THE BETEL-SHOP

(A STORY)

BY PANTULA SRIRAMA SASTRI, B. Sc.

(Rendered from Telugu)

It is no wonder that, to Narayana who had acquired fame in a big city like Madras, this little town looked like a desert. Here, there were no trams or buses, nor stylish buildings. No, not even Cinema-houses. Narayana could put up with the lack of many things, but without a Cinema-house life wasn’t so worthwhile. And this was not without reason. His education at College had been cut short by his zest for cinemas. But then, he had acquired so much of worldly wisdom. In order to spread this wisdom he had actually run a monthly magazine devoted to the cinema. That was only for a short while. As the magazine was making some progress after the initial troubles, he was actuated by an ambition to produce a picture himself, and he plunged into this venture after selling his entire property. He was like Yudhishtira staking Draupadi at the last throw. For eight months he did not know where he was drifting. All the time it was agreements, advertisements, salaries, allowances and the rest of the bother.

He never dreamt that the concern would become insolvent so soon. God might take care of the Company, but his magazine too suffered an eclipse in the process. Not only that, in that huge city, genius like himself could not even secure a. job!...But in a way that was fortunate. For, otherwise, he would have, by this time, got stuck up in some rotten job. Surely, it was thousand times better to remain unemployed.

Indeed, he was not so utterly unemployed, and just wasting his as a guest of his boyhood friend Mr. Seshiah. He was pursuing his plans, and any day they might succeed. Till then, he wished to spend his time in that town like a mariner taking shelter on a tiny island after ship-wreck–till some ship should rescue him. And surely he did not belong here.

In his daily routine the only item that brought him a little excitement was the after-dinner stroll every night to the Railway Station. If anyone disturbed him by accosting him at that time, he felt greatly distressed. But it often happened that someone or other did impede his progress. Today that fell to the lot of Mr. Ramachandrudu. After the usual enquiries about his welfare, Mr. Ramachandrudu wished to know if Narayana had seen a recent picture ‘Suprabhatam’ in the neighbouring town. It was true that Narayana had not seen it, but no one had a chance to appreciate it so well as himself. The actual story and the actors and actresses were not of much account, and so, he started off on a grand discourse about the ‘technique’ which after all was the main thing. Poor Ramachandrudu felt his heart sink, for, there was no knowing how many hours this discourse might take to finish. After a great deal of agitation as to how he could get out of this mess, he said, “Look here, Sir, we common people cannot easily follow all this, so you will be good enough to come to my house and talk at leisure. I forgot my umbrella at the cloth shop in the bazaar, and if I do not run up immediately it might get lost”, and he slipped away. For a few moments, Narayana sustained the speed of his discourse, proving the truth of Newton’s first law of motion.

Narayana felt hurt but was relieved to find that the interruption to his walk was removed. Already it was a little late. Radha’s betel-shop near the station might be closed by now. True, he could pay cash in some other shop and get the cigars and betel needed for the next day. And even the other shop-keepers may not refuse to give him things on credit. But, poor woman, she hadn’t much custom. Moreover, this stroll had become a daily habit. As he crossed the bridge he realized that he was walking a. little too fast. As he came within sight of the little lamp in the betel-shop, his pace steadied itself.

He sat down on the bench in front of the shop and, leisurely, lighted the last of the previous day’s cigars. As the cigar threw up a bright flame he leaned to a side, spat, cleared his throat and started a conversation, “I am possibly a little late today?”

“Not so late, Sir, you used to come every day about the time of the ‘line clear’. Today they have just given the ‘out-bell’ and in another three or four minutes the train will arrive.

“And that means, you will close the shop in five minutes after that.”

“I could as well have shut up an hour or hour and a half ago. Nowadays I get very little business from the railway passengers. Truth to tell, I keep it open so late, only for you.”

Narayana was vastly pleased at this explanation and involuntarily he enquired, “but is it only now that it is so, or was business equally dull before?”

“Well; in that case there would have been no shop at all. Look, the godown there was once a Cinema-house. There used to be half a dozen other shops here. They all left when the Cinema-house was closed down, and shifted into the town. But we stayed on: we couldn’t leave this house and these flowers. But even here business is not so bad during summer. We are able to sell a soda and sherbatt. There! The train has just arrived.”

But, Narayana’s mind wandered in an altogether different direction.

“And so, a Cinema-house was just near-by. You must have seen a lot of pictures”.¹

“I really don’t know what you mean by ‘many’. I must have seen, about a dozen. But to people like me one picture is like another. And moreover, we have to attend to the shop.”

“With a Cinema-house so near, you never cultivated a love of pictures!”

‘Love of pictures! Oh! yes, I had it but what is the use! When I was young I fancied a gold ring set in emerald. But, when I actually got it I did not feel like wearing it. It stayed put in the box for sometime, and then, it was sold along with the rest of the things.”

Narayana was like one who heard, and yet not heard, these words of hers. He was full of thoughts of his own.

The town had already got a queer impression of him. The moment he found someone with a little money he couldn’t restrain him-self, but must make an effort to preach about the splendid chances in the cinema industry. But they had not so far noted another weakness of his. That related to women. Whenever his eyes rested on a women who seemed pretty, he would at once think of her as a prospective cinema star. If only she got the requisite training, people who would not notice her now would flock in their thousands to admire her on the screen. Sweet visions like this were always focussed onto the curtain of his mind. Whenever he cast his glance on Radha at the betel-shop, it was difficult for him to retain his mental balance. Poor thing! She sat here at the wretched shop wasting her thoughts on petty transactions of one pice and two pice, and wasting her beauty and youth. Previously Narayana used to utter these words to himself. But gradually he mustered courage to speak out. And Radha too was not so unwilling to listen to him.

“As for yourself, it is not mere love of the pictures! If only persons like you turned actresses! Ah! But the Directors and the Producers have not the eyes to perceive your beauty. When heaps of gems are shining in their natural lustre, they take a lot of pains to make the same old faded faces shine in new colours. They think only of their business. And even their business shows no signs of progress because they merely pursue old paths. If only they learnt to adopt new methods they could acquire national and even international fame (for their pictures)….Ah! If I had but the money!”

“But if you had the money you would never stay in the Zamindar’s house here.”

“True, true, possibly it is difficult for you to imagine that this common mortal was once rich and always moved about in a car in excellent style. But, will not such times return?”

“But, Sir, I mentioned it casually.”

“Why casual? But it is the truth. It is not of much consequence what people think of a man who is idling away as some body’s guest here. As for myself I wish I had the money, not sometime in the; future, but right here, now.”

Narayana’s discourse was interrupted by a customer shouting, “one-anna worth of cigars and matches! Quickly! the cooly is speeding off.” But the man who was in such a hurry should have given change, but no, he passed on a rupee and demanded change, almost as if she had stored small change in her box. And she was in no hurry herself. She opened the box leisurely, counted the change repeated it to make sure and then handed over the change to him. Watching her as she counted the change, Narayana was reminded of a heroine in a cinema posing so as to indicate her anxiety to propitiate the hero and dispel his suspicions. And really it would be exceedingly difficult to get at a pose like Radha’s in a cinema. But it all depended upon the actors. To some, expression of feeling came naturally.…..

At long last! The customer moved away after counting the change thrice over.

Narayana did not give up the thread of his conversation. “If only I had the money now! What is the good of having it sometime, after another ten years! Wouldn’t I produce a first-rate picture before the end of the year in Telugu, Hindi and English! And release it simultaneously in America and England!”

“Surely, and why not !” She said as a matter of form.

“Why don’t you ask who is to be the heroine? Your enunciation in Telugu and Hindi is quite pure. I heard you the other day speaking in Hindi to a customer. English, however, might present some difficulty. But even that will not mean much trouble. With a little training you could manage it. After all, with your ‘personality,’ any word, uttered in any manner must sound all right. We needn’t worry about the music, the Musical Directors will attend to all that. If even they cannot manage it, we can resort to a ‘play back’. I can already visualize the whole thing...They are right in front.”

“To you, Sir, these dreams are bound to come true some time, if not today. But to us they are just castles in the air. But anyhow, by the time you produce pictures, shan’t we have a Picture House here? Whether we see other pictures, or not, myself and our Narasingh will surely see yours. Don’t you think Narasingh will come back before that? It is already about two years. It is altogether three. Look at the injustice. In a quarrel between two people, merely because the other man is rich, he gets three years–do tell me if this is just.”

Narayana was not interested. So, without replying, he pursued his conversation. “When next I take a picture you are bound to be in it; I am as sure as that the Sun rises ill the east.”

“Why, you speak of strange things”

“Oh! There is nothing strange in this. It is the truth. Bu sometimes truth might appear strange. It is not going to be the usual contract, on a monthly salary. I shall give away a fourth of the profits and that cannot be less than 10 lakhs of rupees. If we come to that, it need not be only a fourth. I shouldn’t mind parting with half. Money is mere trash. What I am keen on is the opportunity to render a great service to art–well, it is time for you to close the the shop; I must be going.”

“Here are your cigars and mashala.”²

“I am afraid I lost myself in common talk and forgot the main thing.”

“It is a pity you have to go a long way so late in the night.”

“I don’t mind the distance or the late hour. In fact I cannot sleep till after 12 in the night. It wouldn’t matter even if the distance were twice, but look at this drizzle. It isn’t going to be a downpour. Yet, I wish there were at least a rickshaw in this place.”

“There is lightning towards the west, you may be drenched. I have an old umbrella. Wait, I shall get it.”

An umbrella by itself is not of importance, and even without it he was not likely to be inconvenienced. But the tenderness that lay behind the offer was notable.

“You may need the umbrella, so I shall send it back through the Zamindar’s servant in the morning.”

“Why, that is not necessary. I never use it. Till our Narasingh comes back, it must remain in its place. You can bring it with you tomorrow night when you come for your cigars.”

“Yes, I shall do so. And now, I shall go. But could you let me have a glass of water.”

As he went along, after draining the glass of water, the rain began to increase. It was painful to think that the umbrella, given him with so much tenderness, might get wet. In the night he woke up thrice to make sure that the umbrella was safe. The third time be saw it was quite dry. And lest someone should walk away with it in an open verandah, he kept it under his pillow. It was only then that he could fall asleep.

The whole of the next day there was a continuous drizzle. In the evening Radha closed her shop rather early. With the coming of the night the rain fell heavily. For some reason, that night, the train due at 10 o’clock didn’t arrive even by 12. In that small town, people moved about very little even on ordinary nights. This particular night, no human face was visible. To strangers it might appear as the place was not inhabited at all. The houses were old fashioned and had few windows. Not one of them was kept open this night even by chance.

The servant in the Taluk office was either asleep even while being awake, or was able to wake up from sleep at the proper hour. He gave the stroke of one languidly and went back to sleep.

Radha was surprised to find that there wag a knock at her door on such a night. She never was afraid of thieves. Possibly it was someone from the train, but then she did not hear any engine whistle. Or, the loud wind might have stifled the sound of the whistle. There was no second knock. It might be only the wind! No! There was another knock. Well, it couldn’t be avoided. She must get up and open the door.

Even as she was opening the door, the wind rushed in. As the man was completely drenched by the rain she was not able to recognize him at once, though she was seeing him every day.

“Bless us! Who is it? Mr. Narayana! Why are you here at this time of the night, and in this thunder and rain? But come in first. You are wet all over, and not even an umbrella!”

But to one like Narayana who had faced the storm, the mere entry into that little house was like getting into a wonderful palace. His shawl and the shirt underneath were completely wet. As he removed and laid them aside, she took them and hung them on the wire to dry. A cot, a small table, a sitting chair and an easy chair, and on three of the walls pictures of national leaders and of gods; on another wall there was a big mirror and next to it an enlarged photograph. A prominent moustache, curled hair, and eyes with glances like needles…That probably was the same Narasingh of whom she spoke sometimes.

As no milk was available she could not offer him tea or coffee; instead, she gave him a soda to refresh himself. With that and a cigar he regained some degree of energy, but he was at a loss how to begin. It was no use waiting any more. Time was short and they had to leave within another three or four hours.

But before he could be at ease and begin, she said, “How will you get back home tonight? It is far away and we are having wind and rain. Please sleep on this cot. I shall sleep in the next room.”

Finding it impossible to get through the prologue and the epilogue, Narayana came straight to the point. “We can think of sleep afterwards, but wouldn’t you pack your things for the journey?”

“Journey! Where! And why? And in this storm!”

“But this is exceedingly opportune. If we start by the passenger train early in the morning and catch the afternoon train, we can reach Madras by evening.”

“So, it seems you have not come in this storm without a purpose.”

“Why, you are still hesitating! You needn’t indulge in words just to avoid me. Today marks the end. The old life ends with this storm, and the new one begins. Has not the Lord said in a verse of the Gita “as casting away old clothes?” Even so, you may now find it difficult to leave old surroundings, old things that have become familiar through long years. But, within a month you will of your own accord blame me for not having taken you away much earlier, in spite of our long acquaintance. You will, I bet. I am ready to cut off my ear on it.”

“Oh! that may be so, we shall think of it all tomorrow morning after the storm subsides. But now lie down and sleep comfortably.”

“But it is not as if we have time till the morning. The train leaves in another hour or two. You needn’t do much packing. It is enough to have clothes for the journey. The moment we reach Madras everything will be readily available.”

“I begin to wonder, Sir, how you ever entertained this thought. I was born and bred up in a small village. So, to me, this is the biggest of towns. How, then, should I know the drift of your apeech? I just felt that the things you talked about could never come true. Why then should I prevent your saying them? You were welcome to indulge your thoughts. But if at any stage I had realized that you really meant the things you said, I would have spoken the blunt truth, much earlier. Anyhow, our Narasingh is coming in a year.”

“It is on account of such antiquated notions that our country is going to ruin. People with ability and skill are content to rot in a corner. Say what you will, I am resolved to take you away even by force today. Don’t you worry about your property here! You can sell it all to me. You may fix your own price. But in no case can this journey be postponed. I am not at all impelled by thoughts of self.”

“Selfish or selfless, why should you have ever thought of improving my position in life? Do let me stay where I am. Our Narasingh is not a mild person. He broke a man’s arm for nothing. I am so afraid; you get along. I shall pray to God that He may enable you to produce not one picture, but a hundred. That’s all. As for the rest, pray leave me alone. But why should even you go on a journey in a storm like this? Let this night pass and you can travel by the afternoon train tomorrow.”

“Now, I know what you are afraid of. What could a man do to us, who is away in prison? Can anyone dare accost us, once we leave this place tomorrow morning? Do you suppose you will continue to be known by your old name? No. In tomorrow’s contract you will be named ‘Kiran’³ and, like a ray of light, your name will spread in all quarters. Wouldn’t it?”

She kept silent for a moment and said quietly: “The storm seems to have abated. If you insist on going you can go, or you can sleep here peacefully. You needn’t talk. Very likely, it was my fault not to have spoken to you quite frankly.”

Narayana was in no condition to listen to any explanation. And imagining that thoughts that could not possibly be uttered could somehow be conveyed by the hands, he drew near and held both her hands, importuning her, “Look here...then...you...I...”

There was a loud knock at the door.

Unaccountably Narayana’s legs began to totter. “Pray, do not open the door. Just say that nobody is here.”

Again a loud knock. And, this time, along with the resounding noise was heard a harsh, stony voice. Even as she heard that voice, Radha sprang to the door like a deer, exclaiming wildly, “Narasingh!”

“You said you were not coming back for another year” said Radha, even in the act of opening the door.

Narasingh was not overpleased with this question. “And so, you didn’t want that I should ever come back,” and he cast a glance towards Narayana. Narayana who was already shaking all over with fear, began to sweat, as he encountered that glance. Narasingh looked at Narayana with contempt, as if he were a poisonous insect, and thundered, “Who is this?” Narayana did not remember the sequence of events that happened after this thunder. He was conscius only of the lamp on the table being overturned and breaking against the floor, and of Radha’s words uttered in a plaintive tone. And then, the words that Narasingh uttered referring to him–he was not clear whether he said anything in reply–and a tremendous blow on his back to the accompaniment of the words, “Get out, you dog!” And he found himself thrown into the street.

By 10 next morning, when the police came to arrest Narasingh. Radha was lying unconscious. Two charges were proved against Narasingh, one for escaping from prison, and the other for stealing a sum of two thousand rupees from Mr. Seshaiah’s house: the accused had been caught red-handed with the money.

Narayana did not wake up from bed as usual. He was running a high temperature, and for another four days he was oblivious of the world. The day after he was completely cured of the fever and took diet, Mr. Seshaiah expostulated, “Why shouldn’t you stay a liltle longer, till you feel better.” But Narayana wouldn’t hear of it, and taking a loan of Rs. 50 he left the town without even casting a glance at Radha’s betel-shop.

After the lapse of another two days, the betel-shop did business as usual. The people who purchased things for one anna and half an anna had no connection whatsoever with Radha’s thoughts of the daytime, or her dreams in the night. A few days after, Radha got news that Narasingh had committed suicide in prison. Quite apart from any news of this kind, Radha was mentally prepared to follow Narayana wherever he led, even to drown herself in the ocean along with him, if only Narayana should come again and invite her. Such was her revulsion of feeling towards Narasingh. He had shown such distrust of her, that fatal night. But, how could Narayana know of this change in Radha! That distinguished individual who dreamt of world fame, was content to drag on his existence as an Assistant Manager of a Film Distributing Company. And she who was like ‘Urvasi’⁴ unto him, kept on the betel-shop without a day’s break and did business to the tune of about Rs. 2 per day.

[This is one of four Telugu short stories selected by the Andhra Patrika Office, Madras, for the recent All India Competition. We thank the Editor, Andhra Patrika, for permission to publish it. –ED. TRIVENI.]

¹ Right through, Narayana addresses her as ‘You,’ the honorific plural, and not the common ‘Thou’.

² Condiments used with betel-nuts.

³ A ray.

⁴ A celestial nymph.

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