An Astrologers Day and Other Stories Part 4

Im the new gatekeeper, master, he had answered.

And he spoke again only on this day. Though so little was said, Singh felt electrified on both occasions by the words of his master. In Singhs eyes 26 GATEMANS GIFT the chief had acquired a sort of G.o.dhood, and it would be quite adequate if a G.o.d spoke to one only once or twice in a lifetime. In moments of contemplation Singhs mind dwelt on the words of his master, and on his personality.

His life moved on smoothly. The pension together with what his wife earned by was.h.i.+ng and sweeping in a couple of houses was quite sufficient for him. He ate his food, went out and met a few friends, slept, and spent some evenings sitting at a cigarette shop which his cousin owned. This tenor of life was disturbed on the first of every month when he donned his old khaki suit, walked to his old office, and salaamed the Accountant at the counter and received his pension.

Sometimes if it was closing he waited on the roadside for the General Manager to come down, and saluted him as he got into his car.

There was a lot of time all around him, an immense sea of leisure. In this state he made a new discovery about himself, that he could make fascinating models out of clay and wood dust. The discovery came suddenly, when one day a child in the neighbourhood brought to him its little doll for repair. He not only repaired it but made a new thing of it. This discovery pleased him so much that he very soon became absorbed in it. His backyard gave him a plentiful supply of pliant clay, and the carpenters shop next to his cousins cigarette shop sawdust. He purchased paint for a few annas. And lo ! he found his hours gliding. He sat there in the front part of his home, bent over his clay, and brought into existence a miniature universe ; all the colours of life were there, all the forms and creatures, but of the size of his middle finger ; whole villages and towns were there, GATEMANS GIFT 27 all the persons he had seen pa.s.sing before his office when he was sentry there that beggar woman coming at midday, and that cuc.u.mber vendor ; he had the eye of a cartoonist for human faces. Everything went down into clay. It was a wonderful miniature reflection of the world ; and he mounted them neatly on thin wooden slices, which enhanced their attractiveness.

He kept these in his cousins shop and they attracted huge crowds every day and sold very briskly.

More than the sales Singh felt an ecstasy when he saw admiring crowds cl.u.s.tering around his handiwork.

On his next pension day he carried to his office a street scene (which he ranked as his best), and handed it over the counter to the Accountant with the request : Give this to the Sahib, please !

All right,* said the Accountant with a smile. It created a sensation in the office and disturbed the routine of office working for nearly half an hour. On the next pension day he carried another model (children at play) and handed it over the counter.

Did Sahib like the last one ?

Yes, he liked it.

Please give this one to him and he pa.s.sed it over the counter. He made it a convention to carry on every pension day an offering for his master, and each time his greatest reward was the Accountants stock reply to his question : What did the Sahib say ?

He said it was very good.

At last he made his masterpiece. A model of his office frontage with himself at his post, a car at the entrance, and the chief getting down : this composite model was so realistic that while he sat looking at it, he seemed to be carried back to his office days. He 28 GATEMANS GIFT pa.s.sed it over the counter on his pension day and it created a very great sensation in the office.

Fellow, you have not left yourself out, either !

people cried and looked admiringly at Singh. A sudden fear seized Singh and he asked : The master wont be angry, I hope?

No, no, why should he be ?

said the Accountant, and Singh received his pension and went home.

A week later when he was sitting on the fyol kneading clay, the postman came and said : A registered letter for you For me !

Any letter would have upset Singh ; he had received less than three letters in his lifetime, and each time it was a torture for him till the contents were read out. Now a registered letter ! This was his first registered letter.

Only lawyers send registered letters, isnt it so ?

Usually, said the postman.

Please take it back. I dont want it, said Singh.

Shall I say Refused? asked the postman.

No, no, said Singh. Just take it back and say you have not found me That I cant do said the postman looking serious.

Singh seemed to have no option but to scrawl his signature and receive the packet. He sat gloomily gazing at the floor. His wife who had gone out and just returned saw him in this condition and asked : What is it? His voice choked as he replied : It has come. He flung at her the registered letter.

What is it? she asked. He said: How should I know. Perhaps our ruin He broke down.

His wife watched him for a moment, went in to attend to some domestic duty and returned, still found him c< a="" gatemans="" gift="" 29="" in="" the="" same="" condition,="" and="" asked="" :="" why="" not="" open="" it="" and="" see,="" ask="" someone="" to="" read="" it="">

He threw up his arms in horror :

Woman, you dont know what you are saying. It cannot be opened. They have perhaps written that my pension is stopped, and G.o.d knows what else the Sahib has said Why not go to the office and find out from them ?

Not I ! I will never show my face there again replied Singh.

I have lived without a single remark being made against me, all my life. Now !

He shuddered at the thought of it.

I knew I was getting into trouble when I made that office model After deeper reflection he said : Every time I took something there, people crowded round, stopped all work for nearly an hour That must also have reached the Sahibs ears.

He wandered about saying the same thing, with the letter in his pocket. He lost taste for food, wandered about unkempt, with his hair standing up like a halo an unaccustomed sight, his years in military service having given him a habitual tidiness. His wife lost all peace of mind and became miserable about him. He stood at the cross-roads, clutching the letter in his hand. He kept asking everyone he came across : Tell me, what there is in this ?

but he would not brook the suggestion to open it and see its contents.

So forthwith Singh found his way to the City X-ray Inst.i.tute at Race Course Road. As he entered the gate he observed dozens of cars parked along the drive, and a Gurkha watchman at the gate. Some people were sitting on sofas reading books and journals.

They turned and threw a brief look at him and resumed their studies. As Singh stood uncertainly at the doorway, an a.s.sistant came up and asked : SO GATEMANS GIFT What do you want ?

Singh gave a salute, held up the letter uncertainly and muttered : Can I know what is inside this ?

The a.s.sistant made the obvious suggestion. But Singh replied : They said you could tell me whats inside without opening it The a.s.sistant asked : Where do you come from ?

Singh explained his life, work and outlook and concluded :

Ive lived without remark all my life. I knew trouble was coming There were tears on his cheeks. The a.s.sistant looked at him curiously as scores of others had done before, smiled, and said : Go home and rest. You are not all right Go, go home.

Cant you say what is in this ?

Singh asked pathetically. The a.s.sistant took it in his hand, examined it and said :

Shall I open it ?

No, no, no, Singh cried and s.n.a.t.c.hed it back. There was a look of terror in his eyes. The a.s.sembly looked up from their pages and watched him with mild amus.e.m.e.nt in their eyes. The a.s.sistant kindly put his arms on his shoulder and led him out.

You get well first, and then come back. I tell you you are not all right.

Walking back home, he pondered over it.

Why are they all behaving like this, as if I were a mad man ?

When this word came to his mind, he stopped abruptly in the middle of the road, and cried : .Oh! Thats it, is that it? Mad! Mad! He shook his head gleefully as if the full truth had just dawned upon him. He now understood the looks that people threw at him. Oh ! oh !

he cried aloud.

He laughed. He felt a curious relief at this realization.

I have been mad and didnt know it He cast his mind back. Every little action of his for the last GATEMANS GIFT 31 so many days seemed mad ; particularly the dollmaking.

What sane man would make clay dolls after 25 years of respectable service in an office ?

He felt a tremendous freedom of limbs, and didnt feel it possible to walk at an ordinary pace. He wanted to fly.

He swung his arms up and down and ran on with a whoop. He ran through the Market Road. When people stood about and watched he cried : Hey, dont laugh at a mad man, for who knows, you will also be mad when you come to make clay dolls, and charged into their midst with a war cry. When he saw children coming out of a school, he felt it would be nice to amuse their young hearts by behaving like a tiger. So he fell on his hands and kneels and crawled up to them with a growl.

He went home in a terrifying condition. His wife who was grinding chilly in the backyard looked up and asked : What is this ?

His hair was covered with street dust ; his body was splashed with mud.

He could not answer because he choked with mirth as he said :

Fancy what has happened !

What is it?

Im mad, mad. He looked at his work-basket in a corner, scooped out the clay and made a helmet of it and put it on his head. Ranged on the floor was his latest handiwork. After his last visit to the office he had been engaged in making a model village.

It was a resplendent group ; a dun road, red tiles, green coconut trees swaying, and the colour of the sarees of the village women carrying water pots. He derived the inspiration for it from a memory of his own village days. It was the most enjoyable piece of work that he had so far undertaken. He lived in a kind of ecstasy while doing it.

I am going to keep

32 GATEMANS GIFT

this for myself. A memento of my fathers village, he declared.

I will show it at an exhibition, where they will give me a medal.9 He guarded it like a treasure : when it was wet he never allowed his wife to walk within ten yards of it :