ab-
solutely one-horse village, and that when people talked it seemed
as if there were chickens all over the place, but if you tried to buy
just one they all disappeared back into their coops.

268
 Ruppan Babu gathered from this that the man's superior officer
was about to arrive from the town. As he walked on he said, 'You've
got the chicken all right, but what about the other thing?'
'What other thing?'
Ruppan Babu made a gesture but to the man it was just like
abstract art. He wasn't prepared to understand it. Putting his head
on one side he asked again, 'What other thing?'
Ruppan Babu replied, 'Ram Channa's daughter's gone to her
in-laws house. Now what will you do?
'Heaven forbid, how could you suggest such a thing, Panditji,'
reprimanded the man.

Outside the police station, wearing a vest and underpants and with
his sacred thread hanging over one ear, sat a healthy-looking
constable. Village watchmen were lying under trees, sprawled out
like dogs. —
Around them broken earthenware bowls, dirty leaf
plates buzzing with flies, and sweet and tea shops full of small,
smoking oil lamps. Greasy stools. Caravans of murderous trucks
roaring down the road in the hands of drunken drivers. Petty
revenue officials with papers loaded on the carriers of their cycles
like piles of grass. The Tehsildar's foul-mouthed orderly. Pandit
Ram Ghar's licentious son who drank and picked fights at the
barber's shop and whom the local postman beat with a shoe seven
times a week after having drunk an even greater quantity of liquor.
Students, singing as if in chorus, walking from the college, their
arms around one another's waists.
Ruppan met ^he Principal and Rangnath coming down this road.
The Principal said, 'Have you seen what Khanna Master's come
up with now, Ruppan Babu?'
Ruppan replied, 'I don't want to hear anything against Khanna
Master. If you want to tell someone, go and tell my father.'
Before the Principal could say more, Ruppan asked Rangnath,
'Will you come with me, brother? To celebrate his victory old
Sanichar is inviting people for a good time again at the local still. If
you want to see a film for free come along, we'll go off from there.'
Ruppan Babu's heart was lighter for having snubbed the Prin-
cipal.
Rangnath said, 'I'm going home.'
'Fine, go ahead. I'm going to see the film.'

269
THIRTY

About a hundred yards from Vaidyaji's sitting-room was a small

square in which stood a couple of neem trees on which perched
hundreds of screeching parakeets, and beneath which hundreds of
dogs played tag. Recently, an enthusiastic primary schoolteacher
had begun assembling boys there, drilling them and getting them
to play kahaddi. It was Vaidyaji's belief that there was some politics
behind this. But since the teacher belonged to Ramadhin
Bhikhmakhervi's faction, Vaidyaji had taken the matter no further
than mentioning it in his own sitting-room. A local market was held
there too once a week, where spinach and vegetables were sold
and, occasionally, a rare sack of wheat like a freak baby could be
seen laid open and on sale.
After becoming Pradhan, Sanichar had put up a wooden cabin
in one corner of the square and opened a general store. He had no
comment to make on why he hadn't been able to do this before
becoming Pradhan.
Sanichar had decorated the shop a good deal according to his
likes. On one side of the wooden wall was an advertisement for

herbal sweets to treat backache in women, on the other was stuck

one of the 'Grow More Grain' posters which have already been
mentioned. In the remaining space were advertisements for a
lampblack invented by some old woman, medicines to treat
ringworm, coughs, asthma, a special sort of battery, vegetable ghee,
and so on. The items advertised were mostly not on sale at the shop,
and the items on sale at the shop were generally not advertised.
The shop stocked everything from betel-nut and beedis to wheat
flour, lentils, rice and spices. All these could be bought and con-
sumed in broad daylight. This was the equivalent of the side of
politics which is written down in manifestos. Then came the side
which is revealed in secret counsel at party meetings, and which is
known to reliable sources. In shop terms this comprised items
which could not be bought openly, but which could be consumed.
Under this category of goods came a large number of allopathic
medicines which originated from the storeroom of the local hospi-
tal. They also included tins of American milk powder originating

270
from the local primary school. Among this category were some
items which could only be bought under the counter, and only
consumed in secret. They included cannabis, bhang and charas.
Sanichar had shown no enthusiasm for opium because in the
village Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi controlled the underground
opium monopoly
As Holi approached, Sanichar 's shop gained official recognition;
—
he began to sell sugar which was well known to be available on
the production of a government ration card. However it was not
well known how to get hold of a government ration card.
On Holi itself Sanichar began to sell country liquor at the shop
too. The speciality of the liquor he sold, not shared by the liquor
available at the government-licensed shop, was that it was un-
diluted.
The shop was built on top of a wooden platform, and inside there
was just enough room for Sanichar to sit. Still above it, to enhance
its status, were inscribed the words Tls don't Enter'. This phrase

had been borrowed from the signboard hanging from the door of
the local Post Office. In protest against there being such an un-
original sign in Shivpalganj, some young boy had amended it. The
amendment was only minor He'd changed the 'Pis' to 'Piss'.
If anyone opposed the setting up of the shop, it was Rangnath.

The very day it was opened he saw Sanichar sitting at the counter
and said, 'It doesn't look good.'
'Just you wait and see, Rangnath Babu. In a few days it will start
looking good. The old days belonged to the rajas, maharajas and
big landowners. Now just you see, the shopkeepers will hold sway.
They do already'
Without getting involved in this economic debate, Rangnath
replied, 'I was referring to the way things are done in the town.
Lying around here in Shivpalganj you think you're very clever, but
where I come from there are people who make you look a fool.
'Don't you know that the custom is that the man in office doesn't
do business himself? He sets up brothers and nephews in business.
They keep long faces, and get on with their work. They don't waste
their time with the political game. The man who gets into office
keeps apart from them and quietly looks after his own position.
'Even then the poor nephews and brothers have enemies. Some-
one will go and say that the man in office had got their firm so many
contracts, and his nephew had made so much money from them.

271
 '

If you read the papers you'll see that they reek of these sort of
stories. Then the man in office puts on airs and says, ''How would
I know? What's it got to do with me? Someone must have given a

backhander somewhere. I was just quietly serving the country. If

you people want to take action against anyone, why are you
bothering me?"
Rangnath continued, 'I'm just telling you what I read in the
newspapers. That's why I'm trying to persuade you not to get
mixed up in a shop. Put some nephew here. Let him run it. When
the time comes you'll still be able to say that it's nothing to do with
you.'
Sanichar pondered a while and then said, 'I don't have any
brothers or nephews. You people are all I have.'
'Then where was the need for you to become Pradhan? You
could fill your stomach just as you were.'
'What bastard really becomes Pradhan himself?' interjected
Sanichar with some force, 'I accept only Vaidyaji as Pradhan. Con-
sider this shop his, it's just that I am sitting in it. Look on me as
tenant.'
He had enounced the last sentence with great devotion.
Rangnath was convinced what he said was true. This is our tradi-
tion. Bharat had worshipped Ram's sandals and ruled in his name
for fourteen years. Rangnath suggested, 'In the town tenants have
begun to sub-let after renting a place. If you want to live in peace
find a sub-tenant.'

'There are boys all over the place. They drive you up the wall and
stop you sleeping at night.
'Just look at your village. See how many boys there are lying
screaming in the dirt. They're raising enough dust to destroy the
world. They're all filthy. They all squint. They've got trachoma.
Their ribs are all sticking out. The only part of them that's growing
is their stomachs because their livers are enlarged. They all whine.

The moment you hear their voices you feel like slapping them.
'You just think it over, Pradhanji! Can any country educate so
many boys? Keep them healthy? Make men of them?
'How long will they be looked after properly? Up to what point
can good be done for them? It's been done for so long! What do you
think? That not enough's been done? At lot has been done; but the

272
 .

—
problem remains just as before there are boys everywhere you
look. What can anyone do?
This is the reason no economic plan can work and every scheme
is unsuccessful. If you make a scheme for a crore by the next year

an army of a crore-and-a-half is on it's feet to take it.

'So what's to be done?
'This is what should be done —
the spring should be cut off at
source. If there's no bamboo there can be no bamboo flute to play.
The bother of boys and children will be wiped out. Even if you want
to produce them, just produce as many as you need. There are
.'
several ways of controlling the births of boys. . .

A shy young man, about twenty-four or twenty-five years old,

had been sitting at Sanichar's shop for about an hour delivering
something of a speech. Four or five people were listening to him
with curiosity. Ruppan Babu was among them. The young man's
speech was highly civilized and rational but a summary of the way
the listeners understood it has been given above.
Sensible people had no great difficulty in accepting that boys
were a cause of anxiety and trouble, but to explain this point the
—
young man had given an example if a quarter kilo of kheer is made
in a home and there's only a man and his wife to eat it they get half
a quarter kilo each. If they have one son then they still get nearly
100 grams a piece. If there are five sons then the amount drops from
nearly 100 to only thirty grammes. There's not enough of the
pudding to enjoy it. . .

Ruppan Babu asked, 'Brother, I don't have any sons, and I don't
know what it's like to have them. But tell me one thing. I accept
that you shouldn't have five sons, two or three are plenty. But why
make only a quarter kilo of kheer? Why not make a kilo?'
The young man hesitated and then said, 'How many people can
afford to make a whole kilo of kheer?'
'Then talk about improving their finances. Why are you running
after their sons with a stick?'
Sanichar raised his hand and said with the authority of a
Pradhan, 'There's no harm in castrating a man. But shall I tell you
what ought to be done? Some years ago we had a plague of
monkeys in Shivpalganj. The whole harvest was ruined. There was
a huge number of monkeys, more than there are boys now. Every
morning the ganjahas would set out with a net shouting "Lehc!
Leho! Shoo!" over the fields and drive tiie monkeys into one house.

273
But they still couldn't save the crops. Then we people called some
men from the western districts. They were expert monkey-catchers.
In just a few days all the monkeys were caught and taken away
from here.
'You do the same. Catch as many boys as you find and shut them
up. There's no need to shoot them or anything. I hear that the
monkeys were sent to America. Put the boys in a boat and send
them there. They can go and live there and raise families.'
Ruppan Babu was standing some way off. He suggested, Tt
won't cost anything to send them to America. I hear that ships
abroad come here loaded with wheat. When they go back they can
take a full load of boys. The whole thing will be done for free.'
The shy young man thought about these suggestions for a
moment, and then blushed and said, Arre, no! You people are
pulling my leg.' He stood up and joined his hands in supplication
before democracy, which at that point was visible in the form of
Sanichar, and said, 'I will come and present myself to you tomor-
row.'
Sanichar said in a Pradhan-like tone, 'Don't take us wrong,
brother, these are the ways of the ganjahas. If you come tomorrow
we'll have a meeting at Vaidyaji's door If everyone agrees we'll start
vasectomies. I'm a celibate man myself, I don't have any wife or
family, but if you give the word I'll have one too. Then I'll be free
to do anything I feel like.'
The villagers gave the young man a joyful farewell, but he
returned home with a heavy heart.
It was about three o'clock in the afternoon and the roads and

doorways were deserted. Crops were being harvested, and a fairly

large proportion of the inhabitants had gone to the fields and
threshing floors.
The young man, with the air of a Messiah roaming through an
empty country whose population has been decimated by plague,
was looking and walking straight ahead. He wore a shimmering
—
terylene bush shirt and the emblem of an official trousers. Some
way from the edge of the village he suddenly gained the impression
that a dog had been infatuated by his bush shirt. The dog was
barking and advancing on his ankles. The young man bounded off
towards a house opposite and stood on the veranda beneath the
tin roof. He picked up a switch of arhar plants and stood erect, like

274
Abhimanyu with the broken wheel of his chariot, prepared to face
the Chakravyuh of dogs.
Heaven knows what magic there was in the bark of the dog
which had pounced, but in the blink of an eye the young man was
surrounded by dogs on all sides. They were nearly all barking.
Those that weren't able to were wagging their tails in excitement
and flexing their spines. Innumerable puppies wers splitting the
heavens with their sharp yapping.
The door of the house opened and out of it came Gayadin. He
remarked calmly. They're making a big row'
Then, noticing a man from the town waving a thin cane of arhar
at his door, he made a dash at the dogs. An enthusiastic young boy
came out of a neighbouring house and began to run repeatedly at
them and pelt them with clods of earth. The enemies lost their
footing. The dogs began to scatter. Their barking resounded but
diffused.
Gayadin asked the shy young man, 'Who are you, brother?'
Every Indian has just one easy answer to this question and that
is to promptly say the name of his caste. So he said, 'I'm an
Aggarwal.'
Throwing down a charpoy which had been standing on one side
against a wall, Gayadin invited the young man to sit down and
asked what he did for a living.
The young man sat down, wiped away the perspiration which
was a result of the episode with the dogs, not the heat, and replied,
'I'm in government service.'
Gayadin observed his face closely. He looked embarrassed but,
all in all, handsome. Gayadin enquired, 'How did you happen to

come here?'
In reply the young man began hesitantly to speak about the boys
being born in the country day in and day out. After a while it struck
Gayadin that people were producing children continuously and
this young man's job was to stop them doing so. He asked a
question about the young man's salary and was dumbfounded that
anyone could make a living merely by delivering speeches on birth
control.
Suddenly he asked, 'How many children do you have?'
'Not one. I'm not married.'
Gayadin now looked the young man up and down with interest.
He asked, 'You're a Vaishya Aggarwal?'

275
 The young man nodded in confirmation of this honourable
piece of information.
Gayadin leant forward and happily moved up closer to him on
the charpoy. He asked the young man's address, which was in the
nearby town. Then he asked his father's name, and he turned out
to be a well-known businessman of his acquaintance. He enquired
after the young man's father and discovered that like many other
small businessmen, he too had become something of a local leader,
as a result of which his son had been posted not far from his
—
home in fact, only fifteen miles away. Then, when Gayadin asked
about the young man's brothers and sisters, he found out that his
sister had married a rich businessman, a high-class Calcutta man,
and his younger brother was in business there with his brother-in-
law. After some further enquiries, Gayadin found that this was the
rich businessman's third marriage. Then, when Gayadin asked in
a roundabout way whether the young man was going to get
married or not, he replied that it was his father's decision that he
should get married this year
Gayadin put the point, 'Brother, you are a well-educated
Finally
person. You would only dream of marrying a girl with a B.A. or
M.A.'
This time the young man said, like average young men who fall
in love with the girls they study with and marry the girls their
fathers bring down from the ladder of dowry, 'I don't know any-
thing about my father tells me to.'
it. I'll do what
At these words, before the young man could get up from the
charpoy, Gayadin said, 'You're one of my caste, and have come to
my house, so you must have a glass of sherbet before you go. If not
sherbet, then milk. All right, if you don't like milk either, then have
some tea.'

With this he called out to Bela.

On one side of the ridge of earth on which Sanichar was sitting was
a field where the crops had already been cut and which was being
irrigated with water from the canal. In the field, on the other side,
was a crop of ripe wheat in no danger from birds as the ears were
devoid of grain.
The farmer had sown this field on the advice of a progressive
man, and so the plants had grown up equidistant from one another,

276
in perfectly straight lines. When the seedlings had sprouted this
field had been highly spoken of and had been presented for
inspection as a model of progressive farming to those officials who
knew not only how to walk with their feet on the ground, but also
along field boundary ridges. When the seedlings in the fields all
grew to be a span high, the whole scene became immensely charm-
ing and poetic. It completely overwhelmed the inspecting officials.
For two or three months they came there regularly, and gazed like
birds at the wheat standing line upon line. The rows of wheat could
be seen. However, since the quality of the seeds, the quantity of
fertilizer and the irrigation arrangements were not all visible at first
glance, the farmer, his advisor and the inspecting officials never
thought about them. When the time came for the crop to ripen, the
sole significant feature of the field remaining was the lines of
plants.
Lines. The people of Shivpalganj had been taught: lines mean
progress. Real progress doing everything in lines. Plant trees in
is

lines and let them die in lines. Stand in a line for bus tickets and
when the bus has come and gone its way, stand in line for ten hours
for the next one and twiddle your thumbs. Tether your cattle in
lines, pile up your rubbish in lines. Put up lines of flags at public
meetings, stand boys in lines to sing songs of welcome, stand in
lines to throw garlands around the necks of leaders.
Do everything in lines, because they are visible and progress is
whatever can be perceived by the eye. There's no need for you to
look or think beyond this, because there are other people to do that.
A man could be seen approaching from some way off. Sanichar
was at an angle from him. At first the man walked along the
boundary ridges of the fields. Then, perhaps because he'd studied
geometry and knew that two sides of a triangle put together are
longer than the third side, he climbed down from the ridge and,
leaping across a field of young sugarcane, took the route a man
scaring crows would take, and began to head straight for Sanichar.
Once he stiffened and looked to his right, causing a small towel to
fall from his shoulder on to the ground. He strode forward decisive-

ly for seven or eight paces, then turned and saw the towel on the
ground. Glancing at it, he walked on as before. He shouted in a
loud voice, 'Oh, Girdhariya, Girdhariya, Girdhariya, re!' A
herdsman standing about one-hundred-and-fifty yards away,
holding a staff as weighty as a mountain, answered this call. The

277
man said, Tve dropped my towel, pick it up and give it to me. FU
be standing there by Sanichar/
Then Sanichar realized that this was Chote Wrestler and he was
heading for him.
The moment he arrived, Chote said, 'What are you digging up
sitting around here? Back there Vaidyaji has been watching the
road for you for a whole hour.'
Sanichar yawned and said, 'How can I tell you what I've been
doing? This Pradhan business seems a waste of time to me. I've been
running from pillar to post since early morning.'
Chote Wrestler was not impressed by Sanichar 's statement. But
just as some bureaucrats get into the habit of repeating stories of
their honesty without the least concern whether they have any
effect, Sanichar too continued describing the trials and tribulations
of being a Pradhan.
Chote Wrestler suddenly interrupted, 'Let's be off, you've added
enough colour. Now go straight to Vaidyaji's door and try out your
act there.'
Sanichar said somewhat hesitantly, 'I washere irrigating
sitting
my field with canal water. I've got sugarcane to sow. I was planning
to go after a while.'
The belonged to Vaidyaji who had given Sanichar
field, in fact,

permission to farm it that year

Chote raised his head and tried to focus on something in the
middle distance. He said, 'It wasn't your turn for the canal water
today. Last night it was flowing into Churaiya's fields.'
Sanichar said, 'Wrestler, will you make me—the Pradhan—wait
for my turn? At least give me leave to water my fields when I need
to.' Then he predicted confidently, 'I'll water it. I'll see that
Churaiya's fields are watered too. Waiting for one day's not going
to kill anybody'
Chote Wrester sat down on
boundary ridge. He shoved
a
Sanichar in the back with one hand and did something which made
the Pradhan leap hastily to his feet. Chote said, 'Now trot off
straight to Vaidyaji's house and if you want to take canal water
don't do it by taking Churaiya's turn. If you're a true son of your
father take the water from Ramadhin's fields one of these days.'
Sanichar replied as he walked away, 'I'll do that too. Just wait a
bit and you'll see what happens!'

'Nothing's going to happen. Ramadhin's already watered his

278
fieldsonce/ said the wrestler disrespectfully. Arre, Sanichar, don't
show off so much. Here you need a blow from a lathi not one from
an election. You couldn't so much as pull up a radish on your own
even if you tried.'

The news had spread through Shivpalganj today that the old Sub-
Inspector, who had been transferred because he incurred
Vaidyaji's wrath, had come to apologize to Jognath and was present
in Vaidyaji's sitting-room. This news was to a large extent correct.
He was indeed in Vaidyaji's sitting-room, dressed in a terylene
bush shirt and gold-rimmed glasses, his moustache ends curling.
Ruppan Babu had now become an open opponent of the
Principal and he generally sat in Khanna Master's house. Rangnath
had begun talking about going back to the town every other day,
and occasionally he too went over to Khanna Master's. Three days
ago Badri Wrestler had gone off on a tour of the neighbouring
districts as, in their simplicity, two or three of his disciples had been
—
arrested for highway robbery and dacoity. At this point only
Vaidyaji, the Sub-Inspector, Jognath and Kusahar Prasad were
present.
After his transfer from the Shivpalganj Police Station the Sub-
Inspector had faced several hardships. One was that the new Sub-
Inspector had instituted a number of inquiries against him. The
initiation of the inquirieswas a painful occurrence, like an opera-
tion without anaesthetic, even if in the end they were to result in
—
nothing like coffee-house discussions. The second difficulty con-
cerned his cow. When he arrived in the town he discovered that
there was an anti-corruption campaign going on at the military
farm where his brother worked and he didn't dare to take up the
burden of looking after it. Living in a house down a narrow alley,
every day the Sub-Inspector had to think about how to care for the
cow. The third major problem had been caused by Jognath's claim.
Jognath had started a claim for eight thousand rupees in
damages in a civil court, the final words of the argument going
something like this: 'That the defendant charged the plaintiff fal-
sely with the crime of robbery and, with the intention of causing
him harm, conducted a false case against him. He was kept in
detention for approximately two months which caused him to be
thoroughly disgraced in society and brought his work to a

279
standstill. damage was caused by all this,
Several lakhs of rupees of
but the defendant does not have the status to pay so much. There-
fore a symbolic claim of a mere eight thousand rupees is being
entered against him.'
The Sub-Inspector was unruffled by Jognath diminishing his
status, or by the amount at which he had fixed it. He was bothered
by the interest taken in the whole matter by the general public.
About half-a-dozen Hindi and Urdu rags, known as weekly papers,
were published in the town. Floating these rags were some semi-
educated people who called themselves journalists and whom
journalists called rascals. These rags generally used to publish court
notices and reports of road accidents. At the same time every rag
would, without fail, carry an account of an event in the life of some
official in which the official himself featured as one character, and
a bottle of liquor, a girl, a bundle of notes, gambling or a pimp as
the other. These rags were read with enormous interest in the legal
and bureaucratic world, and in those circles were presented as
proof of the dangers posed by Hindi and Urdu journalism.
On occasions the denial of a report on the life of an official would
also suddenly be published, from which one would gather that the
editor had himself investigated the incident described in the rag of
such and such a date, and had found that there was no truth in it,
that he regretted having published the news, and was enraged
with his special correspondent, who had now been sacked and
reduced to selling peanuts. The official in whose favour this sort of
denial appeared would smile at his companions and say. There you
are,' and behind his back his colleagues would say that the Editor

Sahib didn't agree to do it without milking him first, and in this way
the contact between literature and the administration was growing
deeper.
In a similar way one rag had dragged up the news of Jognath's
claim against the Sub-Inspector, stuck it on the front page, and the
other rags had published the story several times in several ways,
making some interesting additions so that the news might not seem
stale. At the very same time the Sub-Inspector came to the town, he

also became a famous man.

So far the case hadn't even had its first hearing but he saw that
the interest of the men of his department in hirn had increased, just
as that of the journalists had. When he went to his club his com-
panions made speeches, the conclusions of which were that times

280
 '

were bad, worthless characters were making theraselves out to be

big heroes; this was no longer the time to be in government service;
and how had he got mixed up in this business, being such a sensible
chap? He received such a lot of sympathy from his colleagues that
it became difficult for him to walk the streets, and when they all

began to chorus, 'Don't worry, we'll stick together and fight the
case up to the Supreme Court. It's written in the scriptures that
Truth will Prevail,' his heart began to sink.
One day a venerable well-wisher expressed the opinion that he
was a funny sort of man. Was he going to keep on trailing all round
the place after this case? Why didn't he go and find some way to
bury the matter?
After that the Sub-Inspector took refuge in Vaidyaji.
They were sitting in silence. What had to be said had perhaps
been said. The Sub-Inspector was at his most captivating. To break
the silence he said to Kusahar Prasad, 'Well then, are you and Chote
still fighting one another?'

Kusahar Prasad replied, 'No, Inspector Sahib, now I'm out of

shape. I don't have that wrestler's strength any more.'
'So are you suffering your son's blows in silence?'
'I've told you. I'm not up to it any more,' Kusahar Prasad ad-
dressed Vaidyaji. 'You know it in any case. Before Holi he had
abused me, and I'd hit him with a cane. Then what he did was to
lift me up and swing me as if he was going to throw me into the

courtyard on my back. But goodness knows why, he put me down.

I just collapsed on to a charpoy. Around midday he told me, "Look

here, your body is weak. It doesn't have a wrestler's strength any

more. When I picked you up to throw you on your back it was like
lifting paddy straw. That's why I didn't throw you into the court-
yard."
'From that day it's been that we don't take liberties with one
another Chote says, "If you want to die, die your own death, don't
rely on me to help you. I've nothing to do with your living or
dying."
Vaidyaji listened to the whole story and said, 'Don't so much as
take that sinner's name in front of me. The base fellow raises his
hand to his father!'
Speaking as one elder to another, Kusahar remarked without the
least hesitation, 'Well done, Maharaj, all this time when you were
listening to the story you said nothing. When you've found out

281
how things stand you tell me not even to mention Chote's name. *

Well done! You're a real leader/ '

Vaidyaji laughed in such a way that the Sub-Inspector might

realize that Kusahar Prasad had his leave to insult him. As he
laughed he looked towards Jognath. Jognath saw that Vaidyaji's
moustache ends were laughing but not his eyes. He cleared his
throat and said, 'Eh, Pandit Kusahar Prasad, even if Chote has
stopped giving you shoe-beatings, don't lose all control over your
tongue. Speak politely to Vaidyaji. If you roam around making
those sort of crooked remarks someone's going to give you more
than you bargained for'
Vaidyaji continued to laugh in the same way, which made it clear
that Kusahar was also being insulted with his permission. Kusahar
Prasad just said, 'You've learnt a good deal from jail. But keep
company with boys your own age. This is a matter between myself
and Vaidyaji, why are you squealing about it?'
Suddenly the Sub-Inspector said, 'Vaidyaji, it's nearly time for
my bus.'
do as you say,' said Vaidyaji, 'you're the defendant. Jognath's
'I'll

moment you're face to face. The matter can only

the plaintiff. At the
be sorted out if you talk to one another How can I interfere in
young men's affairs?'
Jognath replied, 'Maharaj, this is not a personal matter. It's a
question of the honour of Shivpalganj. That's why the Village
Council is paying my legal fees from its own pocket, and there will
only be a settlement if the Village Council proposes one. I was
junior to the Sub-Inspector when this happened, and I'm junior to
him now. Officers remain officers. But I have nothing to say,
whatever you decide be final.'
will
The Sub-Inspector felt as limp as a portulaca flower at sundown.
He sensed that his moustache was drooping, but the wax was
preventing it from going up and down with his emotions. He said
nothing.
Vaidyaji said to Jognath, 'So leave it up to the council then. Talk
to Sanichar.Such an important officer has rushed down here from
the town. The matter should be settled.'
The Sub-Inspector frowned, 'Sanichar? Who's that?'
'You won't know him. His name is Mangal Prasad. He's our
Pradhan. That's his shop over there. Go and have a word with him,'
said Vaidyaji respectfully.

282
 Kusahar remarked, 'Became a yogi yesterday and already has
matted locks down to his buttocks. Just look at Sanichar, in a few
moments he's become "Mangal Prasad". Well done, Guru Maharaj!
If you want them to make up, then why don't you call Sanichar

here?'
Vaidyaji said gravely, 'The dignity of the office should be main-
tained. Look how much respect Gandhiji gave Nehruji after he
became Prime Minister! Our personal relationship is another mat-
ter,but in public one must maintain the dignity of the office.'
To encourage the Sub-Inspector he repeated, 'Please go over
there to his shop. The Pradhanji must have come.'

Sanichar was sitting in the cabin of his shop waiting for the Sub-
Inspector and Jognath. As he returned from the fields he had found
out through ganjaha means that Jognath's claim had knocked the
wind out of the Sub-Inspector, that he had come whimpering for
peace, and that he should be given a hard time so that people would
learn that in Shivpalganj the most senior police officers had owned
—
defeat a fact that would prove useful in times to come. Sanichar
had sold four or five packets of bhang while waiting for the Sub-
Inspector. Then he had given one away free to a passer-by who was
a member of the Village Council. The member had asked, 'What am
I supposed to do with this?'

'Keep it. The Sub-Inspector's about to come and beg for mercy.
When he does, let's celebrate with bhang. The bhang's on me, you
provide all the almonds, pistachios, sugar and milk.'
The council member shoved the packet into the fold of his dhoti
and said with a smile, 'Pradhanji, you are pulling a fast one. What's
in an anna's worth of bhang? The real expense lies in the almonds
and pistachios.'
Sanichar pulled a face as if he had taken strong objection to this
allegation against his generosity. He said, 'Keep the packet, what's
eating you? Let the Sub-Inspector come and beg for mercy, and
then if there's no bhang ready, I'll order a bhang feast at the

council's expense.'
The council member said, 'That'll set us back twenty-five
rupees.'
'Let it.'

'The secretary will raise an objection to the expenditure.'

283
 Sanichar tried hastily to lose his temper, and suceeded. 'Every
evening here for the last ten years thereVe been bhang sessions in
the Co-operative Union, and no whore's son has ever objected, so
who's going bhang session by the Village Council?'
to object to a
The council member left the path of reason and took the straight
but illogical path of principle. 'But this is not right. I can't swallow
it.'

Sanichar looked at him sideways and said, 'You are all idiots. Do
you know anything about the world outside at all? Big councils give
banquets worth thousands. You think I'm talking nonsense? Just
—
go and ask him Rangnath Babu. Then you'll understand how
much expense official work entails.
'Here you are going soft over just one bhang session in the
Village Council. When a mahua flower falls on a squirrel's head, he
thinks the sky's fallen.'
The Sub-Inspector and Jognath could be seen approaching.
Sanichar first picked up his shirt to put it on. He'd had it stitched

after the election and wore it only on special occasions under

instructions from Vaidyaji. Then, for some unknown reason, he put
it down on a basket of rice. He stroked his naked torso once,

dispersed his long top-knot well over his scalp and pulled his
underpants up to the very top of his thighs. Then he prepared to
meet the Sub-Inspector like a half-naked Avdhut sadhu and started
v/eighing out some goods on a pair of scales for an imaginary
customer.
The moment he arrived, Jognath said, TYadhanji, the Sub-Inspector
has come.'
Sanichar threw a glance over the top of the Sub-Inspector's head
and asked, 'Where is he?'
'This is him.'
Sanichar gestured towards the bench opposite and said coldly,
'Sit down, Sub-Inspector, you're not in uniform. It was difficult to
recognize you.'
The Sub-Inspector down on the bench. He thought
sat it im-
politic to dust it first. Jognath sat down beside him.
The Sub-Inspector began to say that Shivpalganj would make a
lot of progress in the hands of a man like Sanichar. He expressed

regret that during his posting he had not been able to make his
acquaintance. He said, 'Jognath was under some misapprehension,
which is why he had lodged a claim.
.'
. .

284
 Sanichar interrupted, 'Misapprehension! Whaf s that when it's
at home? Forget English and speak in a local language. Fm a rustic
man. Speak so that I can understand.'
The Sub-Inspector's honour was saved by the wax on his
moustache-ends. Under the protection of his upcurled whiskers
he explained in a tone of immense sweetness, 'Jognath got the
.'
mistaken idea that. . .

Sanichar said, 'If he got the wrong idea, this case will clear it up.
After four hearings we'll see who had the wrong idea.'
On the bench the Sub-Inspector was showing no sign of internal
conflict. He looked at his watch and said, 'Look, Pradhanji, you can
take it was the one with the wrong idea. It was my mistake.
that I

Without looking at the whole evidence I shouldn't have touched

the case. Now I'm ready to make a settlement. Whatever you think
right, will be done.'
Jognath smiled, but Sanichar asked gravely, 'What do you say,
Jognath?'
'What is there for me to say? I was a hooligan then, and I'm a
hooligan now. It's your job to do the talking and the listening. But

you want my opinion, here it is. The Sub-Inspector should

still, if

put down what he's just said in writing, and that'll be the end of
the whole matter.'
The Sub-Inspector made no comment. Sanichar thought for a
while and then suggested, 'I'll tell you what, Sub-Inspector, let's go
and have a word with Vaidyaji.'
The Sub-Inspector replied, 'I've already spoken to him. He says
that the matter's in the Village Council's hands. The Village Council
is fighting Jognath's case. He says that you're the one to decide

whether to withdraw it. Vaidyaji's not even a member of the Village

Council'
'Yes, that's true,' Sanichar admitted pompously, but then paused
and added, 'But stillwe should have a word with him.'
He slapped his shirt down
hard on the basket of rice. Dust flew
up, but the Sub-Inspector didn't even pinch his nostrils. Putting on
his shirt, Sanichar said, 'Let's go there. That is the court we have to
appear in.'

As evening fell, there was a bhang feast, courtesy the Village

Council. Several grinding stones clicked together on the Gandhi

285
platform. The bhang was ground amidst dust and confusion. To
remove all possibility of it refusing to intoxicate, some thorn-apple
seeds were added as well. Almonds, pistachios, black pepper, car-
damom, and a dozen or so things which couldn't be recognized
were ground and dropped into it. The mixture was dissolved in
milk and water, and before one's very eyes several buckets began
to froth. Leaping like a monkey, Sanichar first took a glass of bhang
and poured it over a Shiv lingam standing underneath a nearby
tree, at the same time reciting by heart hundreds of maxims and
prayers relating to bhang. People began nodding their heads in
appreciation of the fact that even uneducated men of the old school
knew so much more than the educated men of today. Then the
bhang was distributed.
Goodness knows how many boys were gathered round the
Gandhi platform. Mud was streaming from their eyes, froth was
dripping from their mouths. The stomachs of practically all of them
were enlarged, proving, perhaps, that there was no shortage of
food in their homes. Their voices sounded squeaky and sometimes
hoarse, and even more unnatural was the happiness suffusing
their faces. The bhang was distributed among these boys first. Even
if they didn't know what milk tasted like, they were familiar with

the taste of bhang, and they began to describe it with words like
'very fine' and 'first-class', and drank it up with happy hearts.

That same night Jognath invited selected people to imbibe alcoholic

refreshments. The chief guest had returned several days ago,
having been acquitted of a murder in a nearby village. In his
presence the atmosphere remained at first quiet and respectful, but
later on, when a man said in a military style, 'It's not something to
be proud of to slaughter a man like a goat while he's asleep, soldier.
It's the act of a butcher,' the peaceful atmosphere put its tail

between its legs and slipped into a hole.

'Have you ever slaughtered a goat?' asked the chief guest.
'I'm not a butcher.'
'I'm asking a straight question,' repeated the chief guest, 'have
you ever slaughtered a goat?'
He was speaking in a very soft and simple tone, his eyes fixed
on his bottle. When he repeated his question people began to feel

286
nervous and slipped up to him. Someone touched his hand and
said, 'Let it pass/
The guest jerked his hand away and said for the third time, 'Have
you ever. .?' .

'Let it pass, let it pass, brother,' they coaxed, but the man speak-
ing military language had also reached the stage where he im-
agined every object to be of straw and every man a maggot.
Addressing the general public, he said, 'The drink has gone to this
soldier's head. Lie him down over there in the corner and pour
some cold water over him.'
This was the start. It didn't take long before the flasks and bottles
were breaking. Then the drinkers went' out into the street to trade
curses for a while. At one o'clock they began to indulge in kicks,
punches and lathi blows.
In the neighbouring houses people were awake and in the police
station people were asleep.
Rangnath was lying on the veranda of the room on the roof. He
lay for a while in silence, listening to the screams and howls coming
from one corner of the village. Then he said to Ruppan, 'I hate it
here. I'll go back tomorrow itself.'
Ruppan Babu had not taken part in the day's feast, but bhang
had been sent to the house for his consumption. He said sleepily,
'What's the point, brother? There are these sort of bastards there as
well.'
Rangnath said hotly, 'I hate it there too.'
Ruppan Babu turned over, yawned and said, 'Who are you to
hate anyone? Are you any different from them or what?'
As he said this he sat up on his charpoy. He continued, 'You've
been making these sort of remarks for some days now. You talk as
if you have come from England and the rest of us are black men

shitting in the open. If you want to sleep, keep quiet and sleep. If
not, then sit up all night hating people.'

287
THIRTY-ONE

The moment he returned home Badri Wrestler saw Vaidyaji was

troubled. When troubled, his turban became somewhat looser, his
moustache appeared disarrayed, and after every third sentence he
would comment, 'What can I say? Do whatever you think best/
A friend of Badri's had been sentenced in a neighbouring district
for the illegal possession of weapons. One sten gun, some hand
grenades, a rifle and a shotgun had been found in this friend's
house and it had been proved that this armoury belonged to him.
In court he had stated that neither the house nor the armoury was
his as the house in fact belonged to his wife. But it was said that the
judge's heart was terror stricken by the sight of so many weapons
and the moment he could he sentenced Badri's friend to two years
in jail.

Badri Wrestler had no guns but he considered it

interest in
necessary to go to express his condolences. By then his friend had
lodged an appeal in the High Court and was himself out on bail.
He told Badri repeatedly that if he lost in the High Court he would
go to the Supreme Court and all this would cost a lot of money,
which he would have to bear personally, as nowadays no one gave
a damn for anyone else. Badri took this to mean that the legal
expenses would have to be borne by the wayfarers who ventured
on to the local roads after sunset. Since he regarded highway
robbery with contempt, he assured his friend that he shouldn't
worry about the money and that God would provide whatever was
lacking.
But his friend smiled and, explaining that whatever he already
had was God-given, extracted a cloth bundle from some thatch. In
the bundle were wads of folded notes. The friend took out two
thousand rupees, insisted on handing them to Badri, and in-
structed him to keep them with him. What, after all, did they mean
to him? The yogi wanders, the river flows, and he had one foot in
jail and one foot out. If his appeal was rejected by the High Court

his bail would be cancelled there and then. That was the time these
rupees were to be used to make arrangements for the Supreme
Court appeal. If God gave him another two or three thousand in

288
the meantime, he'd have that sent to Badri as well. He was going
through hard times, and had only God and Badri to rely on
After finishing the discussion on the Almighty in this fashion,
Badri returned home with two thousand rupees in his pocket, if
only to be held in trust. When he arrived, he told Vaidyaji about his
friend's afflictions, and explained that they may have to take the
case to the Supreme Court, and if that happened he would have a
lot of running around to do himself. Vaidyaji said in a subdued
voice, 'What can I say? Do whatever you think
'

Badri started, and then examined his father. He was not wearing
a turban, but his moustache was untidy. Badri became worried. He
realized that Vaidyaji was troubled. He raked over the happenings
of the past few days to investigate the cause of his unhappiness,
and discovered that several people had done a number of bad
things.
The Principal had gone to the town and had shown the Deputy
Director of Education the College Committee's Annual Report. The
report described Vaidyaji as a 'lion among men' and clearly proved
that he had been happily elected Manager by a unanimous vote. It
did not mention that some committee members were threatened at
gunpoint outside the college and were not allowed to enter. Even
after this written proof the Deputy Director intended to inquire
into Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi's allegation that the election for the
post of Manager was held in an atmosphere of terror at pistol-point.
He had given the Principal notice that he would conduct an inquiry
in person and had set a date for it.
Khanna Master had filed a complaint and amongst several other
allegations he had also claimed that teachers were made to sign for
twice the amount they received as salary. That was the practice in
seventy per cent of colleges, and no attention should have been
paid to it, but the Deputy Director had promised to inquire into that
too. There is a hard and fast rule throughout the world that the
amount written on a receipt is accepted as the amount the receipt
is for. Despite the written evidence of the receipts, the Deputy

Director was all set to hold an inquiry.

Someone had printed an anonymous handbill against
Malaviya's bad conduct. Whether or not the allegation was true, it
was a cowardly act to make an anonymous complaint. It was also a
cowardly act to bugger a child, and if he had done so he ought to
be openly condemned. But Vaidyaji had heard that Khanna Master

289
had managed to get some boys to give evidence to prove that this
handbill had been printed by the poor old Principal Sahib. Ruppan
wasn't saying anything, but Vaidyaji had heard that he had helped
Khanna get proof of this. Several students had been egged on to
make a complaint that everything except education took place in
the college. They alleged that poor Master Motiram taught how to
run a flour mill and not science. There was no written evidence in
support of these allegations, but still there was going to be an
inquiry into them too.
And if that wasn't enough, Rangnath had begun talking to
Khanna from time to time as well. On the one hand his health had
improved, but on the other his mind had become polluted.
The Co-operative Inspector was trying to be one up even on
Yudhishtira. He'd put in a report saying that the Supervisor, Ram
Swarup, had embezzled upwards of two thousand rupees and that
this had been done with Vaidyaji's cognizance. He had proposed
that the sum be recovered from Vaidyaji. Despite its being down in
black and white, no action had been taken on the report Vaidyaji,
in his capacity as Managing Director, had sent in against the
Inspector,and in spite of repeated efforts he was not able to get him
transferred. Moreover, Vaidyaji had written that the Inspector
drank, and so far this hadn't even caused a tremor at the co-operative
department, let alone a volcanic eruption.
Badri Wrestler one foot next to where his father was sitting
lifted
on the wooden bed, put his elbow on his knee and his chin on his
hand.
As Vaidyaji concluded, he said, 'Is that all?'
Vaidyaji replied, 'You call this "all"? When this is the reward I get
for my services?'
Badri Wrestler ignored the remark about a reward and said,
'These matters can be settled in ten minutes. Beat the Co-operative
Inspector ten times with a shoe and he'll come round. If the Deputy
Director won't listen to reason and comes here for an inquiry, we'll
arrange to give him a warm welcome too. To sort out Khanna
Master we'll order him and his party not to set foot in the college
from tomorrow. We'll mark them absent and sack them after fifteen
.'
days . . .

Vaidyaji interrupted, 'How can we do that?'

'The Principal will do it. How did we get rid of Tripathiji last )'ear?
Was he kept absent for a month or wasn't he?'

290
 Catching a glimpse of confidence in Vaidyaji's expression Badri
Wrestler continued, 'You just leave things as they are, the Principal
will set them right. Chote's trained a couple of disciples over here.
We'll put them on duty outside the college. They'll thrash Khanna
if he go in.
tries to
'Why worry about what nonsense Rangnath gets up to? He's a
—
town man like pig shit, no good for plastering the floor or burn-
ing. Don't even bother looking in his direction; he'll just get upset
and run away.
'That leaves Ruppan. I'll have to give him a bit of a beating.
Whenever you give the word, FU thrash him.'
Vaidyaji sat serenely for a while after hearing Badri's defence
strategy. Then he suddenly said, 'What's happened to Ramdayal
Tiwari's appeal? Has any date been set by the High Court?'
Badri planted his foot even more firmly on the wooden bed and
said, 'We'll talk about that too. First of all we're dealing with what's
going on here, so let's finish that. Tell me, is there anything left to
worry about?'
Vaidyaji thought and said, 'Here things will be sorted out all
right, but there's something very wrong with the politics on top.
That's why these petty officials are getting so uppish. I can't even
get the Co-operative Inspector transferred and there's some very
high level politics behind that. This is what we have to worry
about.'
Badri Wrestler said, with some irritation, 'Politics is your busi-
ness. I've had my say. The Inspector should be beaten with a shoe
ten times —
no more, no less.'
Then something occurred to him and he amended his statement,
'If he should proceed on leave, then I can't promise I'll even do that.

Fll let him go.'

Vaidyaji drew a deep breath. His body relaxed; his hands went
to his head, but as he wasn't wearing a turban at that moment, he
couldn't tighten it and instead he began to pat his scalp, as if
pouring blessings down upon his own head.
Then he asked, 'What will you do about Ramdayal Tiwari?'
Badri Wrestler replied in the same tone, 'Let these things be
settled first.'

He took out the money from the pocket of his kurta. Handing it
to Vaidyaji he one-thousand-three-hundred rupees. I
said, 'Here's
hear the Sub-Inspector left some peace money as well. Put them

291
together to make a full two thousand rupees. If the co-operative
puts on the pressure, go and deposit the money straight away/
Vaidyaji said gravely, A little of the cash the Sub-Inspector left
has been given to Jognath. There's four or five hundred left. That
belongs to the people.'
'The co-operative also belongs to the people.'
Vaidyaji returned the notes to Badri and said, 'So keep it for the
time being, we'll see what happens.'
After this Badri didn't stop to discuss his friend's case. He turned
around once towards his father who was on his way into the house,
and said in an odd kind of voice, 'Bapu, have a word with Gayadin
as well.'
Badri Wrestler had not addressed his father by any name for
several years. As a child he had called him Bapu, or Daddy, but as
soon as he grew up and took to wrestling he had given up this
childish habit. Vaidyaji heard Badri's remark, and for some reason
closed his eyes.

Every child in Shivpalganj knew one law of nature, that a clever

crow only sticks its beak into refuse. The same thing was true of
Vaidyaji and corrupt officials.

The Co-operative Inspector had caused a great deal of difficulty.

The old Inspector used to work in a democratic way. That is to say,
when arrangements were made to grind bhang at the union, he
—
would arrive even before the other members the moment the first
—
grinding stone hit the slab and take part in the programme as one
of the common people. The new Inspector was implacably opposed
to bhang and, according to information obtained by Vaidyaji, and
the letter written by Vaidyaji to the Inspector's superiors, fond of
the bottle. At thesame time he'd become addicted to drink he'd also
become addicted to honesty, and instead of co-operating with the
members of the union, he had begun to oppose them. At first
Vaidyaji had been convinced that the Inspector would be trans-
ferred but, when after several days he had received no answer to
his letter, he grew worried. On inquiring he discovered that the
whole thing was a political game, and in the same way that civil
servants can be transferred by politics, high-level politics can also
stop their transfers.

292
 Then he realized that the Inspector didn't merely hold a bottle
and a pen in his hands, he also held the strings of power.
One day Vaidyaji went out alone on a friendship mission. When
he arrived in the town early in the morning, he did the rounds of
dozens of bungalows. With the exception of a few where it was not
considered demeaning to wait outside for an hour or so, he received
an enthusiastic welcome, and his wounded self-confidence again
fluttered and arose within him. At many bungalows people were
thrilled by gifts of his virility enhancing pills. To many he had in
addition given the information that he had recently met an
astrologer of very high standing and, if 'Sir' would give his horo-
scope, he could have it re-interpreted. To rouse some people's
enthusiasm the pills and the introduction to the astrologer were
not enough. He had to tell them that a certain Mahatma of
—
Rishikesh was due in town on a certain date yes, the same
Mahatma whose blessings had shown all the allegations against a
certain police officer to be false, and on top of that had brought him
—
immediate promotion and that it would be most convenient to
meet him at night after ten o'clock, and if 'Sir' liked, Vaidyaji would
come too that day to introduce him.
Vanquishing in this way several senior politicians and
bureaucrats, he finally arrived at the bungalow from which the
order for the Co-operative Inspector's protection had been issued.
There he discovered that word had come of a new thinking in the
co-operative movement which rolled nepotism, casteism, socialism
and other elevated principles together and would be the source of
inspiration for future office-holders. The thinking was along these
lines: if you hold power don't use it in an obvious manner to
strengthen your position. Use it to create new and conflicting
forces, and give them sufficient strength to keep fighting one
another. In this way your own power will remain safe and supreme.
If you just keep trying to increase your own power and do not

control the creation, preservation and annihilation of other

mutually opposing forces, after a short while some power will rise
from an unexpected direction, attack you and break your strength.
One result of giving shape to this thinking was that in this
bungalow requests from opposing factions as well as from one's
own faction were given a hearing. Since the request for stopping
the Co-operative Inspector's transfer had come at that moment
from the leader of another faction, and since that faction leader's

293
strength was be used to harass the leader of a third faction, the
to
transfer wouldn't have been possible then even if Vaidyaji had
decided to fast unto death for it.
No one told Vaidyaji these things, but many things at such
bungalows can only be sensed through sight and smell, and that's
why the moment he arrived there, he understood all. Still, he didn't
lose courage. He tried a great deal of persuasion but the matter
became more and more entangled. Vaidyaji said that no embezzle-
ment worth the name had taken place, and even if it had, the man
who did it was missing and, due to the incompetence of the ad-
ministration, had not yet been apprehended. Vaidyaji himself had
nothing to do with this dispute, and if it was ever proved that he
did, he would donate whatever sum was set to the union. But
before this the Inspector should be transferred. He was prepared
to do whatever was asked of him, his only condition was ....
Then Vaidyaji was told that they had to set a good example to
the community. If they didn't then public behaviour would
degenerate. If that happened then the present and the future
would both be the worse for it. What had Ram done? Hadn't he
renounced Sita? That's the reason they still remembered Ram's
rule. One should find one's enjoyment in renunciation; this was
our model. It had also been said in the Upanishads. That's what all
reputed leaders did to this day. They enjoyed the fruits of power,
then renounced them, and then enjoyed the fruits of renunciation.
What had a certain Finance Minister done? Had he resigned or
hadn't he? That Rail Minister had done the same too, as had a
certain Minister of Information. At present, the country, the state,
the district, the Co-operative Union, needed such renunciation. So
that there might be an open inquiry into the allegations, it would
be best if Vaidyaji were to set an example to the people. The moment
the building of example was erected all the allegations would be
crushed beneath its foundations. Therefore Vaidyaji should resign
from the post of Managing Director. This would be the reply to the
reports against him. If he so wished he could resign in protest
—
against something either the low character of a colleague or in
defence of some principle. If he were to resign he had total liberty
to choose the grounds for his resignation. But there should be
nothing indecisive about the resignation; it should be an uncondi-
tional one. Otherwise there should be no resignation at all. If it was

294
 '

conditional, a great deal could also happen which would certainly

prove very unpleasant for Vaidyaji.
seemed to Vaidyaji as if there were some things about him
It

which people on a senior level were finding difficult to swallow.

He reached a decision. He said, 'I shall resign. Possibly it will be
seen as weakness on my part. Still, on your suggestion, I shall resign
in protest against this baseless campaign. However, when the
question arises of selecting candidates for the State Co-operative
.

Federation. . .

He was assured that he could hand in his resignation with the

same confidence with which all great men did when the occasion
came for them to set an example to the people. There was a shortage
of capable men. So capable men never lacked anything. They left
from one direction, and were brought back from another.
Today, apart from potency pills, information and broadcasting
on the subject of astrologers, and meditation with saints, Vaidyaji
also had a fourth subject on offer Before taking leave from the
bungalow he broached this too. 'You will be happy to know,' he
said, 'that I am
considering arranging an inter-caste marriage for
my elder son. The wedding is not yet fixed but I hope very soon to
dispatch invitations to you. Your valued presence will be sought. I

may not be able to come to request you personally at the time, and
so I am informing you now. At such exemplary marriages your
co-operation and blessings are absolutely essential. You will also be
.'
happy to learn. . .

He was happy to learn. He would certainly be present.

.'
'In the village environment it is being opposed also, but. . .

He was bound to be happy, whatever Vaidyaji said, and he was.

Repeatedly.

The annual meeting Union passed off very

of the Co-operative
successfully, because this year the sweets had been ordered from
the town. Bunting was strung from the co-operative building and
flower garlands piled up. The official who had recently in-
augurated the co-operative farm had been called to take part in the
meeting. He had acquired a taste for public speaking and garlands
a long time ago, and the moment he smelt them he pulled on his
trousers, called for a car belonging to a local businessman, and
chugged along to the meeting.

295
 Without anyone reading it, the Annual Report was taken as read.
It had been a profitable year and the members were to receive their

dividends. They received them without the money being dis-

tributed. Many things happened without happening, and then,
finally, the one thing that was bound to happen, did. The speeches
started.
The reality of a speech lies in the giving, not the receiving. So
speakers kept on on working out
speaking, and the audience kept
other matters amongst themselves. For example, the official from
the town said that Vaidyaji was the embodiment of the co-operative
and people began remarking that Badri Wrestler had been trapped
by Gayadin's girl.

Then the official said that it would be difficult for the co-
operative movement such embodiments were
to progress until
produced in every village. Then people said that this matter wasn't
dying down however much the lid was put on it, and so he was
going to marry her. Despite all this whispering no one voiced any
such comment out loud, because if there was absolute rule
anywhere, it was in the union, and if anyone was an absolute ruler,
it was Vaidyaji.
even during the rule of Lord Ram a dhobi had come forth
Still,

to make a painful comment, and here too a man stood up and said
with great fervour that he wanted to make a speech.
The people sitting next to him caught hold of his dhoti and began
to tug at it. They wanted to make him sit down again, if only to
retain his garment. But the man belonged to Ramadhin
Bhikhmakhervi's faction and had come prepared to do everything
according to instruction. So he paid no heed to his descending
dhoti. In fact it doubled his zeal, and above all the other speeches
he delivered a powerful speech to the effect that he was going to
make a speech too.
His shouting had the same effect as shouting generally does. The
opposition began to quieten down. The official from the town said,
'Go ahead. Certainly give a speech. Who's stopping you?'
To maintain his fervour he didn't commence with the words
'Respected Chairman' or 'Brothers and Sisters'. He took off with,
'In this report there's no mention of the —
what's-his-name Ram —
Swarup. That bastard, what's-his-name, did the fraud he took —
two loads of wheat to the town and ran for it. He was a drunk and
used to whore too. He used to have secret talks with Vaidyaji. One

296
 — —
day at night, two what's-their-name trucks came and loaded up
all through the night. No one had any idea. Whafs-his-name, that

bastard, talked so sweetly. The moment he saw me in the distance

what's-his-name would say, "I touch your feet." He got on very well
with Vaidyaji. Now don't take me amiss, whether I say it or not the
whole world knows it. He, what's-his-name, got away with two
—
thousand flaming rupees so who must be responsible? Vaidyaji's
a great embodiment of the co-operative, so we should take him and
cart him around the place. Nobody ever asks Vaidyaji what anyone
is up to. Eat the sweets, have a drink of water and go home. But

that's not going to do anything for the — —

what's~its-name uplift of
the country. In our country customs should apply. However, the
embezzlement happened, there should be an inquiry. I'm not
educated, so don't mind what I say. It's Holi!'
The man's fervour was increasing and when he raised the cry
'It's Holi' it became quite apparent that he was about to raise his

hand and recite poetry. If fervour and poetry ever combined in

Shivpalganj, they could cause fights of epic proportion. That was
why people attempted to stop the speech with the words, 'Yes, yes,
pipe down now, calm down.' But the speech was running at full
speed. Even with people in pursuit it wouldn't stop. That's when
Vaidyaji rose to his feet, and came to stand at the front. At the sight
of him, the speech jumped a little from its place, wagged its tail and
began to sniff the floor.
Vaidyaji stood for a while, smiling, as if it had been proven that
he had no connection with the embezzlement. Then he said in the
manner of a sage, 'It is worth paying attention to how an embez-
zlement takes place. If you have one thousand rupees, you cannot
embezzle them. They are yours. You can spend them improperly
but not embezzle them. The only person who can, is a man to whom
they do not belong.
'In the co-operative no one has his own property. It is held
jointly. The property of several individuals is collected in one place.
It is protected by someone to whom it does not belong. Pay atten-

tion, gentlemen, if you use your own property wrongly it is not

embezzlement, if someone else does, then it is. Embezzlement is

the fate of all co-operative property There's no need to be surprised
by this. Neither should one be distressed to see the word "embez-
zlement" linked with co-operative property.
'On occasions embezzlements are concealed. One should not

297
conceal one's faults or they take root. This is the principle I follow.
One should look with suspicion on any co-operative where no
embezzlement has been detected. Generally, embezzlements there
are disguised with figures. Here nothing at all was hidden. There
has been the best management. At the end of the year the union
hasn't suffered a loss —in fact, it's declared a profit. Whether it's a
profit of a paisa or a crore, profit is profit.
the topic of embezzlement is devoid of mean-
'In this situation
ing. To raise the question here is to insult the co-operative to —
insult the co-operative movement.
'However, allegations have been made against me personally. It
is improper to level allegations. It is even more unseemly to make

personal ones. No individual can function in such an atmosphere.

Certainly a man of decency cannot. oppose these sorts of allega-
I

tions. But please note that oppose the allegations, and not the man
I

making them. The person making them is Shri Ram Charan. I

respect him. I revere him deeply in my heart.
'But I oppose his charges. I oppose them strongly, and in protest
I resign my post as Managing Director.'
With this, Vaidyaji sat down serenely in his place.
Then things began happening fast. There was an awful rumpus,
as if a member of the state Assembly was being dragged out of the
House. Then the rumpus began to subside and the serious tones of
the official from the town could be heard, 'Vaidyaji stands firmly by
his decision. So my advice is that his resignation be accepted. As it
is,today the election for the coming year was to be held. The
resignation means that Vaidyaji does not wish to be Managing
Director in the future.'
Vaidyaji said from where he sat, 'I don't even want to remain a
member. I have fulfilled my duty. Now young men should come in.
They should run the movement.'
The town official advised, 'I don't think you should withdraw
your hand completely, or the union will collapse. You're talking of
young men. Where can you find them nowadays?'
But Vaidyaji wouldn't listen. He stubbornly stuck to his opinion
that even nowadays there must be young men somewhere, and
they should run the movement. Finally, the town official said, 'So
.'
let a new Managing Director be elected . . .

With this he began to speak without giving anyone else an

opportunity to say anything first. He began with tradition, j

298
'Brothers, has been the tradition of this union that all elections
it

here are unanimous. I not only hope, I am also fully confident, that
today, too, the task will be completed in accordance with that
.'
tradition. You people choose one name . . .

Suddenly Chote Wrestler stood up, complete with lungi. He

interrupted, 'What's there in any election-felection? This union is

a small set-upand you want to start election fighting in it too?'

After this he grumbled a saying at which a lot of people sitting
nearby began to laugh. The official understood that Chote Wrestler
had made some obscene comment about him. He said agitatedly,
.'
'WYestler, you're misunderstanding. . .

Chote Wrestler cut in defiantly, 'Of course I won't be able to

understand. You, sahib, you're the one with the trousers. You're the
one who'll understand rightly.'
The official said almost beseechingly, 'Please try to understand,
wrestlerji! I was speaking against an election, saying that there's
no tradition of holding elections here. Here every decision is taken
.'
by consensus. An election. . .

Chote's chest swelled. He challenged, 'You're carrying on about

an election again. There's no need for one. If Vaidyaji doesn't want
to stay on, then he doesn't have to. Just because there's no cock
does it mean the day won't break. .?' .

It must have been four o'clock in the afternoon. The wind was

blowing strongly, whipping up dust. Chote Wrestler was swaying

as he stood, rubbing his eyes against the dust, and had begun to
yell with fervour. There was no apparent reason for this shouting
and emotion, but he was becoming more and more aroused, and
his voice louder. The audience was growing proportionately more
excited, and the official more agitated. Finally, Chote, who was now
inspiring an imaginary platoon to advance further into the field of
battle, shouted, 'Vaidyaji has stepped down. Not to worry. We'll
replace him right away! We'll see how there's an election! You think
you can hold one? That sort of swindling can go on in the town! It
won't work here! Here we can put whoever we choose on
Vaidyaji's seat. On your feet, Badri Ustad! If Vaidyaji's not there,
then you sit in his place. Stand up, stand up Ustad, take over!'
Amidst the chaos arose great cries of, 'Say, "Victory to Mother
India!" '
Then the same old sequence of Pandit Jawaharlal '. . .

Nehru!' '. . . Vaidya Maharaj!' '. . . Badri Wrestler!' '. . . Idris Sahib!'
Idris Sahib, that is, the official from the town, was stunned; stars

299
shot before his eyes. When he regained his senses he saw that
Vaidyaji had disappeared somewhere, someone was dragging his
opponent, Ram Charan, by his arms out of the gate, and Badri
Wrestler was sitting next to him on the platform, garlanded with
flowers, his face suffused with the lustre of the Managing
Directorship.

300
THIRTY-TWO

That year the winter crop in Shivpalganj was good. It had rained
during the cold weather. The senior canal official, who considered
the public grass and refuse and democracy a plague, had been
transferred. The official who'd replaced him spent the canal water
like water, and tried to see that that everyone got his share. The
westerlies of the season of Basant didn't blow hard. There were no
plagues of rats or locusts. Of the two celebrated thugs who used to
wield lathis to persuade people to let them graze their animals on
unripe crops, one was run over and killed by a truck and the other
was in the police lock-up. No one set fire to any threshing floor to
settle a feud.
Some come and settled in scrubland near the
banjaras had
village. Their girls were young and alluring. They used to brew
country liquor and sell it cheaply. They would capture any young
men who passed that way, and tether them in their huts like rams.
When the young men needed to be in the fields hoeing, they were
bleating away in the huts. This year the police first interfered with
the then with the country liquor business, and finally with
girls,

the banjaras whole way of life, and cleared them out of the area.
So, apart from the gambling in the mango groves, there remained
no obstacle between the young men and the fields, and they
laboured hard.
The harvest was good, but it didn't happen out of the blue, as
some people thought. These circumstances, or rather the lack of
them, lay behind it.
The farmers paid scant attention to the good harvest, because
they didn't even pay attention to a bad one. But a good many other
sections of society began to clap their hands and dance for joy. The
leaders said that was the effect of their speeches; the development
it

officals began to say, with the help of statistics, that it was all thanks
to their efforts. In official circles, people began congratulating each
other.
One other result of the good harvest was that Gayadin was
afforded some relief from He had initiated a number of
litigation.
claims for recovering loans. The defendants in these cases now

301
came to him with money and settled out-of-court. Many farmers
began to bring him money, and despite the proximity of the mar-
riage season, repayments increased and cash outflow decreased.
One day he was busy with his book-keeping, surrounded by a
ring of seven or eight farmers, when he saw Vaidyaji heading for
his house.
Gayadin welcomed Vaidyaji much in the way that one great man
greets another, and they went and sat apart from the others.
Vaidyaji said, 'I have come to speak to you on a very important
matter.'
Gayadin said nothing. He knew that Vaidyaji would say what
he had come to say even if he kept quiet. After a few moments of
silence Vaidyaji said, 'What are your feelings about casteism?'
An expression of confusion spread over Gayadin's face. He
replied, 'It's a gift of God. He made you a Brahmin and me a Bania.'
'I don't agree,' said a smiling Vaidyaji. 'It's because of casteism
that our country is in such a bad state. That's why I want to arrange
inter-caste marriages for my sons. Someone has to step forward in
.'
that direction too. The Mahatma used to say . . .

Gayadin raised his hand to prevent him from taking the argu-
ment further and said, 'If you want to marry off your sons outside
your community, Vaidyaji, please do so! But being a sensible man
don't drag the Mahatma in among all these girls and boys.'
Vaidyaji faltered, and then said, 'I was making a point.'
'So was I,' replied Gayadin.
For a while neither spoke. Opposite, a buffalo tethered to a peg
in the ground was walking round in circles and emitting various
sounds. It was in immediate need of a lover. If any human being
could have understood the animal's language, he would have
sensed in the buffalo's bellowing the yearning expressed in the sort
of Hindi film song sung in the middle of a bazaar by a heroine
pining for her hero.
After some time Vaidyaji said, 'So, what is your opinion on
inter-caste marriages?'
Gayadin was sitting with his head bowed. At this he slowly lifted
his head and watched the jumping buffalo for a few moments with
indifference. Still looking in its direction, he replied, 'Maharaj,
these are the domestic matters of Brahmins and Thakurs. How can
we Banias and traders advise you about them?'
Vaidyaji smiled as he said, 'What are you saying, Gayadinji? This

302
is a question of our two families. If you don't speak about it then
who will?'
Gayadin turned his face slowly towards Vaidyaji. When
now
Vaidyaji's face into focus he centred his dismal and dejected
came
glance on it, devoid of any sense of a deal to be made. He asked,
'What has it to do with my family, Maharaj?'
Vaidyaji raised his eyebrows in astonishment, 'So you know
nothing?'
Gayadin was unmoved. His silence revealed he knew nothing.
Vaidyaji now began to talk at great speed, 'This is what pleases
Badri. When a son grows to be sixteen you have to treat him like a
friend too. That's why I made no objection. He's naturally found
out the girl's feelings too. And so now you shouldn't have any
objection either'
This time the buffalo took such a great leap that it almost pulled
the peg from the ground and flew skywards. Gayadin frowned,
looking with disapproval on his whole environment. But without
expressing his annoyance he said, 'Why should I object? Your sons
can marry wherever they like. Why are you dragging me into it,

Maharaj?'
He said, T am not dragging you
Vaidyaji was finding this tedious.
into it. The girl is your daughter why I'm talking to you, but
That's
you are purposely feigning ignorance. A sleeping man can be
woken, but if anyone is pretending to be asleep how can he be .?' . .

Gayadin raised his hand to interrupt, but Vaidyaji continued,

'When Badri has already made up his mind and news has spread
all through society, it is your duty to accept this proposal gracefully.
It will be considered a model marriage. They'll both live happily.

I'm drawing Badri into politics. I've made him Managing Director
of the co-operative already. After some time I'll also get the girl
involved in some social work. There's the Women's Board; I'll get
her on to that. She'll get a car, and a chaprassi to accompany her
Later on I'll even manage an MLA's ticket. Husband and wife will
work contently in the service of the nation. What more can we
want?'
had
In his enthusiasm Vaidyaji hadn't noticed that his listener
begun he was going to burst into tears.
to look as if

Gayadin implored him with folded hands, 'Maharaj, don't ruin

my plans. As it is, my daughter has no shortage of misfortunes! Her
mother died when she was a child. I've managed to bring her up

303
somehow or the other. There's a family of Aggarwal Vaishyas in the
town. They are prepared to accept her. The boy is educated, and
has a government job. The marriage date is just fifteen days away.
In the meantime, if you great men start spreading lies and blacken-
ing her name, what will happen to her, Maharaj? Just think about
it. If you disgrace my daughter then it doesn't matter how big a

leader you are, youTl be dragged to hell like a worm. Don't force
me to say more.'
was stunned. Gayadin then said, 'Those bulls of yours,
Vaidyaji
what are their names, Chote, Ruppan, Sanichar-Fatichar, have
spread God knows what rumours about my daughter. Even a wise
man like yourself has begun talking like these boys and loafers.
Maharaj, I just beg of you to keep your own mouth shut and call
off these young bulls of yours. Just keep quiet until somehow or
other the wedding is done with. This age belongs to you, everyone
is rolling at your feet, but don't forget yourself to this extent. Let
decent men continue to live in Shivpalganj.'
Vaidyaji sat listening in silence, but there was a limit even to how
long one can dispassionately watch a jumping buffalo. Reaching
this limit, he rose to his feet while regarding the beast's new but
unsuccessful attempt to leap into the sky. As he left he remarked,
'Marry your daughter according to your decision, and let me know
if I can be of any service to you. Forget what I said. I had been

misinformed, and I regret it.'

But he did not regret hearing what he had heard about Bela's
future. He returned joyfully with a lightened heart.

After Vaidyaji Gayadin remained sitting as he was for some

left

time. His face did not appear like a clever man's. At first glance he
seemed confused and worried by the rutting buffalo. But history is
witness to the fact that up till now buffaloes have never caused
deep disquiet to mankind. Gayadin's confusion at this time was not
due to the buffalo, but due to Bela's future.
He had told Vaidyaji a half-truth. Bela's marriage had not yet
been fixed. Gayadin had thought of purchasing as a son-in-law the
young man who had recently started coming to Shivpalganj to
explain the advantages of not producing children. The very day
after he met the young man he had gone to town to see the young
man's father. His father had a draper's shop which had been

304
running well, but had been going downhill for two years due to
the arrival of a Punjabi shopkeeper in the locality.
After explaining the reasons for his declining business to
Gayadin at some length, the boy's father reached the conclusion
that, 'The boy is whenever you wish,
yours. Arrange his marriage
but nowadays I'm going through hard times and so I'm not
prepared to part with him cheaply'
Gayadin was sympathetic to the father's point and said that
when he'd set out to buy a son-in-law he was prepared to give a
good price. At that the marriage was settled without any difficulty,
only the boy's price remained to be fixed. His father, calculating his
losses from the day the Punjabi arrived until the present moment,
asked Gayadin for fifteen thousand rupees. Gayadin replied, in
praise of his caste, that the request was reasonable as even the dung
of an elephant weighed a quintal, and even a bankrupt shopkeeper
was justified in assessing the worth of his son at fifteen thousand
rupees. He remarked in conclusion that he was a man of much
lesser status than the boy's father and could not give more than
seven thousand rupees.
After this the conversation continued in the same way similar
conversations have tens of millions of times before. The young
man's father said that seven thousand was very little, as even before
Gayadin's arrival the price had been set at fourteen thousand.
Gayadin said he was not capable of paying such an amount and
was just explaining what he had the means to pay. Then the young
man's father said he'd speak to the boy's paternal uncle, who was
the Assistant Sales Tax Officer at such and such a place, and to the
boy's maternal uncle's cousin's wife's sister's husband, who was
the District and Sessions Judge in such and such a place, and who
loved the boy like his own son, and to his cousin's brother-in-law
who had an ironmonger's business in Calcutta, as well as to the
boy's mother, maternal and paternal aunts, grandmother and
great-grandmother
He assured Gayadin that he would consult with all of these and
give him a final figure on the boy's worth within ten days, and that
if God willed it, they would soon be related. He refused to make

any enquires about Bela, just commenting that if the girl was
educated, good, and if not, so much the better because it wasn't as
if he wanted to turn her into a schoolmistress; and if the girl was

305
pretty, good, and if not, so much the better as he wasn't planning
to set her up as a courtesan.
So when Vaidyaji started discussing the beauty of inter-caste
marriages, Gayadin's had been to get up, run away to
first reaction
the town and slap fifteen thousand rupees into the hand of the
young man's father. As soon as Vaidyaji had walked away he
prepared to leave for the town.
A little while later when he came out of his house, he caught
sight of Khanna Master, Malaviya and Rangnath coming towards
him. These people can't be sent off within an hour, he thought.
Then he remembered that the bus into town didn't leave for two
hours any^way

After mentioning a few items of local news, Khanna Master noticed

the buffalo. It was jumping around the peg in circles as if taking
turns at kahaddi with some imaginary bull buffalo. It w^as bellowing
continuously and letting flow a stream of urine.
Khanna Master remarked, showing the familiarity of a family
man. The buffalo's on heat. Make some arrangements for her'
'What arrangements can I make? All the bull buffaloes in the area
have been castrated. I've sent a man to look at Ramjani Ghosi's
.'
buffalo. He's been gone two hours and still hasn't come back. . .

Khanna Master interrupted, 'Have it Al'd, Al'd. If you have any

problem ask me, the vet's a friend of mine. My father and his father
.'
were . . .

Rangnath interrupted him to ask the meaning of AI and Khanna

was happy to have found something which he knew and Rangnath
didn't. He said, Artificial Insemination. See —
what do you call it in
—
Hindi? it's a very simple thing. When the buffalo comes on heat
you take it to the AI centre and have it Al'd.'
Rangnath looked to Gayadin in the hope that he would get some
more help in understanding the meaning of AI from that direction,
but Gayadin was staring at the buffalo with a worried expression.
This time the buffalo moved back and forth, putting on such a
display of rock' n' roll that it seemed they'd better send for Elvis
Presley instead of a bull buffalo. Gayadin said, 'I've sent this buffalo
to the centre twice already. But God knows what sort of syringe
they use. She won't get pregnant.'

306
 Khanna Master said, 'Who knows whether imitation and adul-
terated goods aren't used there too. FU speak to the vet about it/

Gayadin shook his head in disagreement. 'No, it's not the goods'
fault, it's my luck. If three buffaloes are syringed, on one or other
of them it doesn't work. The trouble is, that particular buffalo is
always mine.'
Through this conversation Rangnath had learned the meaning
of Artificial Insemination, and he began blushing needlessly. To
overcome this he joined in, 'You're always talking as if you're
completely helpless.'
'If you don't get helplessness in a village what do you get?'

Gayadin said morosely He slowly sat down. The charpoy creaked

but today he showed it no consideration. He coughed and said,
'Rangnath Babu, you're a town man. In the town there's an answer
to everything. Say someone gets run over, he's taken to hospital. If
the doctor in the hospital is a scoundrel, a complaint is made against
him. If the man
hearing the complaint takes no action, there are
always a dozen or so loafers to take out a procession. If the police
lathi-charge them, there's an inquiry So there everything is easily
countered. That's why, there, you don't feel the blow of helpless-
ness and compulsion. And if by any chance someone does, then
there's even an answer to that too. He can easily hang himself, and
the next day his name's in the newspapers. People come to know
that he felt he had no choice but to kill himself, and then for some
days the papers write about why he felt compelled to do it. And,
you even this is a reply to helplessness.'
see,
Looking compassionately towards Rangnath, Gayadin said, 'I

know everything about the towns. I lived in Calcutta as a young

man.'
Khanna Master opened his mouth to say something but Gayadin
cut in, 'And what happens here in the village? If anyone is run over,
the motorist disappears. The man who's been run over is left lying
like a dog. If there is a hospital anywhere near, he's brought there
d3dng after three or four days. If there's actually a doctor in the
hospital all he does is put a bottle of water in the patient's hands
and tell him to drink it and pray to Lord Ram. The doctors will
certainly take the name of Lord Ram, as they won't have any drugs
to give. Even if they had drugs they'd have been stolen or put to
one side to be sold. That's why it's said that in the towns there's a

307
way out of every difficulty and in the villages there's a difficulty
blocking every way/
Rangnath said, 'There are lots of difficulties in the town, but
there's no point in telling you.'
A man came up, naked, but for a small cloth covering the part of
his body which proved he was a man. He brought the news that
Ramjani Ghosi was prepared to let loose his buffalo for two rupees.
Gayadin sighed and said, 'Every dog has its day' He nodded to the
man.
The moment the man got the signal he untethered the buffalo
from the peg. As they watched, the buffalo's bellows faded out like
the sound of a radio drama. The naked man moved out of view with
his loincloth and the beast.

The atmosphere became less heated once the buffalo had gone.
Gayadin, who had had to raise his voice because of its bellowing,
regained his natural lifeless tone. He said, 'It may seem vulgar to
mention it, but if this buffalo gets pregnant, then I can relax.
Ramjani is ready to let his buffalo loose, but supposing my animal
refuses?'
At this he smiled. This was something of an event. No one in
Shivpalganj had ever seen him smile before. Rangnath realized that
he had to smile to stop himself from crying.
Suddenly Khanna Master asked, 'How is Bela? I hear she's been
unwell'
Malaviya stared at him. Rangnath thought, 'Masters are like that.
The moment they get out of the classroom they say something
stupid.'
Gayadin showed no reaction to this question. He just turned a
direct and innocent gaze on Khanna Master and kept it on him
silently for one minute. For that minute, which seemed like an age,
Khanna Master couldn't think where to look. Then Gayadin asked,
'Tell me how you are. Master Sahib. What's happening about your

case under Section 107?'

That's what we've come to tell you about. Now only you can
save us. We've got trouble on all sides. The Principal is out to have
us beaten up, and in court the Magistrate is annoyed with us even
before the full case has been heard.'
Gayadin turned to Rangnath. He said nothing. Malaviya ex-

308
plained, 'In this matter, Rangnathji is on our side. We can talk freely
in front of him/
Since every intellectual writhes with discomfort at being openly
accused of belonging to a faction even when he does belong to one,
Rangnath shook his head and said, Tm not on anyone's side. I am
with them on this issue because they are facing injustice and that's
why I sympathize with them.'
Gayadin said, 'Then why are you saying that you're not on their
side?'
Malaviya continued, 'The Principal Sahib has incited Chote
Wrestler against us. The day before yesterday, as I was walking
down the road he told me, "Master Sahib, nothing has happened
to )^ou yet, so get quietly out of Shivpalganj; if you don't, and
something unfortunate happens, your family will suffer." Other
people are giving this sort of advice too. Perhaps the Principal
wants to have us thrashed. We don't know what to do.'
'What can you do? Keep quiet and get beaten. You're a teacher
after all, how long can you afford to be scared of a beating?'
inquired Gayadin gently, looking into the ground.
Khanna Master's hackles rose. 'We are not the sort of people to
take a beating quietly. We'll reply to bricks with rocks.'
Gayadin didn't comment, and so Khanna went on, 'These are
not the days of the nawabs, that anyone can go and beat up
whoever he likes.'
'No, things are worse than that,' said Gayadin. 'I've been watch-
ing things for four or five years now. Wasn't the headmaster at
Rangapur murdered? And what happened? The murderers are still
wandering around free with their spears, stroking their mous-
taches.' He nodded consolingly 'No, Master Sahib, don't you go
throwing any rocks in reply to bricks. You'll be finished. God knows
how many teachers are beaten up by their students every year at
exam time, and what can they do about it? They rub their skulls and
make their way slowly home and drink the glass of water their wife
brings to them. Some file a report at the police station and earn
another beating. That's the way things are now, and being a teacher
you shouldn't worry about being beaten up.'
Khanna Master's temper had cooled. He asked, 'Then what
should I do?'
'Do what they say. Either settle the case of 107, or run away from
Shivpalganj.'

309
 That's what I'm crying about/ said Khanna screwing up his face
as if weep, 'I'd sent a message to the Principal to settle. He says
to
he'll only do it on the condition that I leave Shivpalganj. Whatever
happens he says I have to leave. Tell me, after this what do I do?'
Gayadin thought. He thought for a quite a while and then
smoothing away the lines on his brow to prove that he had finished,
he said, 'What can you do after that. Master Sahib? Spread out a
map of the country in front of you and start looking at it. Perhaps
you'll find some other place beyond Shivpalganj.'
For a few moments they sat in dejected silence, then, like some
worm writhing around, creating and erasing lines in wet mud,
Khanna Master began to describe in detail the last hearing of the
case.

—
The first group in the case under Section 107 the people about
—
whose pugnacious nature the police had warned were Khanna
Master, Malaviya and three novice masters who were considered
opposed to the Principal's group because they didn't belong to it.
In the second group were those whom Khanna had predicted,
before the Magistrate, to be a danger to his life and property. One
lawyer had even jokingly asked what property a teacher had, and
what his life was worth. But the Magistrate paid no attention to
that, and issued a summons against the second group too. In this
group, besides the Principal, were four of his nephews. They had
been teaching in the college for the last three years, but people had
grown accustomed to looking at them as the Principal's nephews
and refused to recognize them as masters.
Khanna Master had to face one great difficulty in court. All the
researchers, historians and creative artists of the police department
had contrived to prove that Khanna Master and his group had been
about to cause trouble. On the other side he himself had not
managed to concoct any convincing story due to the lack of suitable
evidence from Shivpalganj. Therefore, when Khanna Master's
lawyer was making a powerful argument against the Principal with
the aid of few facts and an excess of contention, the judge turned
his head, looked severely at Khanna Master and asked, 'You people
are teachers?'
'Yes.'

'Aren't you ashamed of yourselves?'

310
 They were always ashamed to be teachers but at this moment
Malaviyaji hesitated to admit it. He 'What
said, is there to be
ashamed about in being a teacher. Your Honour?'
'Despite being teachers you're fighting like hooligans. You've
even got involved in a case of 107. Don't you feel ashamed of that?'
Khanna's lawyer said to the judge, 'Your Honour, you should
say this to the other group as well.'
The judge was already angry. He growled naturally, in
— —
English 'I certainly shall. But I still say to these people, aren't you
ashamed as teachers to be fighting a case like this? I am ashamed
to be hearing it. I wonder what effect it must be having on the
students.'
Eventually Khanna's lawyer had to say that, in principle, he
accepted that they should be ashamed of themselves, but both sides
should be equally ashamed.
Then the judge began to lambast the Principal. The purport of
his speech was that the Principal should be ashamed of the way he
was running the college. 'If I was Principal I wouldn't tolerate this
kind of teacher in the college even for a day. If there's a quarrel
between teachers why should the police station and courts be
involved? A wise Principal would never allow these elements into
the college in the first place, and if they did manage to get in, would
not waste a minute in throwing them out. The future of the stu-
dents is at stake. There can be no compromises. But look what a
pass principals have come to. In my days
!'
. . .

Now the Principal Sahib's lawyer had to say that, in principle,

he accepted that the Principal had shown weakness with the
masters, that until now he had not taken any tough action against
them, and that he should feel ashamed that he had not done so.
At this point the judge told Khanna Master that they had made
enough of a spectacle of themselves, and they should either settle
their quarrel or leave the college. If they didn't he would be forced
to give a judgement at the next hearing.
At this the Sub-Inspector delivered a short speech on the judge's
large-heartedness, and appealed to him not to give a judgement as
it would be disastrous for the teachers. Whatever else he may say,

after all, they were only poor teachers. They had been instigated.
If His Honour passed judgement they would be in a complete mess.

It was enough for the judge to have cautioned them. He had

explained the matter thoroughly, and they must have understood.

311
The Sub-Inspector was now convinced they would reach a settle-
ment. If they were just given until the next hearing, everything
would be agreed and His Honour would not have to pronounce
judgement.

.'
Rangnath means that
said, 'So that . . .

Khanna Master said, It means that the moment he got back from
the hearing the Principal set Master Motiram on to us. Until now
he's kept quiet, taught science and looked after his flour mill. Now,
since the day before yesterday, he's been telling us that there's more
profit inopening a flour mill than in teaching. When he talks about
profit he also brings up the subject of a saw mill. Yesterday evening
he told Malaviya about the advantages of running a paan shop.
You tell me, what's the answer to all this?'
Gayadin yawned. 'Settle the matter.'
'But that means . .
.?'

'You've already said what that means. Master Sahib. If a settle-

ment means you have to leave Shivpalganj, then go. What's the
point of cribbing about it night and day. You're going to lose your
job anyway, and unemployment such a bad thing. Tens of
isn't

millions of people are unemployed. The real problem is the crib-

bing. You should steer clear of that.'
Rangnath had been in Shivpalganj for six months now. His
health had improved but his tongue had taken a turn for the worse.
He had begun to get in the bad habit of keeping quiet when it was
right to speak, and displaying his excitement at the wrong mo-
ments. The sense of being excluded from the current conflicts had
begun to give him an inferiority complex. He too felt naturally
enraged at the circumstances but, like the rage of most Indians, his
rage expended itself in argument and discussion, whatever was left
afterwards being suppressed by a good meal. But today goodness
knows what possessed him. His sense of inferiority and his anger
together made him read the riot act. He began and ended with a j

dressing-down, the purport of his argument being that the present

situation should be vigorously opposed. 'Khanna Master should
not retreat, he should not compromise with injustice,' he said,
feeling as he did so like an English-educated Indian brokenly
reciting a Hindu religious text. He fell silent.

The masters said, 'We can't do anything.'

312
 Rangnath asked. And you, Gayadinji?'
In reply Gayadin began haltingly to tell a story. A long time ago
there was a man in our area called Mata Parshad. He was the first
leader of this area. People listened to him with great affection.
When necessary he would go to jail also, and then people would
remember him with even more affection. When he came back from
jail people would generally talk to him in a way that would excite

him and make him go back to jail again. Once he spent several years
without going to jail. The result of this was that people began to be
bored by his speeches. Abolition of landlordism, women's educa-
tion, the boycott of foreign goods and liquor shops — people had
become so familiar with his speeches on these subjects that when
he stood up to speak, even before he opened his mouth, school-
children would begin reciting extracts from them. He had nothing
left to say. When he came to collect contributions, people thought

he was begging. When he used to shout "Victory to Mother India!"

it seemed to people that he was promoting his own family, and

when he talked about the abolition of landlordism they realized

that he wanted to get through the year without having to pay his
land tax. What I mean to say is that Mata Parshad's leadership
worked well for five years and then it seemed to him that it wasn't
doing well any more. Then I had to tell him, "Brother Mata Parshad,
you don't have the qualities of a leader. A leader needs to know
every vein in his people's body, but the people shouldn't know
anything about the leader. Here everything's the wrong way
round. You yourself have no idea of the condition of the people,
but the people know you backwards. That's why the leadership of
this area isn't suiting you. Either go from here to a different area,
or have another spell in jail." Mata Parshad accepted my advice and
went to jail. A full year after that your uncle Vaidyaji arrived. No
one knew anything about him, they just knew that he had a black
moustache, a strong body and that his potency pills were a wonder
He founded the co-operative society, opened a middle school here,
and his own ayurvedic dispensary, and by the time people had
worked out what he was all about, he'd already become the local
leader
'Mata Parshad came out of jail with a government pension and
began to look after his stomach in the town, and here, Babu
Rangnath, there's only one tall man in the whole area and that's
your uncle.

313
 'Babu Rangnath, leadership is a seed which can only take root
in soil far away from its native place. That's why I can't be a leader
here. People know me too well.They won't follow me. If I try to
speak up, they'll just say, "Look at Gayadin, he's trying to be a
leader."
And in wouldn't try to be a leader for this Khanna
any case I

Master. How far can you defend someone who has no sense?
To befriend such boys is to court trouble.'
Rangnath listened peaceably to this speech and then asked, 'But,
Gayadinji, you know my uncle well. You're the only one who can
influence him. You will have to help Khanna.'
Gayadin wondered at their brazenness. For months he'd been
telling them not to rely on him. They would go off, fretting, and
then come right back to him again. The judge was right they —
ought to be ashamed of themselves.
He said, 'I cannot help Khanna Master, but you can. You've
started speaking out openly against your uncle now. You've no
hesitation left. You're also an outsider. People don't really know
you, and you're just like Khanna Master. Now you show some
leadership.'
Rangnath said angrily, 'So be it. What do you say?'
such boys is to court trouble,' said Gayadin, but only
'To befriend
to himself. He watched disinterestedly as they all hurried off. It
occurred to him that it was time to take the bus to town. Fifteen
thousand rupees was a very large sum but, for Bela, at that moment
it was nothing at all. The buffalo hadn't yet returned, and now it

had become a matter of disgrace to live in the village.

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THIRTY-THREE

In our ancient books of logic it's written that wherever there is

smoke there is fire. To this should be added that wherever there's

a bus-stand, there's filth.

The filth at the Shivpalganj bus-stand was extremely well

Some natural means of promoting the Filth Propagation
planned.
Programme already existed. Behind the bus-stand was a small
pond. In the mornings and evenings it provided people with open
air, and was also used as an open-air toilet. The moment dawn broke

you could see pegple concealed modestly behind every blade of

grass growing there, all following the principle that 'a wicker of a
broom is a sufficient shield for a virtuous person'. All the domestic
pigs of Shivpalganj used to arrive there in the morning to take
advantage of this situation. They assimilated the human filth and
scattered it around. The breeze blowing across the pond towards
the village centre forced the passengers sitting at the bus-stand to
keep cloths over their noses. Over in the town sat eminent scholars
of village uplift, deep in thought about the problem of lavatories
for villages. They had in fact been thinking, and only thinking, from
1947 to the present day. Here at the the bus-stand the passengers
with cloths wrapped over their noses sometimes appeared about
to embrace the Jain religion, and sometimes, hearing the grunting
of the pigs, seemed lost in contemplation of the Boar Incarnation
of Lord Vishnu. The atmosphere was thick with stench and
religious possibilities.
When the herd of pigs took to the streets they imitated man.
They could be seen walking along immediately in front of every
vehicle, paying not the least attention to left or right, and even
bettered students at jostling one another. The wall surrounding the
bus-stand was broken down at one place. Taking advantage of it,

the pigs slipped straight from the road into the bus-stand and
headed banks of the pond. Their revelry there created an
for the
impression of a porcine picnic or youth festival.
These natural amenities must have been taken into considera-
tion by the Propagation Programme when the bus-stand was
Filth
constructed. In fact, other Filth Supply Agencies were also already

315
 —
in existence there. Among these, situated to one side, was a temple,
the greasy steps of which made it a great fly-breeding centre. The
scattered, fading flowers, leaf cups which had held sweets, and
broken earthenware bowls lying all around, also attracted ants. On
the other side was a dharamshala, to the rear of which one always
suspected lay a drying ocean of urine.
In perfect co-ordination with these programmes, other means
were used to make up any minor inadequacies. Chief among these
was spittle, which one feels should be made the national symbol as
it is so universally apparent. Just as the most important element in
our planning is paper, so the most important element in filth is spit.
—
A dozen or two paan shops some stationary and some mobile
worked at spit production, like government-approved private sec-
tor companies. The level of spit production was high. To spread spit
several spittoons had been sunk into the ground, the very sight of
which made a man expectorate in any direction except up- —
—
wards and so beautifully that it all landed outside the spittoon.
As a result, on all sides up to a height of four feet on the walls, and
here and there on the ground, rivers of spittle had begun to flow
rather as, we hear, rivers of ghee and milk once did.
Then came the limping, whining beggars, who, even though
few numbers, seemed through perseverance to appear on all
in
sides simultaneously At teashops were drains full of old tea leaves
and dirty water. There was dust from arriving and departing buses.
Resting sickly dogs. And the all-India institution offering the
greatestencouragment to the Filth Propagation Programme
sweet and puri shops, together with the pot-bellies of the sweet-
makers and the filthy clothes of their boy workers.

The Deputy Director of Education was coming to investigate the

problems There were now only four days left before
at the college.
his visit. Ruppan Babu and Rangnath thought that they would go
to Khanna Master's house and ask how his preparations were
getting on. When they set off along the path between the temple
and the bus-stand, they saw a sight.
A head was sticking up above the wall on the far side of the
bus-stand. The body was hidden. The chin was resting on the wall,
and the head was staring unmovingly at the temple. On its face was
a wide but unnatural smile. From a distance it looked as if someone

316
had been suddenly decapitated in mid-grin and the head placed on
the wall.
Ruppan pointed to attract Rangnath's attention to the head and
for a while they stood gazing at it. Suddenly they realized it was
Langar's.
Ruppan Babu called out to him and his neck appeared too. They
both went up to him and began to talk across the wall. Ruppan
asked, 'What are you doing hanging around the bus-stand?'
Langar's smile disappeared and he began to look normal. He
replied, 'What do people do here, father? Only people who have
to go somewhere come here/
'You're going back? That means you got the copy. When did you
get it?'

He punched his forehead with his left fist like a hammer four or
five times.The two young men watched him in silence.
'You treated me so well when we met last time at the shop, father.
The very next day I had to go back to my village. I'd got news that
there'd been a death in my community. The moment I reached the
village, the fever struck me again.
'I laymy bed for a full fifteen days. I returned yesterday,
on
father! When went to inquire from the Tehsil Office I found that
I

the birds had pecked the field clean.

'There they told me that my
copy had been prepared several
days before and information about it had been posted on the notice
board. But no one came to collect it for fifteen days. Then they tore
it up and threw it away.

'When the copy is made they keep it for fifteen days. If no one
collects they tear it up. I didn't know that.'
it

Saying this, he attempted to laugh, but Ruppan and Rangnath

saw he was crying.
Rangnath began to explain, 'Look here, Langar, it's nothing to
do with your not knowing the rules and regulations. The thing to
know is that you're a member of the public and the public doesn't
win that easily'
Langar stopped crying, rested his chin on the wall as before and
gazed at them unblinkingly.
'It doesn't matter that you lost. Go back to your village and do

some farming. After a while these wounds will heal of themselves.'

'How can 1 farm, father? It's my land that the whole case is about.'
'Then rob and steal,' said Ruppan suddenly and severely.

317
 Langar stood in dejected silence for a few moments and then he
said, as if it had just occurred to him, 'Should I put in another
application for the copy?'
Rangnath sighed heavily, 'Go ahead. But this time engage a
lawyer. Even if you get away without giving a bribe, if you're
fighting a case you can't get away without a lawyer.'
They went back to the path. Ruppan Babu kicked a dog lying in
his way, but besides opening its eyes once it didn't react. He said,
'It's better if Langar stays away from Shivpalganj. When he comes

here he rubs you up the wrong way The moment you see him you
feel likeslapping him.'
'Then why don't you?' snarled Rangnath, and thought, 'Today,
for the first time, I am snarling.'

318
THIRTY-FOUR

They were sitting in Khanna Master's house, that is to say, one

room of an old building to the rear of which was a courtyard,
veranda and closet. Cooking was done on the veranda; a drain in
the courtyard, next to which people squatted to bathe, served as a
urinal. As in ninety-five per cent of the houses in Shivpalganj, there
was no bathroom or toilet.
Those seated were Khanna Master, Malaviyaji, two other
masters from their faction and Rangnath. Besides them there were
two boys who were famous throughout the whole area for hitting
first and asking questions later and who came to study at the college

when they felt so inclined. Two subjects were presented for con-
sideration:
1. The obscene handbill published against and the
Malaviyaji,
situation arisingfrom the maltreatment of Khanna Master by the
Principal the previous week; and
2. The preparations for the impending inquiry by the Deputy

Director of Education.
There was a third subject too: should the Principal's nose be
chopped off, or should he just be let off with a shoe-beating. But
due to Rangnath's presence this could not be included in the
agenda.
These days the boys' annual exams were in progress, and Khanna
had caught one of them copying. The boy had refused to be
apprehended on the grounds that he was being victimized because
he was a sympathizer of the Principal's, and that Khanna Master
had given several boys he liked complete freedom to copy. At this
point Malaviyaji had arrived on the scene and tried to say some-
thing in Khanna Master's defence, but before he could the boy had
said, 'Eh, Master Sahib. Why are you getting all upset? You let the
boys who go with you to the cinema in town copy the whole exam
book, and here I am just taking a line here and there and you take
it worse than anyone else.' At this Malaviya had blushed and fallen

silent, but Khanna had begun to issue threats. Then the boy had
said with great gravity, 'I don't want to disgrace you, so go off
quietly to another room. If you don't I'll throw you out of the

319
window and if your legs and arms break it won't be any respon-
sibility of mine.'
Khanna went and reported The
the incident to the Principal.
Principal remarked, 'Wherever this Khanna turns up there's some
disaster or the other.' He refused to take cognizance of the report.
At this the battle commenced. Four or five masters from
Khanna's faction landed up at the Principal's office. In the examina-
tion rooms they left, boys began to copy at will. In the Principal's
room insults were the only weapons and the masters began hurling
abuse.Drowning out this clamour the Principal ordered that Khanna
should leave the college, and shouldn't come anywhere near it
until the examinations were over. If he did, shoes, not tongues,
would do the talking. Khanna Master remonstrated against this.
The Principal replied by replacing words with shoes and beating
Khanna Master with them. Khanna Master remonstrated even
harder, but although in international politics argument may stop
bombs being dropped, there's no argument that can prevent a
shoe-beating.
One master called the police. He didn't have to go far. There
were close links between the annual exams and law and order. The
police were on duty at the gate. They arrived the moment they were
called. There was no murder or dacoity going on, and therefore
they arrived on the scene as soon as they were thought of, without
even waiting for the incident tobe over. They decided that in
accordance with the Principal's order, Khanna should leave at once.
Khanna Master left the college. As he left he heard the Principal's
final warning. In Avadhi, he shrieked, 'If I lay eyes on thee again,
I'll beat thy brains out! Tha'd best know it. Master Sahib! Tha'

shouldst know me for what I am. For a good man I'm a good man,
and for a thug a damn great thug.'
The boys were not affected much by all this. They quietly went
on with their exams, copying in regular fashion.
This incident had been described as the maltreatment of Khanna
Master, and it was being discussed here in the meeting. Khanna
Master was telling Rangnath, 'Last year they did the same with
Tripathiji. They told him, "Right, don't come to college from tomor-
row." The next day he went and was surrounded by three or four
of Badri Wrestler's disciples at the gate. Poor old Tripathiji just
managed to get away with his self-respect intact. By the time he

320
complained anywhere, they had suspended him for being absent
for so many days. After that he was thrown out.
'He filed a case. If s still going on now. He's paying his expenses
and the college is paying the Principal's. The Principal's not
frightened of lawsuits.'
Rangnath said, 'Then you'd better do something quickly'
'What is that something, that's what we have to think about.'
They sat racking their brains for some time. The two boys flipped
through some cheap novels belonging to Khanna Master. They
knew that their role in this drama did not include thinking.
Malaviya said, 'File a report with the police that when you were
going to college they surrounded you and blocked your way'
Khanna Master laughed with contempt, as if asking how he was
going to run a faction with brains like that. He said, 'What proof is
there that they '11 j ust surround me and block my path? Who knows,
they might let me into the college and then suddenly disgrace me.
Before I can file a report I'll have been insulted.'
Malaviya paid close attention to this statement. Then he gave his
interpretation, 'So that means that you are scared to go there.'
Khanna Master said rebelliously, 'Yes. Yes, I am scared. Do you
have any objection?'
Malaviya explained, 'It's not a matter of objection, but until you
go there and they stop you working, how can you file a complaint
against them?'
Rangnath said, 'Draw up a first-rate application in English.
When the Deputy Director comes here for the inquiry, set it before
him. Our Principal Sahib will go up in smoke.'
Khanna laughed long. 'You too Rangnath . ? What can I say?
. .

I have no faith in these deputy directors. Whenever you look under

anyone's they turn out to be a bitch.'

tail

One of the masters chuckled. Hearing the word 'bitch' the boys
stopped reading the novels. They began to look attentively at the
pictures of women on the covers, and to listen to the conversation
with interest. Malviyaji said, 'Anyway, this Deputy Director is new.
We can put some hope in him. I've heard he's very tough, he
doesn't offer a chair even to important leaders. The moment
anyone makes a wrong suggestion he threatens to throw them out
of the room.'
'You keep on listening to such things, Malaviyaji, but I know
better,' said Khanna despondently, 'He's only tough with the

321
leaders of the opposite faction. He's a very smooth character half —
leader, half official. He's managed to get round a few leaders for his
own purposes. He goes and wags his tail to them at night, and acts
tough with others during the daytime with their support.'
Malaviyaji said, 'Whatever you say he's a thousand times better
than the last Deputy Director.' He told Rangnath, 'The first Deputy
Director was as meek as a cow. He was famous for it. Two or three
of us masters went on deputation to meet him, and explained
everything. He listened very attentively, and when he spoke, he
sounded exactly like Gayadinji.
'He said, "Your college is very fine. You say that only factionalism
goes on there, that the boys don't get any proper education, the
accounts are fiddled, copying goes on in exams, the Principal
—
mistreats you is this anything to complain about, brother? All this
goes on in every single college. What is one to do if the boys don't
get a proper education? If the boys themselves don't want to study,
how can you make them? In my days boys from good families went
to college, they concentrated on their work. Now the children of
sweepers and Chamars are coming to study, so what sort of educa-
tion can there be? You tell me, brother!
"If the truth be told your college is very well thought of. Vaidyaji
'

is the Manager, he's a man of great virtue. He doesn't even eat

onions, let alone meat and fish. And look, your college doesn't run
at a loss, you people get your salaries every month. There's never
any embezzlement there, or any strike. No one's ever set fire to the
building. There's never been a theft, or a murder. Everything goes
on peacefully. Yours is a model college."
'Rangnath Babu, the Deputy Director kept on talking to us about
peace and order, as if he was a police inspector and not an inspector
of education.
'As we left he told us, "This business of complaining isn't proper.
If you have any problem go straight to Vaidyaji and tell him, he'll
put everything right."
'Rangnath Babu, we wanted to tell him, "You bastard, you're
such a big bloody cow you should be tethered in a dairy. Eat straw
and give milk. Why on earth are you here?"
'

The audience began to laugh, the boys especially. Then they

became engrossed in the women's pictures again. Malaviya con-
cluded, 'But I'm satisfied with this Deputy Director. When we were
leaving after complaining to him this time, he said, "You go back

322
 ' —
and get on quietly with your work. I shall come and investigate
personally/'
Khanna Master shook his head in despair, 'Uh. Fm not satisfied.
This an election year. Tve heard that they're going to double the
is

college's budget. This year everyone's been given the freedom to

do what they like. The inquiry will take place the day after tomor-
row, but nothing will come of it, what to do?'
Until now the boys had said nothing. Now one of them opened his
mouth to speak He was wearing the famous costume of Shivpalganj
striped pajamas and a muslin kurta with no vest beneath. His head
was shaven and he looked like a thug. When he spoke it became
clear that he was exactly what he looked. He said, 'Master Sahib,
nothing's going to come of any inquiry. The straight way is this:
you give the order and one day, right here, at nightfall, we'll give
the Principal Sahib a right royal welcome.'
The second boy explained, 'We'll just cut his nose off, there's no
need to kill him.'
Rangnath was in a bad way. For some time he had been taking
an interest in Khanna's afflictions. He felt sympathy for this faction
of masters, and he was especially angry because Khanna had been
prevented from attending college, not by any written order, but
simply by force. When the Principal and Vaidyaji had seen
Rangnath going around with the masters, they had begun to smile.
Rangnath had tried to make them understand that by listening to
Khanna's point of view he was attempting to bring about peace.
Vaidyaji heard him out, but said nothing in reply.
Now Rangnath was distressed by the self-confidence with which
the boys talked of cutting off the Principal's nose as a 'royal
welcome'. He remembered the royal welcome that Bharat had
given his brother Ram and thought that if after
in the Ramayana,
this royal welcome the Principal was crowned, as happened in the
epic, then within two or three days he may find himself in the
lock-up with these boys and masters facing a murder charge. And
though the climate of Shivpalganj was healthy, the same could not
be said for its lock-up.
He stood up, but before he could leave the sound of footsteps
came from outside. Ruppan Babu opened the door and came in.
Today he was in full armour. The end of his dhoti was placed
properly on one shoulder, a silk scarf was wrapped around his
throat, a lock of hair waved over his forehead and his face glowed

323
 '

with the bath and the oil which oozed down from
after-effects of a
his hair. Betel-juice was dripping from his lips. As he entered he
said, 'Don't get up. I still have a lot of work to do. I won't stop.'
He looked about him like a tiger But to the others he didn't seem
like one. His was the face of an innocent, thin, handsome young
man, whose eyes were somewhat moist, and whose lips appeared
softer than usual.
Rangnath said, 'Sit down, Ruppan, I'm going too in a moment.'
'No, brother, I can't stop even for a minute. I've just come to say
that I've fixed up everything
properly in all the neighbouring
villages. The people of this whole area are determined to tell the
truth about the college. The people are all with us.'
He was excited. 'This is what Father wanted, so this is what he's
getting. He'll see, too, that "truth can never be concealed behind
false principles".
Khanna Master interrupted this poetry recital. 'Sit down, Ruppan
Babu. Tell us what you've done.'
'Try and take it in quickly,' said Ruppan, 'the whole thing will
become clear tomorrow. Right here, in Shivpalganj, the Deputy
Director will beat the Principal one hundred times with a shoe in
front of five hundred people. If he doesn't then you can beat me a
hundred times instead.'
Raising his voice he went on, 'Now you can sleep in peace. Leave
tomorrow until the morrow. Let's go, Rangnath brother, let's let the
Master Sahib take some rest.' He raised his hand as if administering
a blessing, and, as though inspiring a unit of the army at the Battle
of Panipat, said, 'Keep fighting, sons!'
They left the room. Rangnath followed in Ruppan's wake. They
both walked for a while in silence. Once on the road, Rangnath
touched Ruppan's shoulder Ruppan started and looked at him,
then turned away.
Rangnath put his hand on Ruppan's shoulder and asked softly,
'Ruppan, have you been drinking?'
Ruppan was walking as if intoxicated, but wasn't stumbling.
Continuing to look in the opposite direction he replied, 'If you like
I'll say yes, and if you like I'll say no.'
'Say what's true.'
'What on earth is this bird called truth? What nest does it live in?
What jungle is it found in?' Ruppan roared with laughter 'Brother,
this is Shivpalganj. Here it's hard to tell what's true and what's not.'

324
 Rangnath switched direction, they were no longer heading for
home. He held Ruppan by the elbow and steered him along. 'Let's
go this way, this is all right too. We'll sit down and take the air on a
culvert up ahead.'
Slowly they walked along the road towards empty land. After a
few moments, Ruppan himself said, 'Sooner or later you have to
start somewhere. If you're going to live in Shivpalganj, you have
to live like that.' He continued somewhat haltingly, and angry for
no apparent reason, 'You can't get anywhere here by being a
Mahatma Gandhi.'
They sat down by the side of a road on a small bridge. They were
sitting close together and apart from the fact that Ruppan had put
his hand affectionately on Rangnath's shoulder, there was nothing
new or drunken in his behaviour. Rangnath interrupted him and
said in the tone of a senior, 'Don't talk nonsense, Ruppan. It's not
a good thing to lower your standards because of Shivpalganj. It's
not as if Shivpalganj is the only place on earth. The whole country
is open to you and me.'

Ruppan sat with a long face, and grumbled, 'It seems to me that
Shivpalganj has spread through the whole country.'

The Principal Sahib was having to endure many afflictions. The day
after next the Deputy Director of Education was coming, and he
had to make all the arrangements at the dak bungalow. The Principal
gave some instructions to the college clerk. He stood in the doorway
giving instructions and the clerk sat on a chair drinking sherbet
made from unripe mangoes. After listening to all the Principal had
to say, he commented, 'Such bird-catchers are always coming here.
How much can you expect me to run around for them?' The
Principal Sahib informed the clerk in a friendly manner that if the
Deputy Director was kept happy he might not manage to do
anything for them, but if he was upset he could do them a great
deal of harm.
The Principal's short talk on had no effect on the
this subject
clerk. He quietly emptied his glass of sherbet, gave a loud belch of
—
contentment behind which lay years of parasitic living and in-
—
digestion and said, As long as Uncle is there, no one can harm us.'
'Uncle,' that is, Vaidyaji. The Principal realized that today the
clerk was determined to be of no use and if he tried to force him to

325
work he would just lie down on a bench and start complaining
about his old stomach pain. In that state he wouldn't work the next
day either. 'Yes, it's him that we rely on/ said the Principal, depart-
ing with a few unnecessary flattering remarks about Vaidyaji.
Outside he called for one of his trusted masters to give him instruc-
tions. But he discovered that the master had taken a boy into town
to the cinema. 'Up till now we just had one Malaviya, and now he's
gone and picked up the same line too,' said the Principal with some
force.As he considered to whom he could entrust the next day's
arrangements, he began cursing some unnamed person and un-
known circumstance freely in Avadhi. At this, his chaprassi, his brow
smeared with sandalwood, walked past throwing him a look of
loathing, and creating an unholy clatter with his wooden sandals.
As the Principal was on his way to Vaidyaji's house, he was
overtaken by the first squall of the year Dust filled his eyes. The
thatch of a roadside paan shop flew off, hit him on the shoulder
and fell into the road. In the dust and wind he stepped in a cow pat.
The Principal cursed Khanna Master. Then, amidst thunder and
lightning, hail began to fall. He cursed Khanna Master again and
pushing past two or three people and stamping on a dog's tail, he
slipped into a teashop.
After the squall and hail had stopped, he slowly made his way
to Vaidyaji's house. The farmers he came by were discussing the
fact that any crops which had not been brought home from the
threshing floor would be ruined, but he paid them no special
attention. For him the greatest misfortune in the world was that his
foot was covered with cow-dung. Every time he saw a farmer he
thought he would laugh at his foot, but not one of them did. The
Principal reached Vaidyaji's house.
The door to the sitting-room was closed. He banged the latch
chain against the door to be let in. It had perhaps been shut to keep
out the dust. The moment the door opened, he saw Vaidyaji, Badri
Wrestler, Sanichar and Chote sitting on the wooden bed. They
looked serious. Vaidyaji gestured to the Principal to enter In reply,
the Principal said in his familiar high-spirited tone, 'Call for a pot
of water, please, I want to wash my feet before I come in as I put
my foot in a job of Our Mother the Cow.'
No one laughed at his joke. Sanichar got up and silently handed
him a pot of water The Principal entered, grinning with embarrass-
ment, touched Vaidyaji's feet and sat down beside him.

326
 Badri Wrestler asked, 'How are things with you. Principal Sahib?'
'Things with me are always good,' he said and bravely attempted
to joke for thesecond time. 'How are things with you? When will
we be joining the marriage procession?'
In reply Badri looked at him questioningly, as if he didn't know
the meaning of 'marriage procession'. Vaidyaji said, 'Whose mar-
riage procession. Principal Sahib?'
'Our new Managing Director's. What difference does it make if
itonly has to go from one side of the village to the other? A marriage
procession is a marriage procession. I've just had myself measured
for a silk kurta. The price of it will come from your pocket, isn't that
so. Managing Director Sahib?' he asked Badri, laughing. After so
much irritation and vexation he was suddenly becoming light-
hearted.
Badri began to discuss some other matter with Chote; he didn't
consider it necessary to listen to the Principal. Vaidyaji said, 'Badri
will not be getting married this year. So whose marriage are you
talking about?'
.'
'Why? Gayadin's . . .

Vaidyaji raised his hand and prevented the Principal from com-
pleting his sentence. He said, 'Even you have been taken in by our
enemies. It's a great pity.'

The Principal was astonished. The whole village was talking of

Badri and Bela's marriage ....
'Our enemies have spread these rumours just to disgrace
Gayadin's daughter's name. You know yourself that Bela is the
embodiment of virtue, and Badri's character is stainless. That day,
when I returned from the town, I enquired into this and discovered
that it was a plot by our enemies. I said that now the girl's welfare
lies in forgetting the whole episode. Poor Gayadinji has fled to the

town to escape this calumny. He is arranging his daughter's mar-

riage with someone there/
'Good God! What an amazing place this village is!'
Badri Wrestler rose and went out. Chote began rubbing his open
thigh with his right hand and said, 'If I speak now, you're not going
tolikeit, Maharaj.'
'You are a You only impress as long as you don't open your
fool.
mouth,' said Vaidyaji severely, 'you are the people who behaved
childishly and spead these irresponsible rumours, disgracing
Gayadin. Now shut up. Let his daughter have a happy marriage.

327
Enough The subject should not be raised again.'
of this business.
Saying he leaned back on a cushion like a Mughal Emperor
this
who had just exiled some slave and wished to hear no more of the
matter.
The was becoming unnatural. The
silence in the sitting-room
Principal, who was always high-spirited, thought, 'I have a duty to
perform here.' As if nothing had happened, he brushed all that had
been said to one side, and turned to Sanichar with the words. And
how are things with you, Pradhanji?'
'Bad,' he replied, 'that was what we were talking about before
you came. Jognath went into town yesterday We heard the police
have locked him up under Section 109. The poor man was drunk
and lying on a bench at the station ....
'They wrote a mountain of things in the report against him. The
moment we got the news, Badri and I rushed there. This is the
trouble with being Pradhan. You don't get a chance to open your
shop two days in row.
'Today was a holiday, so we came back. We'll have to go again
—
tomorrow for the bond. I'm thinking that if I have to do this
everyday, I might as well close my shop down.'
The Principal Sahib noted that Sanichar was making repeated
references to his shop. He deliberately ignored them and said to
Vaidyaji, 'If Badri is going to town tomorrow he'll be back by
evening. The day after tomorrow is the inquiry into the Khanna
matter.'
Vaidyaji nodded and said, 'I've told him.'

328
THIRTY-FIVE

In the dayswhen white men ruled India, dak bungalows were built
on river-banks, or in valleys, forests, and mango groves — that is,
wherever the poetry of Wordsworth, Rabindranath Tagore or
Sumitranandan Pant came naturally to mind. Such things as dust
and bustle, cholera, smallpox and plague, starvation and poverty,
ugliness, bad manners and unpleasantness found it very difficult
—
to reach them. Sahibs of both races white and brown — would stay
there when on tour.
In the old days when staying in a dak bungalow, one could easily
make an official tour appear to be a picnic, just 4s, nowadays, a
picnic can easily be turned into an official tour The sahibs would
sit there reinforcing problems; sometimes researching into trees

and plants, animals, birds, worms, insects and maggots, sometimes

wonderstruck by the good health of the native goat-herdesses,
sometimes convincing the loose women of the area that despite a
conspiracy by clothes and tailors, there was no real difference
between men of East and West, sometimes opening gift baskets of
Scotch whisky, sometimes laughing, sometimes angry, sometimes
silent and sometimes behaving as a mountain, or a desert, or a pile
of cow-dung, or a river, or a bridge between the people and the
government.
This was how things were in former times. Now the
countryside's influence is strong in the towns. There are primary
—
schools and council buildings in the villages, and the plague until
—
and unless any man himself becomes one is no more. It is no
longer believed to be an act of hara-kiri for an educated man (i.e.
someone who knows English), to go from a town into a village.
There have been hundreds of experiments in which brown
sahibs have gone from a town to the country, stayed in a village for
a few days, drunk the local water and returned alive and kicking
without any contagion or disease. After these experiments people
have changed their minds about the country, although it is still
difficult for them to give a final decision on the water However, by
means of jeeps, which stir up typhoons of dust day and night, one

329
 —
thing has been settled India, which until now has only been
located in towns, is spreading into the villages.
But there are some rare specimens of brown sahibs who are
still

bound to the dak bungalows by ties of affection despite the fact that
the baskets of Scotch have been emptied long ago, the goat grazing
in the compound has been eaten and the goat-herdess has grown
old.
The Deputy Director of Education due to arrive for the inquiry
into the Changamal Vidyalaya Intermediate College was such a
specimen. He wanted to stay in a certain dak bungalow so that his
devoted wife could descend the steps at the back and bathe in the
Ganga, in another to write an epic poem on Maharana Pratap
which would then become a course book for intermediate classes,
in another to visit Fitkariha Baba's hut once a year, in another to
study the Gita and relieve his aching heart from the memory of all
his foolishly missed opportunities, in yet another ....
And he wanted to run away to the Shivpalganj dak bungalow
to escape the tumult, uproar and strife of city life, and to suck
sugarcane pieces, eat water chestnuts, chew corn-on-the-cob and
get through five hundred files a day.

Chote Wrestler was standing outside the dak bungalow thunder-

ing. The British have gone back to England and left their progeny
here. If he would come straight to the village, the matter could be
settled at once. But his horse has to come straight to the dak
bungalow and stop here. The whole village has to traipse two miles
to get here and then has to sit doing bugger all.
'We came at nine in the morning, and now it's one o'clock. Over
a hundred people are just hanging around with nothing to do.
Now he will come chugging along in the evening in his motor car
and say, "Hee-hee-hee, brothers, I'm late," and you people are
completely shameless. You'll just grin and titter back at him.
'Every hair on my body burns at the thought of it.'
In front of the bungalow was a green and pleasant lawn. Even
if the wheat in the neighbouring fields withered for lack of water,

the grass here always remained green. On four sides, around the
compound wall, stood a line of mango trees whose fruit was
consumed by the gardeners, watchmen, three or four local thugs
and an engineer who lived in the town. But the people had rights

330
over the shade these trees cast, just as they had over the air, and so
at this moment both parties of villagers were making the best use
of it.

On either side of the bungalow, adjoining the shade of the trees,

two small shamianas had been erected. Rugs and carpets were
spread on the ground. One camp belonged to the Principal Sahib
and his companions, the other to Khanna Master's faction. At that
moment there were in the Principars camp, besides the Principal
himself and Badri Wrestler, about sixty people. They included
Chote Wrestler, who was leaning elegantly against the trunk of a
tree,making apparent his views on the Deputy Director's conduct.
Under the shamiana on the other side, were Khanna Master, Rup-
pan Babu, some masters of their group, and some disciples and
followers of Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi. Ramadhin himself, as ex-
pected, had not attended despite having promised to do so.
Through the resounding roars of Chote Wrestler, the incessant
chatter, eating and drinking, attempts to sleep, yawns, tobacco
chewing, pipe, beedi and cigarette smoking etc. flowed a stream of
music.
It began with both camps were
transistor radios. Also present in
dandies with a cloth over their shoulders, each with a ball of lime
behind one ear, a rifle strapped to their backs, a cage of partridges
in one hand and a transistor in the other. In just a few moments
transistors from both camps started blaring out songs from com-
mercial radio full of words like 'beloved, betrayer, liar, deceiver'. At
eleven o'clock a gramophone arrived in Khanna Master's camp
from goodness knows where, complete with records and an
amplifier, and by eleven-fifteen it had blasted out of memory the
songs about 'liars and deceivers' and had begun broadcasting
—
music about co-existence and universal love 'embrace me, oh my
companion of the road!'
It was clear that white doves were flying from, and olive

branches were waving in, every word of this song. But in the
Principal Sahib's camp it was taken as a call to war, and in a matter
of minutes a gramophone appeared there too, with records and an
amplifier, and began to scream out the song, 'Oooooooooooh, hold
me tight!'
As happens at village weddings, after this declaration there was
a clash of film songs from both sides.
Who could be angry in such an atmosphere? No one, except

331
Chote Wrestler, but, in a way, Chote's anger was proper. Some
people had in been there since eight, as the Deputy Director
fact
was due at nine. Even the most simple and straightforward cow of
an official can be two or three hours late, but after five hours of
waiting, Chote's irritation was highly justified.
'What can he do? He's beset with meetings day and night. The
moment he's ready to go anywhere, some meeting or other comes
and pounces on him,' said the Principal Sahib good-humouredly.
It was two o'clock and the day was turning out to be quite hot.

People began to suspect that the same gramophone records were

being played over and over again. They kept getting up and
disappearing hastily behind the bushes, and the leaders of both
sides began to fear that they might go to piss and piss off. Chote
Wrestler had by this time slipped from beneath the tree into the
shamiana, and begun discussing Ruppan Babu:
'Ruppan's gone and joined the enemy. He couldn't find anyone
but his father to fall in against. I have badly beaten up my own
father, but I'd like to see any outsider try taking liberties with him.
Here this bastard Khanna is giving his own father a shoe-beating
and he is running along behind him yapping.
'Yesterday Vaidyaji started beating his own head at Ruppan's
behaviour. I have given my father a beating with my own lathi
hundreds of times but I've never seen even him look so unhappy.
.'
Ruppan's a perfect example of a worthless son . . .

Badri had monopolized the corner of the shamiana where he

was lying. Without waiting to hear Chote complete his remark, he
realized that Chote was trying to make Ruppan look even smaller
than himself. He said in the tone of a senior Ustad, 'Enough,
enough . put a rein on your tongue.'
. .

Chote shut up. Then he said in a fit of sudden anger, 'This

bird-killer looks as if he won't turn up till midnight.'
This is what you call mudslinging. The Deputy Director had
never so much as harmed an ant, let alone a bird.

At about four o'clock, Vaidyaji could be seen approaching the gates

of the dak bungalow along v^th Sanichar. The gramophone-wallahs
from the town played a film song to match the occasion, the first
line of which ran, 'My eyes are fixed on your bungalow. Raja! The '

moment it started, Chote Wrestler gave such a rebuke that the

332
gramophones stopped by themselves. Some people sat down in an
orderly way, others stood up.
Badri Wrestler alone lay as he was, in his corner, like a fallen tree
trunk. Vaidyaji came and sat down confidently on the carpet. A
cushion slipped itself automatically behind him and Sanichar and
the Principal Sahib stood to one side as if intending to fan him with
yak-tail fly-whisks. When Vaidyaji sat down, it seemed as if the
emperor of the whole world was ascending his throne. In com-
parison, Khanna Master, Ruppan Babu and the others in the op-
posing camp looked like complete loafers and layabouts. Vaidyaji
asked the Principal, 'What news?'
The Principal Sahib began in high spirits. All our men are around
here. The other side are pissing themselves continuously'
Sanichar remarked with relish, 'So what do you say, shall we call
Ruppan Babu over and ask him? If he's in too much discomfort we
can bring some jamalgote from Maharaj's dispensary and hand them
one each.'
The happy expression faded from Vaidyaji's face. He said, 'Don't
take that low fellow's name in front of me.' He paused and
recovered himself, 'There's still no sign of the Deputy Director? It's
not long now until sunset.'
The Principal said, asif he was a dog wagging his tail, perhaps

in the hope words would somehow reach the ears of the

that his
official, 'He's such an important officer. He must have got stuck in

some meeting. He should be coming now.'

'You should have sent someone.'
'That I did,' the Principal informed him, 'Master Motiram went
there in the morning. He's neither in this group nor in that one. He
only cares about his flour mill. That's why I told him, "Master
Motiram, you go, you're a senior man. Ride back with the DD Sahib
in his car No one'sgoing to say to you that you'd gone to fill the
DD Sahib's ears on our behalf."
'

Vaidyaji began telling a story to entertain the public:

'At that time Pantji was in power in our state, the national

government was very new. There was an election meeting, and

Pantji was due to come at ten. The District Magistrate, Police Super-
intendent .... they were all standing with their badges of office. It
.'
got to be eleven, then one, then two. . .

Sanichar interrupted to say, 'After that, Maharaj, it must have

been three.'

333
 Vaidyajimagnanimously accepted this piece of information. He
said.That's what happened. At three-thirty Pantji's motor car
suddenly arrived at the meeting. Such an important national leader
was present, but all the district officials were missing. It turned out
'
they'd gone to have lunch
The story went on. It was nearly five o'clock. By then it had
become apparent to the Principal Sahib that people from his
shamiana too had begun to get up and go off into the bushes, and
the urinary problem had become so extensive that some of them
hadn't returned.He said to Chote, 'Member Sahib, this is not good.'
Chote Wrestler had become bored. He said, 'So what should I
do? Stop people from pissing and shitting?'
Now the songs from the gramophone were practically ex-
hausted, and people had broken up into small groups to talk. The
time had come for the sun to set. The Principal Sahib was staring
in the direction of a mango tree on the side of the road some
distance from the dak bungalow. On the part of the tree he was
staring at was a dry branch. A sickle was caught up in the branch.
A bamboo cane was attached to the sickle. The bottom end of the
cane was in the hands of a girl. The girl was about twenty. Her sari
was dirty but her blouse was bright, and was pulling apart beneath
her neck with the exertions of her tight body. As has been described,
the Principal was just watching the branch. Suddenly he started,
looked up the road in the opposite direction and said, 'Why is that
bus coming along here so slowly?'
People began to rush towards the gate. A bus really had come
and stopped in front of the dak bungalow.
Master Motiram climbed down carrying a huge bag. People
surrounded him. After a short while he made his way into Vaidyaji's
presence and said, 'The Deputy Director isn't coming today'
This fact had already been announced informally, as there 'v^(as
an uproar all around and even those who did not have urinary
problems began to disperse in all directions. The Principal Sahib
asked, 'Then which date has he said he'll come?'
'I can't say. He wasn't even in the town today. He's been out on

tour for three or four days, and hasn't come back.'

'When will he come back?'
'How can 1 tell? No one knows anything. One man told me that
he'll be back in four days, someone else told me five. I think that
it'll be a week or so before he returns.'

334
 Vaidyaji closed his eyes to relieve his tiredness. He asked, Then
why didn't you come back in the morning? The people have had
to endure such discomfort/
Master Motiram humbly bowed his head. He said even more
humbly, 'How could I come, Maharaj? I had to buy this.' He pointed
to the bag. It's an old flour mill. Parts keep on breaking. God knows
.'
where I searched, then in the scrap market I found . . .

Among the many people listening to Master Motiram's conver-

sation was Rangnath. Perhaps he had come from the enemy side to
discover the full details of the matter. When he tried to slip away
Vaidyaji called out to him. Rangnath came and sat down beside him.
Vaidyaji smiled at him and kept smiling. Rangnath was taken
aback. Then he regained his courage and said, 'What can I do for
you. Uncle?'
'Nothing at all,' replied Vaidyaji sweetly, 'this is a war between
right and wrong. You feel that these few teachers are on the right
path, and therefore you're showing them kindness. But sooner or
later you will learn what is the path of virtue and what is not. When
you do, you'll return yourself to your original position.'
He drew in his breath and continued, 'You are educated and
intelligent, I don't worry for you. I'm worried about Ruppan.'
To bring some lightness into the conversation the Principal
laughed loudly and said, Arre no, Maharaj, you don't know
Rangnath Babu. He's a big politician. He's already understood the
situation on the other side, there's no need to explain it to him.'
Vaidyaji smiled too, 'In a righteous battle, faith, not under-
standing, needed. When you are convinced that we are at fault,
is

don't worry about it, fight us hard. Tell me the day you have need
of my life. Like Bhishma Pitamah I myself will set the day of my
own death.'
Rangnath couldn't reply. He said, 'You are misunderstanding
me.'
Vaidyaji's face was red, and he said emphatically, 'No, those
people are misunderstanding me. I work in a democratic way. I give
everyone the freedom to speak their mind. That's why these
teachers, who are my slaves, are roaming around opposing me. But
there is a limit to this too, is there not Principal Sahib?'
The Principal lowered his eyes and said, 'How can speak in
I

front ofyou? But one thing I can say, if not for you I would have
resigned and left a long time ago.'

335
 'Why should you go? No. The time has come when an end
should be put to this chapter. Wait, I shall reach a decision just now.'
He called out to Chote: 'Chote, go over to the other shamiana
and call Khanna Master and Malaviya. Bring Ruppan too. If they
don't come then we will go to them. And tell the people to go home
and rest. Principal Sahib, you go over there and thank the people.'
In a short while both shamianas were almost deserted. Khanna
Master's had been deserted a little earlier because on his side there
were no personalities of the calibre of Badri and Chote Wrestler to
moment the
prevent people from getting urinary trouble, and the
news came that the Deputy Director had let them down many
people simply vanished. Now the few remaining around that camp
were mainly those whose jobs were to look after the gramophone
records or hand around earthenware bowls of water. In Vaidyaji's
shamiana were Badri Wrestler, Chote, Sanichar, the Principal Sahib,
Vaidyaji, two or three respectable people and a few of Badri's
hooligans from the wrestling pit.
Receiving Vaidyaji's message, Khanna, Malaviya, two masters of
their faction and Ruppan Babu came across chatting carelessly
among themselves, and sat down in front of him. Khanna Master
said, 'You remembered us?'
It was growing dark. In the last sinking rays of light was this

forest of a garden, tents, carpets — all creating a magical atmos-

phere. It was as if some Emperor of Delhi had reached the Deccan
and was in counsel with his courtiers at eventide on the summit of
a hill when some captured rebel nobles were presented to him.
Then Vaidyaji's speech began:
'Khannaji and Malaviyaji, I have called you here considering
you my own kin.
'The mutual opposition between you and the Principal has
increased. Law cases are going on. Abuses and insults are ex-
changed in public, preparations are being made for violent con-
frontation. do not blame you. The blame can be anybody's. I am
I

myself guilty. How can I apportion blame? But I do know one thing
and that is that the situation is unpleasant. It should be resolved.'
Khanna said, 'Please give me the chance to have my say too.'
'No,' replied Vaidyaji solemnly shaking his head, 'No! No! No!
You have already had your say on several occasions, in various
places. Only one man has not had his say up to now, and that man
is me. Today only I shall speak.

336
 'I made this college, I watered it with my blood. Both your
factions consist of wage-earners. If not here, you'll go somewhere
else and be teachers. You can become teachers anywhere and draw
a good salary. But I shall remain here. If this college runs success-
fully I shall consider myself successful, and if it is destroyed by
factionalism, I shall consider myself destroyed. I am troubled. Im-
mensely troubled. Deeply anguished. You people cannot com-
prehend my anguish.'
He paused. The shamiana was engulfed in silence. Then he
bounded on, T see only one way forward now. I have decided. It is
my humble request to you that you accept my decision. This is the
only way open to you. You will have to tread it.
'Khannaji and Malaviyaji, I am not saying this to anyone else,
—
but just to you you will have to resign.'
.'
At this Khanna interrupted and said, 'But . . .

'No,' repeated Vaidyaji kindly but firmly, 'no, I have already told
—
you today only I will speak. So, I was saying, you will have to
resign. Today, now, right here and this very moment, you will have
to resign! I am not saying this in anger but after careful considera-
tion. I am saying it for your benefit, for the benefit of the college
and for the benefit of the whole of society.
'This is my humble supplication. Don't reject my request. Hand
in your resignations this moment. After that you will have complete
freedom to do as you wish. You can, if you like, say that your
resignations were extracted by force. You will remain free to file a
case against us on these grounds. But it is my request that at this
time, as well-wishers of the college, you quietly hand in your
resignations of your own free will.
'You have asked me for many things, and you have received
them. I have never asked you for anything. Today, for the sake of
the college, I am asking for your resignations. My request
.'
. . .

Ruppan Babu had leapt to his feet. His voice was trembling. He
was so excited that when he spoke one word tumbled after another.
He said, 'This cannot happen. You cannot force them to write their
resignations. They will not resign.'
Vaidyaji ignored him and have the
said to the Principal, 'You
papers already typed, don't you? You have? Then take them over
there. Chote, you take Khannaji and Malaviyaji over there. They
are wise. They wiU understand everything. Go on, Badri, you go too.'
Then he exploded. The explosion was so sudden and exceptional

337
 him and other people also came runnmg.
that Badri leapt towards
He thundered, 'And, this Ruppan! This fool! Low! Animal!
Depraved! Traitor!'
He kept on speaking in way, proving through his elevated
this
vocabulary that Sanskrit is not at all a weak language when it comes
to abuse. Something in his thundering voice, something in the ire
of his Sanskrit, made the audience listen in awed silence. Today was
the first time people had seen Vaidyaji so enraged.
He was sitting on the carpet pumping his knees up and down
like steel pistons, and screaming from a trembling throat, 'You're
tr3Aing tobe a leader! You want to become a leader by opposing me?
I'll show you just now!'

His voice began to tremble even more. He was saying, 'I had
hoped to pass my old age in peace and quietness. I have brought
an end to the fight in the Village Council. There was the Co-opera-
tive Union, that I've already given to Badri. I had thought to hand
over the burden of this college to you. What else do I have left to
give you now? But you low creature! You turned traitor! Go! Now
you will get nothing.'
There was a strange catch in his voice. He proclaimed, 'Go. I cut
you off from your inheritance. Let everyone hear it. After I am gone
only Badri will be the manager of the college. This is my final
decision. Ruppan will get nothing.'
As he said this, he choked. Tears of anger and frustration filled
his eyes. Rangnath felt that everyone was looking at him. He
lowered his glance.
When Ruppan Babu headed for the gate, people regained their
senses. Vaidyaji was wiping his eyes. People suddenly began to
move again. They began to disperse. A lantern was burning on the
veranda of the dak bungalow, and there Malaviya began raising his
voice. Chote called out to him, 'Take it easy. Master!'
The Principal grasped Khanna's hand and said, 'Come, Master
Sahib, we'll go over there. Our fight is over. From today we're
friends again.'

It wasn't to be hoped, but even so, there was a morning after the
night before.
Rangnath had not been able to sleep well, nor think straight. But
the moment he awoke he did have one thought about himself.

338
Some months previously, after a long illness, he had come here for
the sole purpose of recovering his health. Now he suddenly real-
ized that he had recovered.
Ruppan Babu's charpoy next to his, was empty. He didn't know
where Ruppan must have spent the night. In some ways he had
complete confidence in Ruppan. He knew that when he seemed
stupid was because he wanted to. He wasn't compelled to be
it

stupid it was something he enjoyed, almost a self-indulgent luxury.

Therefore he was confident that Vaidyaji's outburst would not send
him running to the liquor shop. He wouldn't have gone off to the
temple either because he didn't have the look of a person who
depends on the temple in times of trouble.
Then where was he? Was he at that moment gathering his
followers for a strike at the college? Was he organizing a revolu-
tionary party to burn down the building, beat up the Principal or
purposelessly loot the bazaar? Or was he, in accordance with the
celebrated formula of the teaching profession, in some other village
anointing Khanna Master principal and setting up a new college
comparable to the Changamal Vidyalaya Intermediate College for
him? Rangnath thought, 'He must be doing something like that,
because when he left, after Vaidyaji's display of anger, Ruppan was
angry, not subdued.'
Vaidyaji used to go for a fairly long morning walk, and he had
still not returned. Rangnath knew that now it would be difficult to
talk to him and he wasn't prepared to talk unnaturally.
naturally,
He told himself that he had collapsed at his first attempt at opposi-
tion, and that now he should see himself for what he was. He
should leave this place even before his uncle returned.
As the song went, 'Don't tarry here, it's an alien land.'
Sanichar had opened his shop and two men were fighting very
dramatically in front of it. The struggle was verbal, logical and, so
far, non-violent. One of them had diverted canal water from the

other's fields into his own. They had come to the head of the Village
Council to have their argument settled, and to argue before they
settled.
The which over the last few months Rangnath had hovered
life

around, which he had penetrated, but to which he still remained

very much an outsider, appeared to him a disgrace. The strings of
his soul — always supposing the soul is in the shape of a snrnji^i —
began to reverberate with escapist music.

339
 He
stood in the doorway watching silently. Chote Wrestler
passed by scratching his ringworm as usual and not looking at
Rangnath. There was a loud rumbling from the street. This would
be the co-operative dairy truck from the town which came to collect
milk. A man with a pot hanging from his hand could be seen going
towards Sanichar's shop. Rangnath realized that this was the oil-
man who bought oil from a mechanical press in the town and
passed it off in the village as pure mustard oil from a genuine
bullock-powered press. A clean soldierly man in underpants and a
vest appeared on his way back from buying meat. As he did every
day, the man said, 'Long live India, sahib.'
He went off swinging his bundle of meat. Rangnath felt like
embracing him and saying, 'Well, at least for some reason someone
here has mentioned India.'
From far off came the sound of a magic man's drum. The ex-
change of insults at Sanichar's shop was reaching a new peak.
Rangnath and tired. The strings of
felt sick his soul now began to
resound with the full melody of escapism.

The Music of Escapism

You are an average human being, and are stuck in the mud of humanity.
You are surrounded by mud and mud alone.
Don't extol mud. Don't be under the grow from
illusion that lotuses it.

Only mud flourishes mud. Mud spreads

in mud, and throws up mud.
Save yourself from the mud. Leave this place. Escape.
Go and hide yourself in the places you have seen in the colour
photographs ofLookand Life magazine, in places where crowns offlowers,
guitars and girls constantly beckon your soul to new explorations, where the
air is thinner than thin, where you will find the eternal dreaminess of Ravi
Shankar's brand of music and Maharishi Yogi's brand of meditation ....
Escape from here. Leave.
Escape like young doctors, engineers and scientists, like thinkers who
pine for international fame, and whose constant lament is that not all the
people here could make them happy. Don't get trapped in the mess here.
If you are unfortunate and are forced to stay here, then create a separate,

make-believe world for yourself Live in that world, where many intellec-
tuals lie with their eyes closed. In hotels and clubs. Bars and tea houses. In
the new buildings of Chandigarh, Bhopal and Bangalore. In hill-station
retreats where endless seminars are held. In brand new research institutes

340
 '

funded by foreign aid, where the image of Indian intellect is being shaped.
In cigar smoke, books with shiny covers, and universities enveloped in a
fog of incorrect but compulsory English. Go and stay there, and holdfast.
If you can 't do that, go and hide in the past, in the philosophy ofKanad,
Patanjali and Gautam, in the temples of Ajanta, Ellora, Konarak and
Khajuraho, in the heavy breasts of the sculpted female figures of Shal-bhanjika,
Sursundari and Alaskanya, in prayers and mantras, in saints, astrologers
—
and palmists hide wherever you can find a place.
Run, run, run! You're being pursued by reality.

Rangnath was about to get up when he saw the Principal coming

from the direction of the college. Today he was wearing shoes and
socks as well as a shirt and shorts. In his hand was the cane he
always carried. From a distance he laughed and joined his hands
in greeting. In a matter of moments he had come on to the veranda
and sat down on a chair there, quite confident that he was the only
thing that had been missing from the scene. He asked, 'Maharaj still
hasn't come back from his walk?' and began to take off his shoes
and socks so that he could sit comfortably.
In a little while he had settled himself in the chair like a frog. He
said, 'Yesterday Maharaj was very hurt, but, still, that matter is over
now.'
He became more had already told him that you
enthusiastic, 'I

were sitting back and watching the spectacle. You were never really
against us. You used to go over to them just to see what was going
on. I've convinced Maharaj of this.'
Both sat for a few moments in silence. The sound of the magic
man's drum was drawing closer. The Principal said, 'Your health
looks to be really tichinn.
'Tichinn?'
'Yes, you're looking completely fit.'

Rangnath said with great civility, 'It's due to your blessings.'

'So what do you intend to do now?'
'I'm going back. I've not done any research for so long, and I
have to complete it this summer'
The Principal made a few absurd remarks, the meaning of which
was that Rangnath was a great scholar of history, but that generally
people were the sons of asses and universities were no better than
stables, and even the biggest professors were just hacks. Rangnath

341
showed no interest in these comments, so the Principal asked,
'What are your chances? Is there any hope of you becoming a
lecturer this year?'
'So far there's no question of it.'

The Principal pulled his chairtwo inches forward and said, 'You
know that Khanna Master has resigned. The post of history lecturer
in our college is vacant. Why don't you take it? You can live like a
king in your uncle's house, teach a couple of hours a day in college
and use the rest of your time for research.'
Rangnath felt as if all the blood in his body had rushed to his
brow, making it swell like a cobra's hood. He said sharply, 'You want
me to work for you? And that too in Khanna's place!'
Not a trace of a frown crossed the Principal's face. He said, 'I've
spoken to Vaid Maharaj about it.'
Rangnath went on with the same asperity, 'I saw it with my own
.'
eyes. I know how Khanna was thrown out from here . . .

The Principal said sadly, 'What to say! Even you are repeating
such things. This smacks of factionalism.'
A man in a torn loincloth and a dirty black kurta, beating a small
hand -drum, went up to Sanichar's shop. With him were a male and
a female monkey dressed in costumes for dancing. Behind them
came a number of small boys shrieking with laughter There were
also some dogs in the crowd and to frighten them the man would
bring his drum down over their heads with a sudden bang.
Because of the drum the Principal had to raise his voice. He went
on, 'What does it matter whether the post is vacant because
Khanna's left or Malaviya's dead? It's your own mango grove, so
eat the fruit. Why are you counting trees?'
Finding that Rangnath had no answer the Principal began to
speak tenderly. He descended from the formal 'aap', or Hindi 'you',
to the more intimate 'turn'. 'I am saying this to you because I
consider you one of my own kith and kin. In the end what are you
going to do? You have to get a job somewhere or other, don't you?
Here Khanna has resigned of his own free will. In another place
how will you be able to tell whether some other Khanna hasn't
really been thrown out on his ear?
'How long can you go on escaping from this fact, Rangnath
Babu? Wherever you go you will be taking some Khanna's place.'
With this he addressed the magic man standing some way away

342
from the veranda, and with a forceful gesture of his hand advised
him to go to hell.
Rangnath flushed. Raising his voice as if with it he were raising
the flag of truth, he said, 'Principal Sahib, I am revolted by what
you are saying. Please shut up.'
The Principal listened in surprise, and then said despondently,
'Babu Rangnath, your ideas are very elevated. But all in all, they
just prove that you're a fool.'

After this there was a break in the conversation.The magic man,

instead of going to hell, began to sing at the top of his voice where
he stood, and beat a different rhythm on his drum. A little way off
two dogs were arching their spines and barking. The boys had
surrounded him. Both monkeys were sitting in front of the magic
man with their cheeks puffed out, looking as if, when they got up,
they would perform nothing less than Bharatnatyam.

343
Notes and' Glossary

Abhimanyu Mahabharat figure who penetrated a circular battle

formation and, when trapped in the middle, his
weapons rendered useless, whirled a chariot
wheel about his head to ward off attackers
ADO Assistant Development Officer
arhar type of lentil which grows into a tall bush
Arjun hero of the Mahabharat who once could not stop
the abduction of some women
Avdhut ascetic devoted to Shiva
Babaji saint, Hindu ascetic
Babul type of thorn tree whose branches are often used
to protect field boundaries
badmaash bad character
Bajrangbali a name for Hanuman, the Monkey God
banjaras nomadic tribe
Bharat a devoted brother of the Great King Lord Ram who
refused the throne but ruled in his brother's.
Ram's, name until Ram returned from exile
Bhishma elder in the Mahabharat who could not die until he
Pitamah chose to lay down his life.
chaat spicy snack
Chait month of the Hindu calendar arcumd March—
chakor Himalayan partridge, often mentioned in poetry
as being in love with the moon
dada elder brother; also the dominant thug of an area
ganjaha from local Shivpalganj dialect, meaning
'inhabitant of Shivpalganj'
Girdhariya under name, Lord Krishna used a mountain
this
to shield humans from a storm
Harishen fourth-century Sanskrit poet who wrote a
panegyric extolling the virtues of Emperor
Samudra Gupta
ikka-wallah. the driver of an 'ikka' (horse cart)

344
jamalgote a purgative nut
Kabirpanthi kind of ascetic belonging to a rather austere and
protestant sect
Kali Yug the present age; the Hindu cycle of time's last age
of the universe before its destruction and re-
birth.
Kalkin Avtar the incarnation of Lord Vishnu yet to come; the
God come on a white horse with a blazing
will
sword to destroy evil at the end of our present era
kos about two miles
kukrahao encouraging one another in a fight (ganjaha
dialect)
lasebaz/bazi trickster/trickery (local dialect)
lota a small pot
Mahishasur- Durga, the brave Goddess who killed the buffalo
mardini demon
Maya-Manohar Hindi equivalent of Mills and Boon love stories
stories
mela fair
nautanki popular type of folk theatre
paan betel-nut
panch one of five ('panch') elders; title of a member of the
village law council
Panchsheel Jawaharlal Nehru's five principles for peaceful co-
existence between nations
Phagun month of the Hindu calendar — around February
phuttpheri wandering vagabond (local dialect)
like a
Pindaris tribe of hereditary thieves and plunderers
portulaca flower which closes at sundown
Purush-Sukta Hymn of the Rig Veda which says the highest caste
came from the head of the Cosmic Man, and the
lowest caste from the feet
Pus —
month of the Hindu calendar around December
Rahul the Buddha's son who was accepted into the
Buddhist Order when he demanded his in-
heritance from his father
Ram Lila the enactment of the ancient epic, the Ramayana,
performed before every Dussehra festival

345
Rana Sanga Rajput king who was defeated at the Battle of
Panipat by the first Mughal emperor, and who
bore innumerable wounds
rasa emotions in Sanskrit poetics are broadly classified
—
in nine rasas love, humour, compassion,
anger, heroism, fear, disgust, wonder and
peace
sarangi stringed instrument, generally thought to sound
rather melancholy
Section 107 of the Criminal Procedure Code; provides for ac-
tion to prevent a breach of peace
Section 109 also of the Criminal Procedure Code; when a per-
son moves in suspicious circumstances, fails to
explain his presence satisfactorily or conceals
his presence, and there is reason to believe that
he is doing so with a view to committing a
cognizable offence, a Magistrate can ask him to
execute a bond for his good behaviour
Shanti woman's name; the peace of God
tehsil districts are divided into smaller administrative
areas called tehsils
Tehsildar chief land revenue official of a tehsil

Thakur titlegiven to members of the Rajput caste

Treta Yug the second age in the Hindu cycle of time, a much
better age than the present, fourth age, or Kali
Yug
Ustad the —
Urdu equivalent of guru a teacher, master of
an art owed immense respect by his pupils
Vedanta school of Indian philosophy
Vibl^ishan brother of the demon king Ravan, who joined the
forces of Lord Ram against his own brother's
camp because he wished to be on the side of
right
Vishwamitra sage whose meditation was broken by the celestial
nymph Menaka
Yudhishthira the eldest of the Pandava heroes in the Mahabharat;
he embodies truth and justice

346
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 Welcome to Shivpaiganj!
Life here crawls along at a leisurely pace, unfolding at evening
bhang-drinking sessions, the local bar, the village wresding pit,
at paan shops, in nearby lentil fields, at gambling sessions and
country melas... M.A. pass Rangnath has just arrived here for
some rest-and-relaxation. His host is his Uncle Vaidyaji, the
local doctor, who pontificates on everything from ayurveda to
politics to the 'essence' of life. Vaidyaji is also Shivpalganj's
most important citizen. He controls the village's grain
co-operative and the intermediate college; his elder son, Badri
Wrestler, swings arguments simply by weight of his no-nonsense
presence; and his younger son, Ruppan Babu, unhesitatingly
leads 'college-student protests' against anyone opposing his
father. Hanging on to Vaidyaji' s coat-tails are a host of oddballs,
including a college principal who never wants the College
Committee to meet, and Sanichar, a layabout bhang-grinder who
becomes Pradhan-elect of the Village Council....

But a rebellion is brewing among the college teachers, and

Vaidyaji 's sworn arch-rival, Ramadhin Bhikhmakhervi,
Shivpalganj's gambling dada, opium dealer and poet to boot,
won't give up the Village Council, his domain, without a fight...
lawsuits fly, the grain co-operative is ransacked, a Vaidyaji
hoodlum ends up in the town court on a trumped*up burglary
charge.... factionalism, wheeling- and-dealing, corruption, all

take centrestage, and Rangnath, confronted with such chaos,

finds his textbook learning irrelevant.

With incisive wit and great good humour Shrilal Shukla pokes
fun at India and the West while taking the reader on an
unforgettable journey through Shivpalganj.

Translatedfrom the Hindi by Gillian Wright

Cover painting by Manjit Bawa

Cover design by Amiya Bhattacharya ,

ISBN 0-14-011662-1
90000
A PENGUIN BOOK
Fiction

India Rs<

780140"116625