Read He: (Shey) (Modern Classics (Penguin)) Online
Authors: Rabindranath Tagore
He: (Shey) (Modern Classics (Penguin)) (6 page)
Udho
. Well, did you find him?
Gobra
. Brother, after hearing what you said, I’ve ground my bones to powder this last month, hunting for him in woods and copses, without even a glimpse of his holy hair-tuft.
Ponchu
. Who are you looking for?
Gobra
. The Tree-Sage.
Ponchu
. The Tree-Sage! Who on earth is he?
Udho
. Why, haven’t you heard of him? Everyone in the world knows his name.
Ponchu
. Well, let’s hear what it’s all about.
Udho
. Any tree the Sage seats himself upon is instantly transformed into a wishing-tree. If you stand under it and stretch out your hand, you’ll get anything you ask for.
Ponchu
. Where did you get the news?
Udho
. Bheku Sardar of Dhokar village told me. The Tree-Sage was perched on a fig tree, swinging his legs. Bheku, who was carrying on his head a large pot of treacle to mix with tobacco, passed under the tree in all innocence. The Tree-Sage’s dangling leg knocked the pot over, and Bheku found his lips and eyelids sealed with treacle. The Baba is kindness itself; he said, ‘Bheku, tell me your heart’s desire, and it shall be granted.’
Bheku’s a fool. He answered, ‘Baba, give me a towel, so that I can wipe this treacle off my face.’
No sooner had he spoken than a towel dropped from the branches. When he was done mopping his face, he recovered his wits and looked up at the tree. But the Tree-Sage was gone. You can only make one wish. After that, even if you rend the heavens with your wails, he won’t respond.
Ponchu
. Dear, dear, not a shawl, not a stole, just a towel? But then, what sense could you expect Bheku to have?
Udho
. That’s as it may be. He’s getting along quite nicely with just the towel. He’s built himself a new house, with a fancy eight-sided roof, at the chariot square. Haven’t you seen it?
Ponchu
. How can that be? Is it magic?
Udho
. The other day, at the Hondalpara fair, Bheku spread out his towel and got ready for business. People flocked to him in thousands. Each time he uttered Baba’s name, there was a positive shower of coins, new potatoes and fresh radishes. The women would come to him and beg, ‘Brother Bheku, touch my son’s head with your blessed towel, he’s been ailing with the fever for three whole months.’ Bheku’s laid down his rule: five quarter-rupees, five whole betel nuts, five measures of rice and five jars of ghee as offerings in return for his services.
Ponchu
. They’re making their offerings all right, but are they getting any results?
Udho
. I should think so! Gajan Pal filled the towel with grain fifteen days in succession; then he knotted a rope to one corner and tied on a goat; its bleating brought people rushing to the spot. In eleven months’ time, Gajan had a job. He now prepares the palace guard’s siddhi
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and curls the ends of his moustache.
Ponchu
. You don’t say! Is this true?
Udho
. Of course it’s true! Why, Gajan’s my uncle’s son’s brother-in-law!
Ponchu
. Brother Udho, have you seen the towel?
Udho
. Certainly! Why, you couldn’t tell it apart from any other of those Hotuganj weaves, a yard and a half wide, the colour of champa flowers, with a red border.
Ponchu
. You don’t say so! How could it fall out of the tree?
Udho
. That’s the beauty of it! By the Tree-Sage’s grace!
Ponchu
. Come on, brother Udho, come on, let’s go look for him! But how are we to recognize him?
Udho
. That’s the problem. No one’s ever seen him. Even that idiot Bheku had his eyelids stuck down with treacle.
Ponchu
. What’s to do?
Udho
. Wherever I go, I say to everyone I see, ‘Do tell me if you’re the wondrous Tree-Sage!’ Hearing this, they charge at me in fury. One fellow even poured the swill from his hookah over my head.
Gobra
. Let him. We shan’t give up. We’ve got to find the Tree-Sage—never mind what it takes.
Ponchu
. Bheku says the Tree-Sage can only be seen on a tree. Down on the ground, there’s no way of knowing him.
Udho
. You can’t test people by making them climb trees, brother. I had a brainwave. My hog-plum tree was laden with fruit, and I said to everyone I saw, ‘Come, climb the tree and help yourself to all the fruit you want.’ The tree’s been stripped bare, the branches are wrecked, but I’ve yet to spot this elusive tree-climber.
Ponchu
. There’s no time to waste—let’s get going. With luck, we’re bound to get a glimpse of the sage. Why not call upon him, ‘Tree-Sage, O Tree-Sage, kind and compassionate Tree-Sage, if you’re lurking somewhere in these parul woods, do appear before us unhappy mortals.’
Gobra
. That’s enough! The Tree-Sage has had mercy upon us!
Ponchu
. Where, where?
Gobra
. Why, on that chalta tree over there!
Ponchu
. What? I don’t see anything!
Gobra
. Why, can’t you see it swinging?
Ponchu
. Swinging? But that’s a tail!
Udho
. Have you lost your wits, Gobra? That’s not the Tree-Sage; it’s a monkey! Don’t you see it pulling faces at us?
Gobra
. It’s a dark age, you see. The Tree-Sage has disguised himself as a monkey to trick us.
Ponchu
. We’re not deceived, your black face can’t deceive us! Make as many faces as you like, we’re not budging from this spot—we have sought the refuge of your holy tail.
Gobra
. Look! The sage is leaping away! He’s trying to give us the slip!
Ponchu
. That’s impossible! Can he ever outrun our devotion?
Gobra
. There he is, sitting on top of that bael tree!
Udho
. Go on, Ponchu, climb the tree!
Ponchu
. Why don’t you climb it?
Udho
. No, you climb it.
Ponchu
. We can’t ascend to your height, Baba. Have mercy on us and come down.
Udho
. Bless us, holy Tree-Sage. In our last hours, may we close our eyes with your holy tail round our necks.
‘Well then, nitwit, could you make her laugh?’
‘No. It’s not easy to make a person laugh who believes unquestioningly in everything. In fact, I’m feeling rather apprehensive: what if Pupu-didi sends me in search of the Tree-Sage?’
The look on Pupu-didi’s face caused me a twinge of misgiving as well. The idea of the Tree-Sage obviously appealed to her. Well, tomorrow I’ll conduct a little experiment, and find out if it’s possible to have a bit of fun over something without believing in it.
After a while, Pupu-didi came to me and asked, ‘Dadamashai, what would you have asked the Tree-Sage for?’
I answered, ‘I’d ask him for a magic pen that would make all Pupu-didi’s sums come out right.’
Pupu-didi clapped her hands and cried, ‘What fun that would be!’
This time, in her arithmetic exam, Pupu-didi has scored thirteen and a half out of a hundred.
17
karamcha
: a kind of fruit.
18
kaviraj
: ayurvedic doctor.
19
siddhi
: an intoxicating drink made from Indian hemp.
I DON’T KNOW IF I’M AWAKE OR DREAMING. I DON’T KNOW HOW LATE IT is. The room is dark; the lantern stands outside in the veranda. A small bat is wheeling about the room, greedy for insect prey, like an unappeased spirit.
He arrived and yelled out, ‘Dada, are you asleep?’ Without waiting for an answer, he burst into the room. He was shrouded from head to toe in a black rug.
‘What’s this you’re wearing?’ I demanded.
‘It’s my wedding suit,’ he answered.
‘Your wedding suit! Explain!’
‘I’m going to see my bride.’
I don’t know why, but my sleep-befuddled senses found nothing inappropriate in his attire. I exclaimed enthusiastically, ‘You’re admirably garbed. I’m pleased to note your originality. Your costume is nothing short of classical.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When Shiva married his ascetic bride,
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he was draped in elephant hide. You’re in bearskin. Close enough. The sage Narada
21
would have approved.’
‘Dada, you’re a sensible man. That’s why I came to you, even at this hour of the night.’
‘How late is it?’
‘No later than one-thirty, I think.’
‘Must you visit your bride right now?’
‘Right now.’
Hearing this, I cried, ‘Splendid!’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t imagine why the idea didn’t occur to me sooner. You view your office boss in the glare of day, and your wife in the darkness of night.’
‘Dada, your words are like nectar. Give us an example from the scriptures.’
‘Just think of Mahadeva
22
staring at Mahakali
23
in wonder, in the inky darkness of a moonless night.’
‘Oh, Dada, your words make my spine tingle. Sublime, as they say. In that case, we mustn’t waste time on words. Let’s be off.’
‘Who is the bride, and where is she?’
‘She’s the younger sister of my sister-in-law. She’s at my sisterin-law’s house.’
‘Does she resemble your sister-in-law in appearance?’
‘I’d say. It’s obvious they’re sisters.’
‘In that case, there is need of a dark night.’
‘My sister-in-law’s told me herself, “You mustn’t bring your electric torch.” ’
‘Where does your sister-in-law live?’
‘Twenty-seven miles from here—in the Unkundo quarter of Chouchakla village.’
‘Will there be a feast?’
‘Certainly.’
I was seized by I don’t know what giddy delight. My liver has caused me untold suffering for twelve years—the very mention of food makes me bilious.
I asked him, ‘What will the food be like?’
He answered excitedly, ‘Delicious, delicious, delicious! My sister-in-law makes a wonderful stew of mango jelly and boiled bitter-gourd, and a chutney of kul seeds ground in a paddy-press, mixed with tobacco-leaf juice—’
So saying, he began to dance in English fashion—
ti-ti-tom
tom, ti-ti-tom-tom, ti-ti-tom-tom!
I have never danced in my life, but I was suddenly possessed by a wild desire to join him. The two of us linked arms and began prancing—
ti-ti-tom-tom
…
I felt extraordinarily light-footed; if Jamuna-didi had seen me, she would have been impressed.
Finally, out of breath, I sat down heavily. ‘That sumptuous menu you recited, why, it’s nothing but vitamins. Nectar for the liver. You’re going to see your bride, but she must be tested first.’
‘There’s been a round of testing already.’
‘How was that?’
‘Well, I thought, before we’re eternally matched, let’s find out if we match at all. Tell me if that wasn’t wise.’
‘Wise it was. But what method did you employ?’
‘I thought we should see if we could match verses. I sent the assistant editor of the
Rangmashal
24
to represent me. He began: “Beauty, you’re as dark as night.”
‘“Give me a rhyme that matches this,” he challenged. “A perfect match, mind.”
‘The bride reeled off in a single breath:
You’re almost blind, so dim your sight.
‘The assistant editor found this intolerable. He retaliated:
Long-armed Brahma
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in the night
Made you at the cease of light.
‘What made him say “long-armed”?’
‘I’ve heard the girl is tall. She must be a good two inches taller than you. That’s the main reason for my ardour.’
‘You can’t be serious!’
‘Marry one wife, and get half an extra one thrown in.’
‘I admit I hadn’t looked at it that way.’
‘Anyway, having submitted to defeat at the hands of the assistant editor, she has pledged submission.’
‘A bond?’
‘Yes, she’s strung fish-scales on a thread to make a necklace, and put it round his neck, saying: “The scent of fame will follow you to the ends of the earth.”’
I leapt to my feet, exclaiming, ‘I am indeed fortunate! I see this will be a marriage of one exceptional person to another. Such an event is rare in the extreme! In that case, why hunt for an auspicious day and hour?’
‘But the girl has laid down a condition. Whoever defeats her receives her hand in marriage.’
‘What do you have to beat her in? Looks?’
‘No, in matching words. If I can match my words with hers, she’s prepared to resign herself to me.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be able to do that?’
‘Of course.’
‘Let’s hear your plan.’
‘I’ll say, “Describe my character in four lines. Your ode must please me. The rhyme must be a perfect match.” ’
‘If one could take out patents on methods of bride-choosing, you’d have been a sure candidate. A hymn to the groom, just to begin with! This was how the goddess Uma won in the end!’
