A Fine Balance Part 42

Sailing Under One Flag

THE TRUCK GROWLED INTO THE CITY after midnight along the airport road. Sleeping shanty towns pullulated on both sides of the highway, ready to spread onto the asphalt artery. Only the threat of the many-wheeled juggernauts thundering up and down restrained the tattered lives behind the verges. Headlights picked out late-s.h.i.+ft workers, tired ghosts tracing a careful path between the traffic and the open sewer. after midnight along the airport road. Sleeping shanty towns pullulated on both sides of the highway, ready to spread onto the asphalt artery. Only the threat of the many-wheeled juggernauts thundering up and down restrained the tattered lives behind the verges. Headlights picked out late-s.h.i.+ft workers, tired ghosts tracing a careful path between the traffic and the open sewer.

"Police had orders to remove all jhopadpattis," said Ishvar. "Why are these still standing?"

Beggarmaster explained it was not so simple; everything depended on the long-term arrangements each slumlord had made with the police.

"That's not fair," said Om, his eyes trying to penetrate the rancid night. Splotches of pale moonlight revealed an endless stretch of patchwork shacks, the sordid quiltings of plastic and cardboard and paper and sackcloth, like scabs and blisters creeping in a dermatological nightmare across the rotting body of the metropolis. When the moon was blotted by clouds, the slum disappeared from sight. The stench continued to vouch for its presence.

After a few kilometres the truck entered the city's innards. Lampposts and neon fixtures washed the pavements in a sea of yellow watery light, where slumbered the shrunken, hollow-eyed statuary of the night, the Galateas and Gangabehns and Gokhales and Gopals, soon to be stirred to life by dawn's chaos, to haul and carry and lift and build, to strain their sinew for the city that was desperately seeking beautification.

"Look," said Om. "People are sleeping peacefully no police to bother them. Maybe the Emergency law has been cancelled."

"No, it hasn't," said Beggarmaster. "But it's become a game, like all other laws. Easy to play, once you know the rules."

The tailors asked to be let off near the chemist's. "Maybe the night-watchman will let us live in the entrance again."

Beggarmaster insisted, however, on first seeing their place of work. The truck travelled for a few more minutes and stopped outside Dina's building, where they indicated her flat.

"Okay," said Beggarmaster, jumping out. "Let's verify your jobs with your employer." He asked the driver to wait, and strode rapidly to the door.

"It's too late to wake Dinabai," pleaded Ishvar, wincing as he hurried on his bad ankle. "She's very quick-tempered. We'll bring you here tomorrow, I promise I swear upon my dead mother's name."

The beggars and injured workers in the truck s.h.i.+vered, yearning for the comforting arms of motion that had cradled them through the journey. The idling engine's rumbles endowed the night with a menacing maw. They began to cry.

Beggarmaster paused at the front door to study the nameplate, and made a note in his diary. Then he shot out his index finger and rang the doorbell.

"Hai Ram!" Ishvar clutched his head in despair. "How angry she will be, pulled out of bed this late!"

"It's late for me also," said Beggarmaster. "I missed my temple puja, but I'm not complaining, am I?" He pressed the bell again and again when there was no answer. The truck driver sounded his horn to hurry him up.

"Stop, please!" begged Om. "At this rate we'll surely lose our jobs!" Beggarmaster smiled patiently and continued his jottings. Writing in the dark posed no difficulty for him.

Inside, the doorbell agitated Dina as much as it did the tailors. She rushed to Maneck's room. "Wake up, quick!" He needed a few good shakes before he stirred. "Looks like an angel but snores like a buffalo! Wake up, come on! Are you listening? Someone's at the door!"

"Who?"

"I glanced through the peephole, but you know my eyes. All I can tell is, there are three fellows. I want you to look."

She had not yet switched on the light, hoping the uninvited visitors would go away. Cautioning him to walk softly, she led the way to the door and held the latch. He took a peek and turned excitedly.

"Open it, Aunty! It's Ishvar and Om, with someone!"

Outside they heard his voice and called, "Hahnji, it is us, Dinabai, very sorry to disturb you. Please forgive us, it won't take long..." Their voices trailed off in a timorous question mark.

She clicked the switch for the verandah light, still cautious, and opened the door a bit and then wide. "It is is you! Where have you been? What happened?" you! Where have you been? What happened?"

She made no attempt to disguise her relief. It surprised her: she relished the wholeness of it, her feelings rising straight to her tongue, without twisting in deception.

"Come inside, come!" she said. "My goodness, we worried about you all these weeks!"

Beggarmaster stood back as Ishvar limped over the threshold and forced a smile. From his ankle trailed Doctor sahab's filthy strips of cloth. Om followed close behind him, stepping on the bandage in his haste. Through the darkened doorway they crept shamefacedly into the verandah's revealing light.

"My goodness! Look at your condition!" said Dina, overcome by the haggard faces, dirty clothes, matted hair. Neither she nor Maneck spoke for a few moments. They stared. Then the questions rushed out, tripping one over the other, and the fragmented answers were equally frantic.

Still waiting at the door, Beggarmaster interrupted Ishvar and Om's confused explanations. "I just want to check these two tailors work for you?"

"Yes. Why?"

"That's fine. It's so nice to see everybody happy and reunited." The truck honked again, and he turned to leave.

"Wait," said Ishvar. "Where to make the weekly payment?"

"I'll come to collect it." He added that if they wanted to get in touch with him at any time, they should tell Worm, whose new beat would be outside the Vishram Vegetarian Hotel.

"What payment, what worm?" asked Dina when the door had shut. "And who is that man?"

The tailors digressed from the main story to explain, starting with Beggarmaster's arrival at the work camp, then backing up to Shankar's account, racing forward again, getting confused, confusing their listeners. The harrowing stretch of time in h.e.l.l was over; exhaustion was flooding the place vacated by fear. Ishvar fumbled with the bandage to wrap it properly round his ankle. His hands shook, and Om tucked in the loose end for him.

"It was the foreman's fault, he..."

"But that was before the Facilitator came..."

"Anyway, after my ankle was hurt, it was impossible..."

The thread of events eluded their grasp, Ishvar picking up a piece of it here, Om grabbing something there. Then they lost track of the narrative altogether. Ishvar's voice faded. He pressed his head with both hands, trying to squeeze out the words. Om stammered and started to cry.

"It was terrible, the way they treated us," he sobbed, clawing at his hair. "I thought my uncle and I were going to die there ..."

Maneck patted his back, saying they were safe now, and Dina insisted the best thing to do was to have a good rest, then talk in the morning. "You still have your bedding. Just spread it here on the verandah and go to sleep."

Now it was Ishvar's turn to break. He fell on his knees before her and touched her feet. "O Dinabai, how to thank you! Such kindness! We are very afraid of the outside...this Emergency, the police..."

His display embarra.s.sed her. She pulled her toes out of his reach. So urgent was his grasp, her left slipper stayed behind between his clutching fingers. He reached forward and gently restored it to her foot.

"Please get up at once," she said with a confused sternness. "Listen to me, I will say this one time only. Fall on your knees before no human being."

"Okayji," he rose obediently. "Forgive me, I should have known better. But what to do, Dinabai, I just can't think of how to thank you."

Still embarra.s.sed, she said there had been enough thanks for one night. Om unrolled the bedding after wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He asked if they could wash the dust from their hands and faces before sleeping.

"There's not much water, just what's in the bucket, so be frugal. If you are thirsty, take from the drinking pot in the kitchen." She locked the verandah door and went inside with Maneck.

"I'm so proud of you, Aunty," he whispered.

"Are you, now? Thank you, Grandpa."

Morning light did not bring answers to the questions Dina had wrestled with all night. She could not risk losing the tailors again. But how firm to stand, how much to bend? Where was the line between compa.s.sion and foolishness, kindness and weakness? And that was from her position. From theirs, it might be a line between mercy and cruelty, consideration and callousness. She could draw it on this side, but they might see it on that side.

The tailors awoke at seven, and packed up their bedding. "We slept so well," said Ishvar. "It was peaceful as paradise on your verandah."

They took a change of clothes from the trunk and prepared to leave for the railway bathroom. "We'll have tea at Vishram, then come back straight if it's all right."

"You mean, to start sewing?"

"Yes, for sure," said Om with a weak smile.

She turned to Ishvar. "What about your ankle?"

"Still hurts, but I can push the treadle with one foot. No need to delay."

She noticed their cracked and bruised feet. "Where are your chappals?"

"Stolen."

"Sometimes there is broken gla.s.s on the street. Drunks smas.h.i.+ng their bottles. You cannot gamble with your three remaining feet." She found an old pair of slippers which fit Om; Maneck gave Ishvar his tennis shoes.

"So comfortable," said Ishvar. "Thank you." Then he inquired timidly if they could borrow five rupees for tea and food.

"There is much more than five rupees coming to you from the last order," she said.

"Hahnji? Really?" They were overjoyed, having presumed that leaving the work incomplete meant forfeiting the right to any payment, and said as much.

"It may be the practice with some employers. I believe in honest pay for honest work." She added jokingly, "Maybe you can share it with Maneck, he deserves something."

"No, I only helped with a few b.u.t.tons. Dina Aunty did it all."

"Forget your college, yaar," said Om. "Become a partner with us."

"Right. And we'll open our own shop," said Maneck.

"Don't give bad advice," she scolded Om. "Everyone should be educated. I hope when you have children you will send them to school."

"Oh yes, he will," said Ishvar. "But first we must find him a wife."

After Maneck left reluctantly for college and Dina went to Au Revoir Exports for new cloth, the tailors idled away the time at the Vishram Vegetarian Hotel. The cas.h.i.+er-c.u.m-waiter welcomed back his regulars with delight. He finished attending to the customers at the front counter a tumbler of milk, six pakoras, a scoop of curds and soon joined them at the solitary table.

"You two have lost weight," he observed. "Where have you been so long?"

"Special government diet," said Ishvar, and told him about their misfortune.

"You fellows are amazing," the sweaty cook roared over the stoves. "Everything happens to you only. Each time you come here, you have a new adventure story to entertain us."

"It's not us, it's this city," said Om. "A story factory, that's what it is, a spinning mill."

"Call it what you will, if all our customers were like you, we would be able to produce a modern Mahabharat Mahabharat the Vishram edition." the Vishram edition."

"Please, bhai, no more adventures for us," said Ishvar. "Stories of suffering are no fun when we are the main characters."

The cas.h.i.+er-waiter brought them their tea and bun-muska, then went to serve more customers at the counter. The milk in the tea had formed a creamy skin. Om spooned it into his mouth, licking his lips. Ishvar offered him his own cup, and he skimmed that off too. They separated the halves of the bun-muska to check if both sides were b.u.t.tered. They were, lavishly.

During a pedestrian lull on the pavement, Shankar, who was already begging outside when they had arrived, rolled up by the door to greet them. Ishvar waved. "So, Shankar. Happy to be back and working hard, hahn?"

"Aray babu, what to do, Beggarmaster said it's the first day, relax, sleep. So I fell asleep here. Then coins began falling into my can. A terrible clanging sound right beside my head. Every time I close my eyes, they fly open in fright. The public just won't let me rest."

His routine this morning was simple. He rattled the coins and made a whining noise, or coughed hoa.r.s.ely at intervals till tears ran down his cheeks. For visual interest, sometimes he paddled the platform a few feet to the left, then back to the right. "You know, I specially asked Beggarmaster to move me here from the railway station," he confided. "Now we can meet more often."

"That's good," said Om, waving goodbye. "We'll see you again soon."

The flat was padlocked, and they waited by the door. "Hope that crazy rent-collector is not prowling around the building," said Om. It was an anxious ten minutes before the taxi drove up. They helped Dina unload the bolts of cloth and carry them to the back room.

"Not too much weight, careful with your ankle," she cautioned Ishvar. "By the way, there's going to be a strike in the mill. No more cloth till it's over."

"Hai Ram, trouble never ends." Suddenly, Ishvar's mind returned to what he had done the night before, and he apologized again for having fallen at her feet. "I should have known better."

"That's what you said last night. But why?" asked Dina.

"Because someone did it to me once. And it made me feel very bad."

"Who was it?"

"It's a very long story," said Ishvar, unwilling to tell her everything about their lives, but eager to share a little. "When my brother Om's father and I were apprenticed to a tailor, we gave him some help."

"What did you do?"

"Well," he hesitated. "Ashraf Chacha is Muslim, and it was the time of Hindu-Muslim riots. At independence, you know. There was trouble in the town, and we were able to help him."

"So he touched your feet, this Ashraf?"

"No." The memory embarra.s.sed Ishvar, even after twenty-eight years. "No, his wife did, Mumtaz Chachi did. And it made me feel very bad. As though I was taking advantage in some way of her misfortune."

"That's exactly how I felt last night. Let's forget about it now." She had a dozen more questions to ask, but respected his reluctance. If they wanted to, they would tell her more some day when they were ready.

For now, she added the pieces to what Maneck had already revealed about their life in the village. Like her quilt, the tailors' chronicle was gradually gathering shape.

Throughout that first day, Dina continued to struggle with words to construct the crucial question. How would she phrase it when the time came? What about: Sleep on the verandah till you find a place. No, it seemed like she was anxious to have them there. Start with a question: Do you have a place for tonight? But that sounded hypocritical, it was plain they didn't. A different question: Where will you sleep tonight? Yes, not bad. She tried it again. No, it expressed too much concern much too open. Last night had been so easy, the words had sprung of their own accord, simple and true.

She watched the tailors work all afternoon, their feet welded to the treadles, till Maneck came home and reminded them of the tea break. No, they said, not today, and she approved. "Don't make them waste money. They have lost enough in these last few weeks."

"But I was going to pay."

"Yours is not to waste either. What's wrong with my tea?" She put the water on for everyone and set out the cups, keeping the pink rose borders separate. Waiting for the kettle to start chattering, she mulled her word-puzzle. What if she started with: Was the verandah comfortable? No, it sounded hopelessly false.