Shining Hero (40 page)

‘Or should I hand the Hatibari over to Karna, because although he is not my father’s son, he is my older brother?’ wondered Arjuna. ‘And ask him to let me and my family join his?’

When Arjuna arrived in Calcutta without having encountered Karna on the way, he decided that, since all was lost he would not go to the maidan at all, but drive directly to Dumdum airport, abandon his car and take the next plane out of India. But then he thought, suppose he had passed Karna on the road and had not seen him. He decided, after all, to face the humiliation of defeat though as he drove towards the Calcutta maidan he knew Karna had beaten him.

At the maidan huge crowds had already gathered, much larger than usual and swelling all the time. Buses were arriving with so many clinging to the outside that the bus itself was invisible. Bullock
carts trundled through the traffic, squashed tight with villagers. Lorries arrived, crammed with peasants, motor scooters piled with complete families poured in, taxis were disgorging twenty passengers at a time. People were arriving in rickshaws, on foot and there was even a crowd of people swaying along on the back of an elephant. Kigalis, goondas and pavement dwellers, people who had never been seen at the maidan before were flocking in having heard their hero, Karna, was performing here today. There were also very large numbers of beggars creeping, hobbling, or pulling themselves along on little wheeled platforms, coming to see Karna who had always helped them when he could.

Karna woke and did not know how much time had passed. He did not know where he was or what had happened at first. It took him some time to understand that he was hanging head down on the bonnet of his car with the rest of his body inside it. Karna tried to get up but something had happened to his body so that it would not move and he could not feel his legs.

Almost everyone from the village of Hatipur was at the maidan. The few who were too poor or sick or old to make the train journey to Calcutta were left in the village feeling sad and bitter at being deprived of the sight of their own young zamindar, in his hour of glory. There was some confusion as to who exactly would be playing the part of Arjuna and who of Karna. The street people of Calcutta had definitely heard though, that Karna was to play Arjuna. Fights and brawls had broken out all over the town in the past days, disputes concerning the playing of Arjuna, but the people of Hatipur had no doubt at all that their hero was the man.

Everyone had heard of the wonderful excitement of the last film battle that had taken place here and since news had gone round town and countryside that the Mahabharata was to be made here this day, there were a hundred times as many people present, anticipating
excitement and profit. The air was a dazzle of multicoloured paper kites and gas balloons. There were people selling every kind of food and drink from hot samosas to chilled sugar-cane juice. There were fortune-telling parrots and dancing monkeys. There were puppeteers, contortionists and snake charmers. The bear was there, rattling his claws, snarling cheerfully and vaguely remembering some previous triumphant moment when he had rushed around growling till horses reared and riders fell. He was long on nose and claw and short on sense and memory and would have rushed in once again if Dilip’s goondas had not described to his owner all the painful ways they knew of murdering bears. The man now held his animal tightly on a new steel chain clipped to its nose ring.

Piara Singh, the pony man, was there with his jockey wife and daughter, as well as his whole stable of ponies including the two racehorses. If one of the film ponies was put out of action, Piara Singh was ready with a replacement, though his racehorses were highly strung and had never pulled a cart before. And if a rider fell, then the women of his family were prepared to don Hindu warrior’s clothes, stick on an artificial beard, take up a bow and arrow and drive a chariot. Film producers were renowned for being generous in a crisis and Piara expected to make a good profit today. He was also doing well with the pony rides, shouting, as he ran the children up and down, ‘It was I who taught the heroes, Arjuna and Karna, how to ride.’ And when the jogged and breathless children were returned to their parents, he charged double his usual rate which was paid without argument. Later the parents would tell their friends, ‘My child was taught to ride by the man who taught the heroes of the Mahabharata.’

There was something wet under Karna’s cheek, and at first he thought it must be river water that had splashed up there or that his tears were still falling. But then he saw that the liquid pooling over the red paint-work of his car was red blood. He tried to put his hand up to see where it was coming from, but his arm would not obey him.

It was as though the biggest fair had come to town and everybody was attending it. In a cordoned-off area stood ornate golden chariots, shaped like wings and shaded over with tasselled silken parasols. The teams of ponies harnessed in gilt and scarlet, tingling with bells and glittering ornaments, were tethered waiting, while their syces administered a touch-up to the grooming, wiped the flies from their eyes and painted on another layer of tarry gloss to their hooves.

Bearded kings, long-haired princes and foot soldiers dressed in hessian sat in the shade wearing ornate golden armour and helmets, and drinking Thumbs Up. The elephant that had been hired for the day had been dressed up in embroidered fringed satin and wore jewels on her head. Her turbaned mahout sat cross-legged on her neck smoking a beedi and behind him, standing in the howdah, the warriors waited, gleaming in silver foil and holding bows and arrows.

Carpenters were carrying out last-minute repairs to cracked chariots, mechanics were working to get wheels turning, bearers ran among the actors with flasks of water and paper tissues. Around and among all these scurried make-up people with large paintbrushes and tubs of powder, hairdressers reaching on tip-toe to give a wind-swept actor yet another brush-up and darjees quickly mending some rip in a robe or replacing jewels on a headdress. The cameramen waited on bamboo scaffolds for their order to start shooting. The filming could not begin because the leading actor had not yet arrived.

Dilip Baswani, though convinced that the battle scene of the Amul Butter advert had worked so well because of the location, knew about the unruliness of the Calcutta crowds so had had a fence of bamboo and rope erected in the early morning and an army of goondas defending it. His goondas also passed the word around that those who flew kites during the filming would be beaten up instead of paid. Dilip had discovered, in his many years of filmmaking, that the stick worked much better than the carrot in this kind of situation.

Because Karna’s car was nose down in the water the top of his head was in the water. He could feel the river running loudly past his ears and through its sound he started hearing Dilip Baswani’s theme tune of the Mahabharata. He realised he must be further down Laika’s nose than he had first thought, perhaps by her right nostril which meant he was very near the maidan and had probably won the race if he could only get out of his car. He was starting to feel cold and he felt a terrible pain in his throat.

DR Uncle was sitting in his car waiting for the arrival of his nephew, as news of the hero’s arrival had been preceding him ever since he reached the outskirts of the town. And when Arjuna’s car appeared, DR Uncle’s eyes filled with tears as he said, arms outstretched for embrace, ‘My dear boy, you cannot imagine how proud we all are of you.’

Karna tried to raise his head out of the water but his neck would not work either. Or his legs. Or any part of him expect his mouth and eyes. Sometimes the current sloshed against his lips. He wondered if Durga would come again and put out her hand for him to lie on. He wondered if she would rescue him once more.

Shivarani rushed at Arjuna. ‘They have been phoning me all night.’

‘Who phoned?’ he asked. He felt dazed, exhausted and was looking round for Karna.

‘Dilip Baswani rang me ten times yesterday, saying that they were shooting the Mahabharata battle scene early because the weather was right and that you must come here the moment you arrive.’

Arjuna was hardly hearing her as he got out.

‘What a damn-fool idea driving here from Bombay when you could so easily have come in the plane like the rest of them.’
Shivarani raged on, then staring with horror at the car she cried, ‘And are you telling me you have come all the way in that? It was even breaking down when Karna had it, so what could you have been thinking of to use it for such a journey? You might have been killed, making such a journey in that old car.’

By this time Arjuna had been recognised and people were gathering round, struggling to catch a glimpse of the hero.

Arjuna blinked and felt confused. ‘How did you know I was coming? How did you know I was here?’

‘How did I know?’ said Shivarani. ‘Everyone in Calcutta knows. Do you think that, now you have become a great film star, you can continue to rush round the countryside like an anonymous person? See how these people are all running over from every side to take a look at you.’

Over the river sounds and the noises coming from the maidan, Karna heard cars passing. A little flock of goats went pattering past. Occasionally he got the feeling that people were looking down into the river, seeing his car, wondering if something should be done about it. Sometimes he heard people’s voices and tried to call out, but no sound except for a bloody bubbling would come from his throat.

‘But what about Karna?’ gasped Arjuna. ‘Where is he?’

‘Hurry,’ Shivarani said as she struggled with the jostling craning people who were reaching out to pinch at Arjuna’s clothes so that they could say later, ‘I touched the hero, Arjuna, with these very hands.’

‘Dilip Baswani is going crazy, wondering where you have got to,’ Shivarani yelled through the din. ‘All the other actors are there already.’

When no one came and Durga did not put out her hand a second time, Karna realised that after all the goddess had abandoned him. She was no longer Mother Durga but had taken on the form of Kali and
was dancing, her tongue hanging out and blood-filled skulls hanging round her neck.

Parvathi, followed by her toddlers, was now emerging from Shivarani’s car, letting out shrieks of delight, yelling, ‘make way, make way,’ and shunting the children before her. She thrust herself through the tightening crowd and threw herself at Arjuna’s feet. Clasping his ankles she ordered the children, ‘Do namaskar, children, and when you are grown-up you will be able to tell everyone that you touched the feet of the great hero, Arjuna.’

‘What’s all this?’ demanded Arjuna, trying to pull his toes away in embarrassment.

Parvathi struggled to her feet and began shouting to her husband who was still sitting in the driving seat of Shivarani’s car and looking awkward. ‘Come on, Basu. Why are you still sitting there? Come and honour our great holy hero.’

Basu emerged, looking nervously from scowling Shivarani to joyful Parvathi, unsure which of these two powerful women he ought to be pleasing. He could not understand why Shivarani, who used to be so strict, seemed to allow Parvathi to get away with absolutely anything these days and had not argued at all when Parvathi insisted on coming to see the filming of the Mahabharata and bringing her children. His son had puked all over the front seat on the way here, his daughter had dropped her fizzy drink and Memsahib, although looking cross, had said nothing. She made no protest as Basu joined his wife and bowed to the new hero.

‘Go on, hurry and see Dilip. He does not even know you are here,’ Shivarani ordered Arjuna.

A bus churned heavily past, creaking over the rutted road and belching out petrol fumes. A mongoose came daintily down to drink and leapt back in panic when it saw Karna.

Dilip Baswani burst out with smiles of relief at the sight of Arjuna. ‘My dear fellow, what a fright you gave us. I was even starting to worry that you had decided not to act in my film after all. Come along now, Poopay is ready and you know what she is like. She has three other films to perform in and if we keep her waiting any longer she will be off with the wind.’

‘And Karna? Where is Karna?’ Arjuna felt afraid to even mouth the name in case his brother manifested himself.

‘Karna? Don’t worry about Karna for the moment,’ said Dilip. ‘You and he will have to come here tomorrow. That’s the scene where he gets his chariot wheel stuck in the mud and you cut his head off. It can’t be done in all this clamour, though. I’ll have to have it shot separately. Over there is your chariot. Get your costume on, get in, and get started.’

Arjuna swiftly pulled on the plumed silver helmet and wide-shouldered armour.

‘There, now you look exactly like the real thing,’ cried Dilip in delight, leaning back to get the best possible look of his new hero in full costume.

Arjuna cautiously eyed the ornate but unsteady-looking cart to which was harnessed a set of prancing and decoratively harnessed ponies. He asked, ‘Am I supposed to drive that thing?’ Somehow these acts of daring lost their spice when it was not a competition with Karna.

‘Don’t be silly,’ cried Dilip. ‘Haven’t you read your Mahabharata? Your charioteer is the Lord Krishna. Him.’ Dilip pointed to an actor in golden armour, his face and hands painted blue. ‘This man is a syce who is taking the part for today because the real actor is afraid of horses. But I hope this fellow knows how to drive a cart. Do you?’ he demanded of the man.

‘Yes,’ said the costumed syce, getting into the chariot, while another syce held the head of the leading pony.