(A SHORT STORY)

BY BUDDHADEV BOSE

[Translator's Note: This short story is translated from its Bengali original, published in a Calcutta weekly, Naba Shakti, in July last year. It has been incorporated into the author's volume of short stories, Rekha Chitra (Sketches), to be published shortly. Mr. Bose is one of the outstanding young modern writers in Bengal today. Besides being a novelist, he is as well known as a poet, play-wright and essayist. He first attracted public notice as a young writer of promise in the pages of Pragati–a literary monthly which Mr. Bose and a friend of his together brought out and kept alive for a couple of years. Since then, he has contributed quite prolifically to various literary weeklies and monthlies in Calcutta. On account of his rather pungently realistic method and attitude, he has been the victim of much caustic criticism from the orthodox Bengali readers and public. But his gift of literary expression has seldom been questioned. He writes vigorous prose, and bubbles over with ideas, generally imbibed from European writers. What strikes a candid reader of his volume of recently published short stories, The Play is the Thing and is not, is the influence of Western ideas and methods. This story may not be absolutely typical of the latest phase of Mr. Bose's art, but it at least gives one the idea of his ability in the field of the Short Story.]

For several days, the plot of a story had got into my head. An editor had written to me asking for a contribution at the earliest possible date. So, one morning, after gulping nearly four cups of tea for both physical and mental stimulation, I had just sat down with paper and pen when three handsome, well-dressed young men appeared and greeted me.

They were absolute strangers to me put it didn't take me more than a minute to realize what they had come for. Clearly, they had not come just to offer me friendly felicitations. So I said, "Look here, I have had to buy yesterday a ticket for a dramatic performance in aid of flood-relief, although I myself didn't go to see the play."

The young men had sat down without even waiting for my request. One of them ran his fingers through his long hair, and said, "Of course, no gentleman could possibly ever go to see a performance on the L------- stage. Our performance will be at the B------- Institute on N------ Road. We've especially made this arrangement for such people as you. So, please take one of these." Saying this, he placed a book of ten-rupee tickets on the table and, began to smile, expecting that I would be taken in.

Very courteously and mildly, I told him of my objections. I said I was very busy at present and couldn't manage to make time, and therefore, I was compelled to deprive myself of the pleasure of witnessing their show. Now, the second young man said, "At any rate, couldn't you kindly just go there for a little while? It's only a few paces away from your house. You do go to the restaurant on S------ Road sometimes ---------." The man, who spoke first, added: "For that matter, we have noticed you there often even at midnight,"------ and all three of them began laughing aloud as if they had scored a point with a well-aimed shot. But it made no impression on the person to whom it was directed.

Still to be very brief but quite courteous, I said, "Sorry, I've no money to spare." After saying this, I took up my pen again, and turned my head away and bent over the paper. I had expected that my cold attitude would surely freeze their enthusiasm, but I had yet to learn how ruthless the enthusiasm of people in our tropical country is.

The first young man, expanding a very broad smile, said, "You haven't any money? H'm–I guess your cigarette-bill comes to a hundred rupees a month!"

I was astonished. I looked up when the third man (who had not spoken till now) said, "Whatever you might say, we are not going away till we've peen able to sell you a ticket. You needn't pay now. Ha, ha! We know we can trust a man like you to pay up this paltry sum of ten rupees later on." He looked smilingly at his companions, who began nodding their heads vehemently in approval.

I thought that the father of each of these fortunate young men must be either a contractor in Rangoon or a Zemindar in Mymensingh. Or else, how could they imagine anyone smoking a hundred-rupees’ worth of cigarettes a month? Perhaps they can blow away a ten rupees at a puff! So it was that the Princess asked her famine-stricken subjects to eat black bread!–How can these people realise the position of middle-class people such as ourselves? I felt ashamed of my poverty, and said rather sadly, "Really it is quite impossible for me to buy a ticket. Please excuse me."

There can be no room for further argument when a gentleman says this, I thought; and so once again I bent over my paper. Although the altercation had somewhat muddled my head, I managed to scribble the first line of my story. But inspiration seldom comes to an author in presence of a lot of people: so I couldn't help remarking at last, much against my desire: "Why are you waiting still? There are many rich people in the neighbourhood. If you go to them you might be able to sell some tickets. Besides, you see I am just a bit busy now."

The first young man (I never had the good fortune of knowing their names, so I have to speak of them numerically) picked up the book of ten-rupee tickets and put it in his pocket. Then, making a movement to get up, he said, "But I am leaving one of these for you," and started to tear out a ticket from a five-rupee ticket book.

In utter desperation, I protested, and said, "What are you doing? I have already told you that----".

The second young man said, "How can we go and tell people that you haven't bought a ticket?

I had been quite patient till now, but when I heard this, I really felt annoyed. I blurted out, "You don't have to tell people anything if you can't. You have heard what I have said. I have no more time to spare -----"

The number one said, "What of it? Many rich people buy ten-rupee tickets though they never use them."

By this time my story had almost evaporated from my brain. I capped my fountain-pen, leaning back in my chair and prepared myself for delivering a long sermon on Charity. I was just going to begin, when my nine-year-old nephew Tookoo came in, and asked, "Uncle dear, what's the time?"

I looked at the watch. It was ten minutes to nine. Ten minutes could not make much difference to a child, so I said, "9 o clock."

After Tookoo disappeared, I discovered that the sermon I had prepared in my mind had got muddled. With difficulty I controlled my temper and said, "Really I've no time to spare; I've no money to give away; I won't buy a ticket. I wouldn't have bought a ticket in any case even if I had the money. I have had to subscribe to the flood-relief fund in various ways–much more than a man of my means can–I can't do anything more." I paused for a moment and then continued, "Can't you see that I am busy? You had better give up the idea of selling a ticket to me once for all. Why are you wasting your time as well as mine?"

No wonder that people who go about day and night with a mission of help, attach no value to other people's time which is to them, apparently, a very trifling matter. So even after what I had just said, they showed no signs of making a move. Rather, the number one got out a three-rupee ticket book from his pocket and said, "All right, then take one of these." He said this in a manner which suggested that he was doing me a great favour by coming down to three rupees.

I sat stiff, reclining in my chair, and gripped both the handles. I believe I gave a ferocious look at the three of them. Then, clearing my throat, I started: "Look here, I am not in the least in favour of these charity shows. If I send even a four-anna bit direct to a Committee or through a newspaper, I know it will get there all right; but if I buy a ten-rupee ticket from you, I am sure only ten pice will go to the relief-fund and the remaining nine rupees and thirteen and half annas will be wasted by you in the name of the show. It isn't that you will spend less on your food and drink in consideration of the flood-stricken people. Even if you buy a pice worth of betels, you will take it from the subscriptions. To supply you with the luxuries. . . . ."

"Uncle dear, what is the time?" Tookoo again came in and asked me. This gave a sudden jerk to my flow of words which was accumulating force in proportion to my mental excitement. I looked at the watch and replied "nine o'clock," and continued- "for your luxuries–a"

"You said it was nine o'clock when I asked you before and is it still nine o'clock? Has your watch stopped, uncle dear?" said Tookoo.

No, the boy wouldn't let me finish what I had started to say. I felt inclined to give this impudent kid a hard blow and knock out his teeth. With difficulty I controlled myself and replied gravely, "No, now you must go away from here."

Tookoo smiled and went away. He had no idea that he had a narrow escape this time by sheer luck.

At last the theatrical charity mongers were kind to me. Before leaving, they said to me rather drily, "We beg to be excused for wasting a good deal of your time. I hope you didn't mind."

I said to myself that they might as well have knocked my head off and said, "Sir, we've broken your head, please forgive us."

Anyway, it was a relief. I felt like going down on my knees and crying out aloud my thankfulness to Providence.

The wretched story had its death in embryo. When I looked at the paper with the one and only line written on it, I felt like crying. I tore up the paper with unnecessary vehemence and threw it out of the window, but the bits struck the window-pane and flew back into the room and got scattered all over the floor. How untidy–how uncouth the room looked! What a fool I was! How could I not have been aware of the waste-paper basket under the table! In the morning I had got up in such a delightful frame of mind. But those theatre ticket-sellers had come and spoilt it all!

Anyway, let the floor be untidy! I wasn't going to pick up the pieces and throw them away. Not I. I found it impossible to put my mind to any work. I felt like smashing up the cups and saucers. For fear I should really break some of them! I quickly hurled myself on the bed and lay down flat on my back.

For the last few days it had been raining incessantly and the sun had just come out this morning after a long time. The sky was clear and blue and a lovely breeze was blowing. An ideal morning for writing a story, but wasted! Maybe, it would start raining again in the afternoon and continue for days together. And I wouldn't feel at all like writing anything. My poor little story!

Meanwhile, the cool breeze had cooled down my temper a bit and its temperature now had come down a few degrees. I could feel it. Then I heard a soft, low voice call me, "Uncle dear!" The mercury went up at once and very high, too. I had a rough idea of the time, and said, "It's quarter past nine."

"Then there's still a long time before I have to go to school, uncle dear," said Tookoo.

I had neither the power nor the inclination to speak. I closed my eyes. Sleepily I just made through my nose a queer sound, "Um".

"Uncle dear!" started again Tookoo.

"Uncle dear be hanged! What are you bellowing for? What’s the matter? Come here!"

Tookoo approached me, half-afraid, and showed me a book he had in his hand and said, "Please help me a little to learn my today's English lesson."

"Why have you come to me for this? Isn't there anybody else in the house? Couldn't you go to Shubol? Do you think that now I am going to waste my time to help you with your lesson–eh?"

Tookoo spoke on the verge of tears, "Grannie told me to come to you."

"Grannie told you–eh? Go and tell your grannie that if ever again she suggests such a thing, I shall go and hang myself. Now, don't stand there like an idiot, opening your mouth agape," I fired off.

Tookoo stood silent for a few moments. Then collecting some courage, he said, "Uncle dear, just tell me one thing–what does ‘dead of night’ mean?"

"It means–" Good Heavens–I’ll go mad! "Will you go now? Or you'd like to have a thrashing?" I just made a gesture of lifting my hand, when Tookoo burst into tears and ran away for all he was worth.

Suddenly, I remembered that such a thing as a cigarette existed in this world and I felt happy—as happy as one can be when one gets into a temper. I tried to light a cigarette in my lying down state; the lighted match-stick slipped and fell on me. Ugh! I jumped up at once and threw away the match. I was chafing the burn when my sister-in-law came in. "Are you going out now, brother?" she said.

"No," I replied.

"But I need a box of soap very urgently."

"I have other things to do in this world besides buying soap for you."

"Well, as far as I can see, the only two things you are capable of are, lying on the bed, flat on your back, and smoking away cigarettes endlessly."

"In any case, I can't go out now," I said.

"I knew it. You can go about in the sun even at noon to visit your friends, but if anybody asks you to do something for them, you can't move–you feel paralysis of the feet," she said as though unnecessarily upset.

"Please leave me alone for a while, good sister-in-law," I begged of her.

"Oh, I am going. Lord, how contemptuous you are! But quite natural! Because you seem to have grown wings. I don't know what would have happened to you, if I hadn't mortgaged my bangles that time to pay your examination fees! Oh, God!" she ejaculated and left.

Hardly two minutes had passed after the departure of my sister-in-law, when my mother entered the room with a gloomy face. "Why didn't you help Tookoo with his lesson?" she asked me gravely.

"My head's aching–I have gripes–I am ill–I am very uneasy. No, no-----I am quite all right–but I have lots of work to get through. Please leave me alone, mother." I told her to go away.

"H'm-go away? One day I will go away forever and leave you in peace. I see, you always treat me like a dog and will be glad to be rid of me. Just you wait a little while more ----my days are numbered. You are getting more and more bad-tempered every day. You have not a drop of human kindness in you. That little kid! Why did you hit him? You needn't have helped him with his lessons if you didn't wish to."

"I haven't hit him," I protested.

"No, he cried because you gave him sweets," she remarked rather sneeringly.

"Really, mother, you must go away now. I've a lot of things to do."

"Here I go–and God knows to what hell!"

"It won't be only you who will go there–we'll all have to go there some day." This I couldn't help remarking.

Mother wiped her eyes and now said in a broken voice, "I see this is the way with you modern folk. You always say You'll go mad because of me and hang yourself because of me. Don't you feel ashamed to say these things to me? As though I was your step-mother; as if I didn't bear you,–is it? If your father had been live, could you have tortured me like this? A woman who loses her husband loses all. She has to go on just existing while her sons heap insults on her. How foolish of people to take pride in their sons! What good is a son to a woman who has lost her husband!"

Moaning and complaining at the top of her voice, mother went way at last. But I really felt like weeping aloud in tune with her lamentations.

My thoughts turned to God, while I stretched myself more fully on the bed. The blue sky and the soft air which a moment ago had felt so sweet became bitter as poison now. The world seemed flat and tasteless–so, what could one do but think of God? But I was interrupted in my pious resolution when, all flustered-up, sister-in-law came into the room and called me in an excited voice.

I couldn't pretend to be asleep. So I jumped up and said, "What's the matter? Is the house on fire?"

"Don't be flippant. There–" And she threw a telegram on my lap.

I read the telegram. "What am I to do about it?" I said.

"That's very simple. Go and send a wire to Suren Babu that Shefali left yesterday and he needn't take leave and come," she said.

"No hurry. Just as well send it in the afternoon. Just this moment I don't feel quite equal to it." I said.

"You are old enough to have some sense and I am really surprised at you. Can't you realise how worried Suren Babu is?"

"Worried? I should think not. What an awful fuss over just a little touch of fever!" There must have been a touch of banter in my voice.

"Really, you modern, young men are absolutely heartless. What an affectionate brother you are!"

The long and short of the telegram-affair is that my sister Shefali had an attack of fever, while staying with us, and her husband in Jamshedpur had got worried about her and wired how she was, and whether he should come. But, although not quite recovered, she had already left for Jamshedpur with an escort and was stopping in Calcutta en route for a day and would get there tomorrow. In the circumstances, I had seemed heartless and my soft-hearted sister-in-law was hurt, because I had suggested that the wire might as well be sent in the afternoon! Nothing to be Surprised at this, because I've known all along that other people in this world always have to make personal sacrifices, and cheerfully too, for even the triflest of conveniences of people who go about in this world as husband and wife!

So, I didn't protest any more. Now that I was in for it, I had no other alternative but to go out into the street, of a hot scorching noon. I felt so cross that I didn't even take an umbrella. Hot and perspiring, I reached the post-office. I took a telegraph-form and searched in my pocket for my fountain pen, but it was not there! My blood ran cold. I remembered quite clearly that I had brought it before leaving, the house. Then, where is it? I began to search all the pockets, but it was nowhere. Then, it must have been stolen! Pick-pockets? But not many people walking in the streets at this hour! Then it must have dropped. I suddenly remembered that once I had stumbled on a brick; it must have dropped then. I recollected also that a Chaprassi fellow was walking behind me. He must have picked it up. So my pen was gone ------a ‘Waterman’ at that! I wonder when I'll be able to afford another like it, and even if there is another, it wouldn't be like the one I have lost. Strange Fate!

I longed to bang my head against the post-office walls. I wonder why I didn't. So, in a mechanical way, as it were, I wrote on the form with a pen supplied by the office, put stamps on it, took a receipt and the change. In the street, I kept on looking this way and that, if by any chance-------. Alas, one can never cease to hope! The spot where I thought I had stumbled, I reconnoitred a bit. An up-country lad was passing by, smoking a biri. Noticing me, he enquired if I had lost money. I waived him away and walked on.

I tried to convince myself that I hadn't brought the pen with me, but useless! Because, I remembered quite clearly that I had taken it out of my drawer and put it in the lower pocket, while I took the money from my sister-in-law. So, it couldn't be that I should have left the pen behind when I was going to send a telegram.

So it was a fitting climax to the morning's happenings. If I could get hold of one of those "flood-relief " fellows now, I could have murdered him.

Like a thief, I entered my room. Like a mother who puts her face to a dead son's nose to see if he might still be breathing, I pulled the drawer slowly as soon as I came into the room.

I heaved a deep sigh when I saw the blue box which used to contain my ‘Waterman’ pen. How sad that the pen, which had lived so many years peacefully in this box, was now perhaps the ornament of a wretched Chaprassi! I pretended to myself that I only wanted to handle the empty box. I opened it. My fountain pen was sleeping peacefully in it.

As soon as sister-in-law came, I said, "Ugh! I feel so tired after going about in the sun."

"Have you sent the wire? Really, you can't possibly imagine how anxious Suren Babu will be till he gets it. (I nodded and she smiled as if pitying my unmarried state). Now go and have your bath quickly.–I am waiting for you."

"Just look how blue the sky is and how sweet the air smells," I said, not minding about the bath or her waiting.

"I will look later on. Now, I am feeling the fire of a hanger," she said.

"My dear sister-in-law, up to what standard did you read while at school?" I queried her.

That very moment mother called out from the adjoining room: "Now do go and have your bath. How long are you going to keep your sister-in-law waiting? The servants have been grumbling and eating my head off."

"All right, I am going, mother." I asked sister-in-law: "Has Tookoo gone to school?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Oh, nothing particular. I just asked. Your Tookoo is a splendid kid," I said. Then I shouted out to mother: "Mother, would you go with me to the oculist today?"

"No. Not today. I have to go to a meeting of the Society."

While bathing, I thought: After all, I might as well have bought a three-rupee ticket. Moreover, they were quite decent fellows; I shouldn't have disappointed them. Sister-in-law could have gone to the theatre, even if I hadn't. She is a theatre-fan, all right.

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