First Light (7 page)

These they proceeded to throw at Bharat laughing merrily all the while. Though Bharat tried to dodge the blows by turning his head his way and that, he got struck several times. The stones had sharp edges and they cut deep into his shaved head sending runnels of blood down his face and neck. The children played this game for a little while longer then, tiring of it, ran into the jungle. ‘
Oré
! Why do you go?' Bharat's mind shouted in desperation, ‘Hit me all you want but don't go. Don't go leaving me here alone.'

But all the answer he got was the rustle of leaves and the scampering of rabbits.

Bharat's heart sank and a terrible depression overtook him. He had come close to being saved. The children were not alone in the jungle. He was sure of that. There were adults nearby; But he had lost his chance. No one would come near him now. Sinking his head on the earth he burst out weeping. His sobs were inaudible but the tears, gushing out of his eyes and soaking the gamchha around his mouth were visible enough.

Journeying from Agartala to Calcutta was no easy task. Thanks to the arbiters of India's destiny iron wagons with steam engines in them were carrying goods and passengers with amazing speed in many parts of the country. But Tripura lay outside British territory. The nearest rail station from Agartala was Kushthia on the border of Bengal. It took quite a few days to get there. Radharaman commenced his journey on an elephant with Shashibhushan as companion. Shashibhushan had welcomed the. chance of travelling at state expense to Calcutta where certain property disputes pertaining to his family awaited his attention.

It was a cool bright day of early November when the two set off, sitting side by side on the howdah. There was a nip in the air and the yellowing leaves shuddered in the trees. The elephant swayed ponderously over the uneven forest track stopping, from time to time, to nuzzle the orchids that clung to the trunks and branches of trees. Every time the elephant stopped the mahut rapped his head with a stick and cried
Hee ré ré ré
. Walking behind were six coolies and two guards with guns. Shashibhushan had a gun too. He was as skilled with a gun as he was with a camera. He wore Western clothes with a sola hat on his head and kept his gun in readiness for any game that might cross his line of vision. Ghosh Moshai, in a plain dhuti and shawl, puffed pensively at his hookah.

All of a sudden Shashibhushan leaned forward and tapped the mahut's back with the palm of his hand. ‘Stop! Stop!' he whispered, then turning to Radharaman he pointed a finger to his right. There, partly concealed by some bushes, was a patch of bright red. Radharaman wondered what creature it could be. But before he could utter a word a volley of shots rang out and five woodhens rose like a scarlet cloud into the brilliant blue sky. There was a sharp squawking and flapping of wings as two large birds tumbled down hitting the branches as they came. The coolies rushed forward with cries of delight. The flesh of the
woodhen was juicy and tender and had a wonderful flavour. The eating of fowl was taboo among caste Hindus, the bird being considered unclean since it was eaten by Muslims. But Shashibhushan and Radharaman were modern men, educated in Western thought and culture. Besides, they had spent several years in Tripura where chicken and duck were eaten freely. Both were pleased at their luck and looked forward to the delicious fowl curry that would be an added bonus to the evening meal.

As the elephant lumbered along Radharaman said, ‘I'd like to ask you a personal question Shashi. I hope you won't take offence.' Shashibhushan lit an expensive English cigar. Blowing a cloud of scented smoke he asked curiously, ‘What is it?'

‘What are you doing here in Tripura?'

‘What am I doing?' Shashibhushan laughed lightly, ‘I'm earning my living. I couldn't get a job in Calcutta.'

‘That I can't believe. You have enough merit to secure a suitable employment even in Calcutta. Besides, I'm convinced you don't need to earn a living. You live far beyond the salary the Maharaja gives you. And your tastes are as expensive as his. Why do you not stay at home when you have the means to do so?'

‘It is true that I've inherited some ancestral property. But before I answer your question you tell me what you're doing here. Your English is as good as the sahebs' and your grasp of the convolutions of the law is outstanding. Had you stayed in Bengal you could have easily secured the post of a Deputy.'

‘But I didn't want to spend my life as a Deputy or a school master—the only two options open to me. Of course, my coming out to Tripura as tutor to the princes was upon an impulse. I had thought of spending a year or two in this beautiful country then going back where I belonged. Gradually I realized that if I stayed on I could rise very high—to a position I couldn't dream of in Calcutta. The Maharaja is whimsical and a poor administrator. If I made myself indispensable to him I could enjoy a great deal of power. And I have done so. The Maharaja depends on me for everything.' He stopped for a moment and added, ‘I thought at first that you had the same idea Shashi. I have changed my mind because if it were so you would have hit out at me long ago. I've set spies on you and the reports are astonishing. It seems you are perfectly content to sit in your pathshala teaching one little boy. I
find that very difficult to understand.'

‘Have you ever considered that I may be a British spy?' ‘There is one such person in the Maharaja's innermost circle. But it is not you. You see, I have gathered quite a bit of information about you. I know you lost your wife within a few months of marriage. And though that was many years ago you never remarried. You have two elder brothers who love you and are anxious for your return. Yet you stay on in Tripura. There must be a reason. A sentimental one, perhaps?'

‘Not sentimental in the way you think. But, yes, there is a reason behind my coming to Tripura and staying on here. It's a long story and you'll have to be patient if you wish to hear it.' Taking another puff at his cigar Shashibhushan went on. ‘My father had some property in Kandi in the district of Murshidabad. A house stood on it, a beautiful house with the river running on three sides and a forest stocked with game behind it. I was fond of hunting and enjoyed roaming in it, all by myself, with my father's gun. One day, as I was stalking a roe, I sensed the presence of others in the forest. They were trespassing but I didn't mind. The forest was swarming with rabbits, wild cats, boars, deer, even leopards. How much could anyone take away? Anyhow, after struggling for hours, I managed to shoot the roe. But when I reached the spot where she lay I was weary and wet and scratched all over by thorns—' Shashibhushan voice faltered and sank to a hoarse whisper. His face reddened and his limbs started trembling.

‘Why? What is the matter Shashi?' Radharaman cried out in alarm. ‘Come, come. You don't have to tell me any more.'

Shashibhushan glared at Radharaman. ‘You must know,' he continued in the same unnatural whisper, ‘That deer hunting is even more difficult than tiger hunting. At the very moment that I reached the roe two Englishmen came riding up with their orderlies. They took the roe away by force.'

‘They took away your kill! The British don't usually stoop so low. They have a sense of fair play and—'

‘You have no idea how low the British can stoop.' Shashibhushan's voice, suddenly regaining it's full strength, rang out like thunder.

‘Perhaps the saheb also fired at the same animal. He may have
thought—'

‘No. I heard no other shot. They came up to me and asked roughly, “From where did you steal the gun? You must be a dacoit.” I was on my own land, Ghosh Moshai, in our own taluk. They were the trespassers. And they called me a dacoit!'

‘The taluk may have been yours but the country belongs to the British. It is possible that they did not recognize you in your, bedraggled state. Calm down Shashi. There's no need to get excited.'

‘There's more to come,' Shashibhushan continued grimly. ‘I spoke to the men in English. “The gun is my father's,” I said. “It was bought from Smith and Anderson in Rani Mudini Lane. And this forest has been part of my family property for generations.” The sahebs didn't even glance in my direction. Ignoring my words completely, they commanded their orderlies to take away my gun and pick up the kill. Then, turning their horses, they rode away. As they passed me, one of them—I learned, later, that he was Mr Hamilton, the Police Commissioner of Berhampore—kicked me full on the mouth. I fell to the ground—'

‘The sins of our ancestors!' Radharaman's voice trembled with anger, ‘Our Mir Jafars and Jagat Seths. We are paying the penalty.'

‘No Ghosh Moshai. Let us not blame the past. I came back and reported the matter to my brothers and other important men of Calcutta. They clicked their tongues in sympathy and looked mournful but no one would help me avenge my humiliation. I lodged a case against Hamilton but the judge was British too and he dismissed the case. Hamilton simply said that he hadn't kicked anybody and his statement was accepted. I took the matter to the press but the newspapers reported nothing. And do you know what my brothers did? They were so fearful of offending Hamilton that they sold that beautiful property for a song. Can such a race of cowards ever hope to rise?'

‘Is that why you came away to Tripura?'

‘Yes. I decided I could not live in British territory any longer. Tripura is the only independent state in—'

‘I'm sure you've realized by now just how independent Tripura is.'

‘At least it doesn't pay tax to the British. Ghosh Moshai! I
have a resolution burning within me and I'll bring it to pass some day. I'll kick an Englishman in the face the way Hamilton kicked me, I don't care how long I have to wait. I'll do it before I die.'

‘What a terrible thought! Don't attempt such a thing my friend. We'll be the first to clamp you in jail.'

Chatting thus on various subjects the two men passed the long days of the journey to Calcutta. Every evening, just before sundown, a clearing was selected, a tent hoisted and a fire lit to keep wild animals away. Ghosh Moshai fell asleep immediately after the evening meal but Shashibhushan stayed awake for hours smoking his cigar and listening to the sounds of the forest. A sudden flapping of wings as a snake made its way into a bird's nest; the distant roar of a tiger or the shrieking laughter of a hyena—all these entered his ears but his eyes were elsewhere. Scenes from the past flashed before them flickering and disjointed.

On the afternoon of the fourth day they reached a small
ganja
by the river. Here they were to start the second phase of their journey. Standing on the ferry ghat, his eyes on the row of boats tossing about like the loose husks of a banana flower on the current of Meghna, Shashibhushan thought of his first voyage out to Tripura. He had sailed down the Meghna on just such a boat. It had been a wild stormy afternoon with the river in spate. He had trembled with fear when the boatmen had called out to Allah to save their flimsy craft from being dashed to pieces in the sucking, seething waters.

The boat that they were to sail in was ready with their luggage stowed away safely. It awaited Ghosh Moshai who was buying some provisions for the journey. The
ganja
was crammed with people—touts and pimps, beggars in rows on each side of the road; gamblers sitting on strips of matting with their cards and dice; travellers awaiting their turn on the huge jewel boats that ferried people across. There were three shops selling everything from pestles and mortars to safety pins and two hotels standing side by side—one Hindu, the other Muslim. Behind them was a brothel.

Shashibhushan moved from shop to shop looking for a box of cigars but the shops of the
ganja
catered to the tastes of simple folk, not an aristocrat like him. It was a hot oppressive afternoon
and, fatigued with the exertions of the day, Shashibhushan decided to sit in the coolness of the boat and wait for Ghosh Moshai. But as he stepped into the boat he was overwhelmed by a strange sensation. He felt he had left something behind him; something very valuable. An urgency rose within him. He had to go back and look for it. Turning on his heel he walked rapidly back to the
ganja
. Though he didn't know what he was looking for, he did not waver or hesitate. He walked straight to the rows of beggars and looked around with keen eyes. A little distance away a youth sat under a
jarul
tree. His shaved head was smudged with clotted blood and he was stark naked except for the dirty rag that hung from his loins. He was so pitifully thin that Shashibhushan could count every bone in his frail rib cage. He was obviously demented for he kept nodding his head and singing to himself. ‘Bird! Bird! Bird!' he sang in a shrieking falsetto. Shashibhushan examined his face closely and cried ‘Bharat!' The boy stopped his song for a moment but not a flicker of recognition came into his eyes. He recommenced nodding and singing with the rhythmic regularity of a clockwork doll. Shashibhushan took the boy by the shoulders and shook him. ‘Bharat!' he cried again. ‘What are you doing here?' But still Bharat went on nodding and singing. Stooping, Shashibhushan picked him up in his arms and walked rapidly in the direction of the river.

Reaching the boat, Shashibhushan washed the blood and grime from Bharat's wounds and wrapped a clean dhuti around his emaciated frame. Then, mixing a bowl of chiré, curds and treacle, he fed him as tenderly as he would a child. Radharaman looked on in silence, then, when the boat was ready to sail, he said quietly, ‘Take Bharat back to the ghat Shashi. He cannot go with us.' Shashibhushan stared at his impassive countenance for a while, then said in a wondering voice, ‘Take him back to the ghat! What are you saying, Ghosh Moshai?'

‘We have no choice Shashi. Don't forget that I'm travelling on a secret mission. Kumar Upendra wanted to come along but the Maharaja wouldn't let him. Tuck ten rupees into Bharat's waistband and let him go.'

‘Impossible!' Shashibhushan exclaimed.

‘Listen Shashi. Bharat's links with Tripura are broken. When
the news of his disappearance came the Maharaja was not agitated in the least. “Good riddance,” he said indifferently, “Feed a dog ghee and he'll vomit all over your floor.” In that moment I knew that Bharat's days in Tripura were over.'

‘But why?' Shashibhushan asked in a bewildered voice. ‘What has the poor boy done? He is gentle and well mannered and has never involved himself in anything that was not his business.'

‘Perhaps not. But someone has involved herself with him. The Maharaja is about to marry again. Did you know that?'

‘The idea is preposterous. Rani Bhanumati has been dead only a fortnight.'

‘It may be preposterous for people like you and me but kings do not follow the rules of commoners. He wishes to marry Monomohini.'

‘Monomohini! But she's only a little girl. And the Maharaja is not a day below fifty. Besides, she's his neice. He should look upon her as a daughter.'