TRANSLATED FROM THE BENGALI BY HAIMANTI DUTTA RAY

 

Looking at Jayanta for a couple of minutes, I can’t refrain myself from asking him a question.

“It appears you are somewhat morose today? Is anything wrong with your health?”

Jayanta overcomes his state of absent-mindedness, laughs a childish laughter and says, “No! Not only is my health isn’t in a bad shape, rather I am feeling greatly reinvigorated. The place is really good.”

“You are familiar with this place. Didn’t you know that it’s good previously?”

“I had nearly forgotten.”

Jayanta heaves a sigh. “After such a long time, I am remembering gradually. I think the bungalow has remained just like before. The rooms haven’t changed particularly too. Few pieces of furniture have remained from those early periods also, I feel. For example, this cane table and the chairs.”

An orderly places tea and biscuits upon a tray. It’s just four o’clock, but the sun’s light has already begun to recede. While pouring tea from the tea-pot, I ask “After how long are you coming here?”

Jayanta says, “Thirty one years. I was six years old at that time.”

The place we two are sitting at, is the garden of the Circuit House of Bundi town. We arrived here today morning. Jayanta is my childhood friend. We studied together in the same school and the same college. Now he works in the editorial department of a newspaper, and I work as a school teacher. Despite there being an estrangement in our work lives, our friendship has survived rightly. We had been harboring in us the plan of a Rajasthan journey for a very long time. There was some trouble in getting our leaves of absence from work, at the same time, but that’s been possible now, after so long! Ordinary people, while visiting Rajasthan, go to Jaipur – Udaipur – Chittor usually. But Jayanta insisted upon Bundi right from the beginning. I did not object because we were introduced to the name ‘Bundi Fort’, in Rabindranath Tagore’s poems in our childhood. The very idea that I will get the opportunity to witness the same fort visually, became appealing. Not many come to Bundi; but that does not mean that this place has nothing to offer to tourists. If anyone judges places according to historical incidents, then probably Udaipur, Jodhpur and Chittor would score more. But in the scale of beauty, Bundi hardly falls behind.

When Jayanta insisted so strongly upon Bundi, I felt a little uneasy at first; I learnt about the reason for his insistence while coming here by train. He had come to Bundi only once during his childhood. For this reason, a wish has been hovering in his mind for a long time – that of assessing and comparing anew this place with those of his old memories. Jayanta’s father, Animesh Dasgupta, worked in the archaeological department. So, for this reason, often he had to visit and roam around historical sites. It was during one of these opportunities, that Jayanta saw Bundi.

The Circuit House is truly wonderful. Built during the British colonial era, it’s undoubtedly a few hundred years’ old. One-storied, with a sloping tiled roof, the rooms are quite high-ceilinged. The skylight above, can be opened or closed at will with the help of a rope. The verandah lies in the east. In front, lies a huge compound where roses have bloomed in a well-laid out and ridge-encircled garden. In the back portion of the garden, among the different kinds of big trees, innumerable birds have assembled and are creating a hullabaloo. Parrots are scattered in abundance. Sometimes, cries from peacocks can also be heard, but from outside the compound area.

Upon arrival, in the very morning, we roamed around and saw the town once. The famous fort of Bundi lies on the side of the mountains. Today we saw it from afar; tomorrow we will go right inside to explore. If the place didn’t have electric posts, then it would’ve seemed that we’ve travelled back to the ancient Rajput era. Stone macadamized roads, houses where hanging verandahs drooped from the floor above that were inlaid with strange artistries, wooden doors that had skillful hand worked designs – seeing these, no one will realize that we live in a mechanized age.

Ever since we’ve arrived here, I have noticed that Jayanta is speaking less than he normally does. Maybe many old memories are returning in his mind. If anyone revisits a place from one’s childhood after a very long time, it’s not surprising if the person shows a disinterest in worldly concerns. And the fact that Jayanta is a bit more imaginative than ordinary men, is known to everyone.

Lowering down the cup of tea from his hands, Jayanta says, “You know Shankar, the incident is very strange. When I came here for the first time, I can still recall that I had folded up my legs and sat in these chairs lazily. It felt like sitting on a throne. But now I see that these chairs aren’t big in dimensions, and appear to be quite ordinary. The drawing room in front – it appeared to be double in size then. If I did not revisit this place once again, then my childhood impressions would’ve remained still.”

I say, “This is very normal. In our childhood days, we are small in stature; in that ratio, the surrounding things appear bigger. We grow bigger with age, but these things hardly change!”

After our tea-drinking session, while wandering around the garden, Jayanta suddenly comes to a halt, and exclaims – “Deodar.”

Surprised, I look in his direction. Jayanta repeats again, “A deodar tree – It should be on that side.”

Saying this, he advances swiftly, towards the corner of the compound, making his way through the trees. Why does Jayanta remember a deodar tree so suddenly?

After the gap of a few seconds, I hear Jayanta’s jubilant voice – “Yes! It’s here! The place where it stood before – “

I come forward and say, “If there were trees here before, then they should remain so in that way still. Trees cannot and should not walk around, can they!”

Jayanta shakes his head, a bit irritated, and says, “When I said it’s remained there, I did not mean that in this gap of thirty years the tree has changed its position. By ‘here’, I mean to say that the tree is at the place I supposed it to be.”

“But what makes you remember that tree so suddenly?”

Frowning, Jayanta gazes at the stump of the tree with a fixed look for a while, and then waving his head, says, “That I cannot recollect now at all. For some reason, I think I had come near this tree – I had done something. An European…”

“European?”

“No. I cannot remember anything more. The thing about memory is that it is very strange…”

Here, the cook is very good. At night, while having food sitting at their oval-shaped table in their dining room, Jayanta says, “The cook who worked here then was called Dilwar! He had a cut mark on the left side of his face, a knife’s mark – and both his eyes were always red like the hibiscus. But his cooking was excellent.”

After our dinner, sitting on the sofa in the drawing room, Jayanta slowly begins revisiting many more old memories. The sofa where his father smoked his cigar, the place where his mother knitted woolens, the different kinds of magazines that lay upon the table – he could remember them all.

And in this way, at last he also remembered about his doll.

When I say ‘doll’, I do not mean the dolls girls play with. A maternal uncle of Jayanta, had gifted him a ten- or twelve-inches’ long statue of an old man clad in Swiss clothes, from Switzerland. It seems it looked like a tiny, living human being. There were no mechanisms inside the doll, but his hands, legs, fingers and waist were made in such a way that these could be twisted at will. A smile always lingered around his mouth. On top of his head, a small yellow feather was inserted in his Swiss high-lander hat. Besides these, there were also no errors in the details of his dress – belt, buttons, pocket, collar, socks – even the buckles of his shoes were faultless.

At that first visit, few months before coming to Bundi, Jayanta’s maternal uncle had just returned home from abroad and upon returning, had gifted Jayanta the doll. He had purchased the doll from an old man probably in some village at Switzerland. It is believed that the old gentleman had jokingly said, “His name is Fritz. Call him by that name. If called by some other name, you will never get a response.”

Jayanta said, “I used to receive a lot of toys in my childhood. I was the only child of my parents; perhaps that’s why they never left me deprived. But I don’t know what happened after getting Fritz from uncle – I absolutely forgot about all other toys of mine. I stayed up day and night with it; things came to such a pass at last when I could converse with Fritz quite well for hours and hours. This was but one -way conversation, nonetheless Fritz sported such a smile on his face and such a look in his eyes, that it seemed he understood whatever I said. At some moments, I also felt, that if I had spoken in German instead of Bengali, then our conversation would’ve been mutual instead of one-way. Now when I think about those days, these seem childhood madness. But at that time, the incident was very “REAL” to me. My parents prohibited me many times; but I never heeded them. I hadn’t begun my school days even then; and so, I had ample time on my hands for Fritz.”

Jayanta silences himself after speaking for so long. I look at my watch which shows it is nine p.m. Bundi town is completely silent. We are sitting in the lounge of the Circuit House, lighting a lamp.

I ask, “Where did the doll go?”

Jayanta is still busy thinking about something. His reply comes so late that I think my question did not reach his ears.

“I had brought the doll here to Bundi. Here it had perished.”

“Perished?” I pose a question. “How?”

Jayanta draws a deep breath and says, “One day, we were sitting outside in the garden drinking tea. I had kept my doll beside me, upon the grass. Nearby a bunch of dogs were crowding. During that time, I was so small that it wasn’t the age for drinking tea. But upon insistence, and while drinking tea, suddenly the cup tilted. Some amount of hot tea fell upon my trousers. I came back to the bungalow to change them. But when I returned to the garden outside, I could not find my doll. It wasn’t there. After searching a lot, I found that a pair of stray dogs were playing tug-of-war with my Fritz. The doll was so strong that it did not tear apart to pieces. But his eyes, face were covered all over with wounds and his garments were torn off. That is to say. Fritz became non-existent so far as I was concerned. He was dead.”

“Then?” Jayanta’s story appears to be mesmerizing.

“What then? Following the rule, I cremated Fritz!”

“Meaning?”

“I buried him under that deodar tree. I harbored a wish of obtaining some kind of a coffin – after all he’s a European! The same work could’ve been done if I had a box, but after a lot of searching, I failed to find anything. And that’s why, at last, I buried him just like that.”

After so long, the mystery around the deodar tree clears up, for me.

We go to sleep around ten o’clock. Our beds are laid out on separate cots in a rather large bedroom. Not having the habit of walking in Calcutta, we’re feeling tired, moreover, the beds had Dunlopillo. Within ten minutes of hitting the pillow, sleep overcomes us.

I don’t know what hour of the night it is, but an unknown sound breaks my sleep. I turn to the other side, only to find Jayanta sitting upright upon his bed. The table lamp beside him is alight and in that light, the concern in his glance is clearly visible. I ask him, “What happened? Are you feeling ill?”

Instead of answering back, Jayanta questions me with a rebounder – “Are there cats or mice like beings in the Circuit House?”

I say, “I will not be surprised if there are. But why are you asking this?”

“Something just walked about upon my chest. That’s why my sleep broke.”

I say, “Usually, rats come through open drains. And I didn’t know that rats can also climb over cots even.”

Jayanta says, “I was awakened once before also. Then I had heard a repeating sound coming from the direction of the windows.”

“If you’d heard sounds coming from the windows, then it’s most certain that they’re from cats.”

“But then…”

Jayanta cannot remove doubts from his mind. I say, “You didn’t see anything upon switching on the light?”

“Nothing. But frankly, I did not light the lamp immediately upon waking. At first, I was terribly stunned. Truth be told, I was a little afraid. After lighting the lamp, I failed to find anything.”

“You mean to say that if something’s come inside, then it’s still within our room?”

“So… as both the doors are closed…”

Quickly I rise from my bed and try searching the nooks and corners of the room, the bases of the cots and the backsides of our suitcases, for once. Nothing can be found anywhere. The door of the toilet is loosely shut; I even venture inside to search. Just then Jayanta cries out in a very low decibel.

“Shankar!”

I return to our room. I see that Jayanta is busy staring at the white cover of his blanket. When I approach towards him, he forwards a portion of the blanket towards the lamp and says, “Look at these, please.”

Upon leaning forward and closer to the cloth cover, I find light brown- colored small, round impressions upon the same. I say, “These can be the paw marks of cats too.”

But Jayanta keeps mum. I understand very well that for some reason, he has become very worried. Meanwhile, it is two thirty a.m. Sleeping for so short a while can’t really remove my tiredness and besides, there’s a whole day of travelling left for the next day. So, I provide assurances like ‘I’m there by your side, hence there’s nothing to fear’, ‘the impressions could have been there from before’, etcetera and somehow, I switch off the light and lay myself down again. I have no doubt in my mind that the experience which Jayanta relates, is a part of his dreams, really. After coming to Bundi, his old memories, upon recollection, are creating a mental tension in him and these have only precipitated his dream of a cat’s walk over his chest.

During the night, even if any incident did occur, I remain ignorant and in the morning upon walking, Jayanta does not talk about any new experience. But upon seeing him, I understand that he did not sleep well during the night. I resolve in my mind to give Jayanta one of the sleeping pills I had with me before going to sleep that night.

In accordance with my plan, after finishing breakfast, around nine o’clock in the morning, we go to see the Bundi Fort. The arrangement for a car was done previously. By the time we reach the Fort, it is already nine thirty.

Even after coming here, I notice that Jayanta is still being haunted by his old memories. But fortunately, these have no relationship with his doll. Frankly, after witnessing this childhood exultation of Jayanta, it appeared that he’d forgotten about the doll completely. He is looking things one by one and is shouting jubilantly – “There! The gate still has the same elephant on top! There, the same dome! The same silver cot and throne! Those paintings on the walls over there!”

But within the span of a few hours, his agility diminishes. For myself, I am so engrossed that I do not notice this at first. We are walking inside a long room and admiring the hanging chandeliers when suddenly I perceive that Jayanta isn’t by my side. Where can he escape?

The guide who is accompanying us, says, “He has gone outside, towards the direction of the roof.”

Coming out of the Durbar Hall room, I see Jayanta standing absent-mindedly, at a distance near the wall on the opposite side of the roof. He is so pre-occupied in his own thoughts that even when I approach him, there isn’t any difference in his predicament. At last, when I call him by name, he is startled. I ask, “Please tell me what’s happened to you. Even after coming to such a wonderful place, you stand and sulk silently – I cannot stand this.”

But Jayanta only says “Have you finished seeing the place? Then we can…”

If I had come alone then surely, I’d have stayed for much longer, but seeing Jayanta’s manner and attitude, I decide to return back to the Circuit House.

The macadamized road by the side of the mountain lead towards the town. The two of us sit at the back of the car, without uttering a word. Jayanta refuses when I offer him a cigarette. I notice a feeling of hushed excitement in him, which is getting expressed in the restless motion of his two hands. One time, he is keeping them upon the car window, on his lap and in the very next moment, he is snapping his fingers or is biting his nails. Normally, Jayanta is a calm and composed person. Seeing him fidgeting in this manner, I feel quite uncomfortable.

This continues for about ten minutes and then I cannot keep mum. I say, “If you share the reason of your worry with me, then maybe it’ll benefit you.”

Jayanta nods his head and says, “There will be no gain in that. Because you will not believe me.”

“Even if I don’t believe you, I can discuss the subject with you.”

“Fritz came in our room last night. The marks on the blanket were all those from Fritz’s feet.”

Needless to say, after hearing this, I do not have much to do aside from shaking Jayanta by his shoulders. If it so happens that a grandly fantastic idea takes shelter in someone’s mind, then can anyone reason out with him to make him understand? Despite that being the case, I say, “You did not see anything with your own eyes.”

“No – but the thing which walked over my chest was not four-legged, but two-legged; I understood this much very well.”

After arriving back at the Circuit House and alighting from the car, I firmly decide in my mind that I will have to provide Jayanta with something like a nerve tonic. Only sleeping pills will not do. A trite childhood memory creating such disturbance in a young lad of thirty-seven years – this should and can never be tolerated.

Once back to our room, I advise Jayanta, “It’s twelve o’clock. It’d be better if we finish with our baths.”

Telling me “You go first”, Jayanta lays himself down upon the cot.

It’s while bathing that I have a brainwave of a plan. Somehow, I feel that this is the only way in which Jayanta can be turned back to his normal condition.

The plan – If the doll was buried at a particular place under the ground thirty years ago, and if the place where this was done is known, and if we dig the ground there the doll may not be found in its original condition. But some parts of it are sure to be found. Dresses and cloth cannot remain under the ground intact for thirty years; but metallic things – like the buckles of Fritz’s belt, or the copper buttons of his coat – it won’t be surprising if these have survived over the years. If I can show Jayanta that only these things have been left behind from his beloved doll, and the rest have perished under the soil, then probably this outlandish idea can be removed from his mind. If I do not work this out, then every night he’ll dream strange dreams and will recount the tale that Fritz had walked about his chest, every morning. If this goes on for long, the possibility of his mind getting unhinged cannot be ruled out.

When I inform Jayanta about my plan, his reactions express that he’s approved and liked it. After being silent for a while, he says, “Who will dig? Where will you find a spade?”

I laugh and say, “They have such a big garden. There must be a gardener too. And if there’s a gardener, there should be a spade as well. If we tip that fellow, won’t he consent to dig out some ground around a tree stump at one end of the compound? It will be hard to believe if he doesn’t.”

Jayanta does not agree immediately. I do not say anything else either. After coaxing him once or twice, he finishes his bathing. Even though, he likes eating good food, in the afternoon he eats only two rotis along with a little meat curry. After finishing with our food, both of us sit in the cane chairs placed on the verandah facing the garden. There are no one in the Circuit House, except the two of us. The afternoon’s dreadfully gloomy and dark. The graveled road on the right side has a gulmohar tree standing on the other side, where a few monkeys are sitting. Sometimes their ‘Hoop- Hoop’ cries are being heard.

Around three o’clock, a person wearing a turban on his head, arrives in the garden carrying a water can in his hand. It looks like an aged man. His hair, moustache and side-whiskers are spotlessly white.

“Will you ask or shall I?”

At Jayanta’s question, I raise a hand in a gesture of assurance, and lift myself, straight from the chair to approach towards the gardener.

At the proposition of digging the ground, at first the gardener looks at me with surprise and doubt in his glance. I understand that he’s never faced this kind of a proposition from anyone before. In answer to his question, “Why my lord?”, I keep my hands upon his shoulders and softly say, “Suppose you don’t get to know the reason. I will give you five rupees as your tip – Do as I tell you.”

Needless to say, not only does the gardener agree, but with a wide grin, he salutes me in a manner which said that he’s become our subservient forever.

I beckon Jayanta and call him to rise from his seat on the verandah. He rises from his chair and approaches me. Once he comes near, I realize that his face has turned abnormally pale. I hope that by digging, at least some portions of his doll would be found.

In the meantime, the gardener arrives with a spade. The three of us, go towards the deodar tree.

Jayanta points, with his hand, the place which is one and a half yards away from the tree stump, and says, “Here.”

“You remember correctly?” I ask.

Without uttering a word, Jayanta nods his head once to convey his affirmation.

“How deep did you bury him?”
“Certainly about nine inches.”

Without any objection, the gardener begins digging the ground. The man has a sense of humor. While digging, he asks once whether there’s any treasure underneath and if so, whether we’ll provide him a portion from the find. Hearing this, although I laugh, Jayanta does not show a glint of laughter in his face. In October, it isn’t warm in Bundi, but Jayanta’s shirt below the collar is wet. He is staring at the ground fixedly. The gardener is giving blows with the spade. Why does no sign of the doll appear till now?

A sharp call from a peacock makes me turn my head once. At the same moment, a strange sound from Jayanta’s voice makes me direct my eyes towards him immediately. His own eyes appear to be protruding out. The very next moment, with a shaking hand, slowly he directs his index-finger straight towards the hole. He cannot even keep his finger still.

Then, with an abnormal, dry, scared voice, the question comes – “What’s that?”

The spade falls from the gardener’s hands on to the ground.

When I look towards the ground, fear, surprise and disbelief automatically make my mouth wide-open.

I see, within the hole, covered with dust and lying in the dorsal position with hands and legs spread wide, a ten to twelve inches’ long, spotlessly white, perfect human skeleton.

 

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Also, read a Bengali fiction by Upal Mukhopadhyay, translated into English by Haimanti Dutta Ray, and published in The Antonym:

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