Summer Stuff

2009-06-21T05:42:00.000-07:00

The Bhajahari Film Corporation

Walking through Bowbazaar, Tenida came to a dead halt in front of Bhim Nag’s sweet-shop. He showed no sign of budging. I said, “What’ve you stopped for in the middle of the street? Get a move on.”

“Move on? Move on? Is it absolutely necessary to move on?” Tenida cast a pleading look at me: “Pela, is that heart of yours carved from solid stone? Just look, row upon row of sandesh, platters of golden rajbhog calling out to us, rosogullas swimming in syrup, pantuas… Pela, my friend…”

I shook my head and retorted, “You’re not fooling me. At present, I have exactly three rupees in my pocket, and I have to buy my uncle his makaradhwaj. We’re getting late, so come on now --”

Tenida slurped down some drool, and suggested, “What if you loaned me a couple of rupees now – and I’d get Uncle’s makaradhwaj in the evening – ”

But Pelaram Banerjee wasn’t one to fall for Tenida’s propositions. The superman who manages to get Tenida to return a loan has yet to grace the world. I put my hand firmly over my pocket and said, “I’ve no sympathy for the way your stomach starts growling the moment you catch sight of a food-shop. And besides, if I don’t get Uncle’s makaradhwaj to him by the end of the morning, who’s going to cobble my mangled ear together again? You?”

Tenida heaved a sigh like the rumble of a railway engine.

“You’ve cast a Brahmin into affliction, Pela, and that too in the morning – you’ll go to hell when you die.”

“I’ll risk it. I know Uncle’s ear-twisting – beats hell any day. And you’re some Brahmin! Haven’t I seen you chewing on whole chicken’s legs in Dilkhosh Restaurant?”

“Ah, the world’s but tempting illusion – ” Tenida turned his eyes to feast on Bhim Nag’s one last time. “No, one can’t be happy till one’s rich.”

That was the subject of our evening discussion on the Chatterjees’ terrace. Kyabla had gone to the zoo with his uncle; Habul Sen had gone to have his tooth out. So it was just the two of us. A despondent Tenida had consumed two bags of fritters. Of course, I had stood treat – and my share had not extended beyond half a potato chop.

Tenida wiped his mouth on the sleeve of my kurta. Then he said, “You see Pela, there’s really no getting along any more unless one’s rich.”

‘Excellent – so why don’t you get rich?” I encouraged him.

“So why don’t you get rich – as if it’s very easy! Who’ll put up the money? You?” –Tenida made a face. I shook my head to convey that I would not.

“Well then?”

“Buy a lottery ticket,” I advised.

“Damn your lottery tickets! I’ve bought them till I’m distracted – and I’ve yet to see a dud paisa. I even got caught trying to pinch the shopping money to pay for those tickets – and got a couple of thumping slaps from Borda. It won’t do – get it? We need a business.”

“Business!”

“Business indeed.” Tenida’s face grew grave with the weight of his plan. “You know – what do you call it – the Hitopadesh says, ‘One must engage in trade – it means the blessing of Lakshmi.’ It’s is the only road left open to us, d’you understand?”

“I do. But you need money for that too!”

“We’ll start a trade into which we won’t need to put a paisa. It’ll all come from foreign wealth – in other words, we’ll get the stuff out of someone else’s pocket.”

“What kind of business is that?” I asked, bemused.

“Hmm, let’s hear you guess?” Tenida screwed up his eyes and began to smile a little smile: “Can’t think of it, can you? It’s not the work of hollow skulls like yours. You need a real head for it, see?”

Tenida proudly drummed twice on the crown of his own pate.

“Why’re you teasing me like this? Come on, spill the beans,” I pleaded humbly.

Tenida cast a careful look around him, then, bringing his mouth close to my ear, hissed, “A film company!”

“What?” I leapt up.

“Stop braying like a donkey!” Tenida unleashed a bull’s bellow. “I’ve planned the whole thing to perfection. You’ll write the stories; I’ll direct them. You’ll see, it’ll be a sensation!

“What do you know about films?” I enquired.

“Who knows anything?” Tenida’s grimace conveyed supreme contempt: “Everyone’s the same. Everyone’s got cow-dung in his head. Three fights, eight songs, and a few houses – and you’ve got a film. Why, I’ve been to Tollygunge to watch a shooting.”

“But still – ”

“Hang it, you’re a dolt – ” said Tenida, annoyed. “D’you think we’re really going to film anything? Who’s going to all that trouble?”

“What, then?”

“We’ll sell shares in it. If we can dispose of a good few – d’you get it?” Tenida winked: “Dwarik’s, Bhim Nag’s, Dilkhosh, K.C. Das – ”

At this, the water flooded my mouth. Swallowing it down, I interrupted, “Enough, enough, you needn’t go on.”

The next day, the entire neighbourhood was awash with posters.

‘The Bhajahari Film Corporation’

‘It’s coming! It’s coming!’

‘The Thrilling Saga:’

“The Horror!”

‘Direction: Bhajahari Mukhopadhyay (Tenida)’

‘Story: Pelaram Bandyopadhyay’

Below this, in smaller lettering:

“The public are invited to buy shares. Each share is available at the modest sum of eight annas. Three shares are offered at just one rupee.”

Below this, a drawing of a hand, and the words:

“Special attraction: Anyone who purchases a share wins a chance to act in the film. You are advised not to neglect this golden opportunity. The number of shares is limited – buy immediately, or regret later. Enquire at – No. 18, Pataldanga Street, Calcutta.”

How quickly tangible the results of an advertisement could be – of this we received clear evidence in a few hours’ time. In fact, the proof almost cast our lives into peril. We had never hoped the thing would catch on so quickly. Tenida’s huge house stood quite empty at the time; all the family had gone off to Deoghar for a change of air. Tenida, whose Matric. Exam was approaching, had remained alone at home, with a servant, Bishtu. So the two of us were sitting comfortably in his room on the second floor, listening to the radio and consuming mutton ghugni. Suddenly, Bishtu arrived, every inch the messenger carrying news of defeat in battle.

Bishtu’s home is in Chittagong. His nasal babbling isn’t easy to understand; still, what we did make of his message filled us with alarm. Tenida choked horribly on his mutton ghugni.

Bishtu informed us, “The ’ounse ’ans ’een ’ancked by onbbers.” ( The house has been attacked by robbers.)

What was the scamp saying! Was he dotty or dyspeptic? Was he a coon or a codfish? Robbers attacking a house in the heart of Calcutta, in the middle of the afternoon!

Bishtu continued, pale-faced, “um ownstairs an ee or younrelves’ (Come downstairs and see for yourselves.)

I was considering a retreat to safety under the bed, but Tenida let out a tiger’s roar that unseated my invalid’s spleen.

“Coward! Come along – march! I’ll flatten the villain’s nose for him with one good punch!” Now, as for me: pathetic Pelaram Banerjee, holding body and soul together with a little light catfish-curry, I don’t happen to enjoy these rough-and-tumbles with robbers. There we were – quite happy – what need of all this fuss? I tried to escape – “Um – you see – I’m beginning to get such a stomach-ache –”

“Stomach-ache!” bellowed Tenida. “Why, you seemed to have forgotten all about it while you were polishing off that mutton ghugni! Now come along Pela, or you’ll be the first one I – ”

Tenida left his sentence unfinished, but his meaning was clear.

“Praise to Mother Durga –” I followed him tremblingly.

But no, it wasn’t robbers. A queue stretched from Pataldanga to College Street!

Was anyone missing? Schoolboys, the cigarette-seller from the street corner, the maid from next door, an Oriya cook, even a pair of awe-inspiring giants of kabuliwallahs, closely resembling the messengers of Yama.

As soon as we appeared before them, they rent the sky with their yells.

“I want to buy some shares!”

“Here you are, sir, eight annas!”

The maid declared, “Look sons, I’ve brought a whole rupee. Give us three shares – and a chance to play the heroine –”

The accents of the Oriya cook from the boarding-house next door were heard: “I’ve brought eight annas too –”

Over the rest of the din came the two Kabuliwallahs’ rough tones: “O Babu, we’ve brought a rupee each, we want a chance too –”

And there rose a chorus of screams: “A chance! A chance!” It made my head spin – clapping my hands over my ears, I sank down.

Tenida the Incredible remained standing. Standing calm and quiet – Buddha-like. As if that wasn’t enough, I saw a flash of teeth stretching from ear to ear – he smiled.

Then he declared, “Yes, yes, you’ll have your chances – ” stretching his hand out in a reassuring gesture – “everyone will have his chance. Now let’s see you precious lot fork out your cash. I’m warning you, don’t try and palm off any dud half-rupees on us – or else – ”

“Jai Hind – Jai Hind –”

When the crowd had dispersed, Tenida flung both hands above his head and broke into a jig. Then he tried to sit down heavily, and landed flat on his back on the floor, complete with his chair.

I exclaimed in protest.

But Tenida was already on his feet. Then he landed such a monstrous slap on my back that I yelled.

“O Pela, today’s a great day, no day for tears! The fort’s won! Bhim Nag, Dwarik Ghosh, Chacha’s Hotel, Dilkhosh – ahh!”

Forgetting my agony, I echoed, “Ahh!”

“Come on, let’s count it”: that ear-to-ear grin again.

Our earnings weren’t to be sniffed at – twenty-six rupees and twelve annas.

“Twelve annas?” Tenida frowned. “How could it come to twelve annas? If the rates were eight annas and a rupee – uh-huh – Some rascal must have cheated us out of four annas in all that confusion – what do you think?”

I nodded to indicate that I shared his opinion.

“None but rogues in this world. Why can’t you find a single honest man? Cheating a Brahmin out of four whole annas – right in the morning –” Tenida sighed.

“Never mind, what we’ve got isn’t bad. Dilkhosh, Bhim Nag, Dwarik Ghosh –”

I continued the chant: “Chacha’s Hotel, K. C. Das –”

“Etcetera, etcetera,” concluded Tenida. “But look here, Pela, let me tell you this right now. The plan was mine from start to finish. Therefore, my son, the benefits will be simply divided: fourteen annas to two annas.”

“How can that be?” I protested.

Tenida landed a ferocious rap on the table, “Yes, that’s how it is. And if it isn’t, how will it be if I throw you straight out of the first-floor window?”

I scratched my ear and agreed that it wouldn’t be good.

“Then come along – let’s celebrate Bhajahari Film Corporation’s first project with some Mughlai parathas and a few plates of chicken curry.”

Tenida let out a room-splitting roar of diabolical laughter. The noise brought Bishtu scurrying out. He stood gaping for a while, then commented, “Chhontobabu must ’anve gone noff ’is ’ead.”

A few days went happily by. Rajbhog from Darik’s and cutlets from Chacha’s had fortified us to good purpose. As we demolished K.C. Das’s rosomalais, we wondered if we could hatch another plan, when suddenly –

It was like a clap of thunder on our threshold. There stood those two giant Kabuliwallahs, blood-lust bubbling from the innards of those massive robes, those heavy beards.

As soon as we turned towards them, they thumped their cudgels. “O Babu, where’s our money, eh? – and what about our Chance?”

“What?” The rosomalai slipped from Tenida’s hand into his breast-pocket. “Pela, we’re done for!”

“Of course we are!” I retorted. “But I have the advantage this time. Fourteen annas’ share of pounding for you –that’s to say they’ll beat you to a pulp. On the other hand, I might just survive my two annas’ worth.”

The Kabuliwallahs called again, “O Bhojohori Babu – come on out –”

Going out would mean a direct passage to the Nimtala cremation grounds. Tenida jumped up, then clamped me under his arm and dragged me through a side-door, in a different direction.

“Well then, you sons of honest men, where’s my money and my Chance?” There stood the maid, gripping the blade she used to scale fish.

“What about my Chance?” demanded the Oriya cook, dangerously swinging a rice-ladle.

“Think you’ll get away with your swindle, sir? We’re Shyambazar boys!” a group of youths rolled up their sleeves and charged at us.

For a moment, the world spun dizzily before my eyes. Then I heard a shout of “Do or die!” And, hoisting me onto his shoulder, Tenida leapt forward.

I was only dimly conscious of what followed. I could make out a ghastly din – “Thief! – Thief! – He’s getting away!” – and through it all, a sensation of flight, as if I was whooshing along on the Punjab Mail.

Hitting the ground with a thud, I broke out into cries. I opened my eyes to find myself at Howrah Station. Tenida was panting exactly like a railway engine.

“Huh,” he said, “As if those louts could catch me! I’m champion of the five-hundred metre race. Now off you go, Pela. I’ve still got twelve rupees and four annas in my pocket, so quick, get two tickets for Deoghar. The Delhi Express is about to leave.”

Dadhichi, the Bugs and Biswakarma

At the moment, I’m meditating in a deep forest. With admirable concentration, I might add. Only, there happen to be several insects flying about and constantly landing on my face, and I can’t tell you how ghastly it feels. If one crawls up my nose and makes it tickle, another explores what mysteries might be concealed in the deep recesses of my inner ear. I’ve already swallowed a fair dozen, in an ill-judged gulp. They didn’t taste too bad, either – rather like fennel seeds, in fact – but what a ghoulish stink! I’d have been sick – only you can’t be sick when you’re meditating. Nor can I drive them away – I’m in a trance, you see. No help for it but to remain absolutely motionless.

I had known from the very beginning that it would end up like this. In fact, I had said as much to Habul – only our Indra, newly ascended to the divine state, was planning his visit to Lord Shiva’s abode on Mount Kailash and wouldn’t deign to listen. He said, “Get on with it! That’s enough of your whining! A forest’s got to have insects, and they can’t help landing on your face occasionally! You’ll have to suffer in silence – how else can you be a great sage?”

True. But now I know why great sages have tempers as serene as the average hornet’s nest and why the slightest provocation draws such a hail of curses. For heaven’s sake, there are limits to every man’s patience! Even Shantanu, that gentle soul, would turn into Durbasa if he had to suffer the concentrated fury of those bugs. And I refuse to entertain any doubts on that score.

A right nuisance this was turning out to be! Truth be told, I’m only Pelaram Banerjee, preyed upon by malaria and compelled to dose myself with the juice of basak leaves. What need for me to plunge my reluctant foot into this quagmire of sages and forests? I live tucked away in a Potoldanga lane, on a forced diet of catfish curry and atop chaal – a handful of chanachur I popped into my mouth gave me such a stomach-upset that I nearly popped it in earnest. And yet, meek as a cow myself, I had fallen into the company of Tenida – Tenida of the 42-inch chest, standing six feet tall.

And what it means to fall into Tenida’s clutches – well, if you haven’t, you’ll never even be able to imagine it. He’s grown up beating the life out of every man alive, from the tommies on the Maidan to scoundrelly shop-keepers in the smuggled-goods market. If he raises his hand, you fear a cuff; if he bares his teeth, you’re sure he’ll bite. And it was in the thrall of this almighty being that I now sat in silent agony as a meditating sage.

What on earth could I do? I seemed to be sitting there for an eternity. I could see that good-for-nothing Habul’s nose sticking through a little hole in my forest glade. Almost maddened by insect-bites, I was wondering if I should plant a swift punch on the protruding feature, when all of a sudden my disciple Dadhimukh made his entrance.

Dadhimukh: O Master, hear my submission.

Myself: Speak, son, as I listen.

Dadhimukh: Yesternight, near dawn, I dreamed

A wondrous dream. O Sage, it seemed

I saw my Lord, in form divine

On a flaming chariot ride

Through space, along the Milky Way;

I watched, and in my terror cried –

Yuck! Ugh! Pthoo!

What else but those infernal insects? Choking and spluttering, Dadhimukh spat the lot he had swallowed all over me – the cheek of that callow urchin! I flamed with rage from head to toe – my pigtail stood erect in sacred fury. But to curse him would ruin all. I contented myself with thinking, “Wait, my son – I’ll deal with you by and by.”

Smiling, I spoke.

“Tis true, a mystery does in this inhere

Thy feeble wit

Can’t fathom it

Come close; I’ll whisper it in thy young ear.”

Dadhimukh stared at me open-mouthed. The lines he had hoped to hear seemed to have vanished – he didn’t know what to do. He cast a helpless look around.

I began again.

“Why standst thou there?

Come close, and near my lips place thou thy ear.

The wondrous words I cannot else tell thee

Come close, dear boy; my son, come close to me.”

Dadhimukh’s only young yet – and inexperienced to boot. Hesitantly, he laid his ear close to my lips and I made immediate reply. Opening my mouth wide, I trapped an entire swarm of bugs. Then, with neatness and dispatch, I spat them noisily back over Dadhimukh’s cheeks, nose, mouth and forehead. A loving guru’s blessing!

Dadhimukh shrieked. The drop-scene was abruptly lowered. Hitting me on the nose, the bamboo pole descended sharply. Leaving the scene unfinished, the second act came to an untimely end.

Habul, dressed as Indra, and Tenida, dressed as Viswakarma, rushed onto the stage. “What’s the meaning of this?” thundered Tenida. “What was all that about?”

“All what?” I countered with a brave attempt at defiance.

Tenida gnashed his teeth. “Going to ruin the play, are you, scamp that you are? What made you spit into Kabla’s face like that? A proper hash you made of the scene – just hear the audience laughing!”

“Kabla spat at me first,” I retorted.

“Hmmm” said Tenida. “I should knock your two heads together like a pair of young coconuts. Well, what’s done is done. Now you’ll have to manage the coming scenes properly, understand? Any more funny business and I’ll punch your nose into a nosegay.”

“You can talk,” said I. “But who’s going to sit on stage eating bugs, tell me?”

“You will,” roared Tenida. “By God you will. What’s theatre without swallowing a few bugs? One has to eat flies, mosquitoes –”

“Rats, bats…” Habul joined in.

“And mats too,” finished Tenida. “In fact, it wouldn’t be extraordinary if you ate a mattress. Or a bedstead. There, see – that’s what you call theatre.”

“What, do you need to eat all those things to act?” I protested feebly.

“Oh yes you do. What d’you know of these things? Never heard of Danibabu, have you, Danibabu? When he acted the part of Sita, he swallowed a monument before every performance, d’you know that? A monument!

“Yes, yes, a monument! Now get lost, and not another squawk out of you! The curtain’s just going up – scoot – go learn your lines!”

Scowling like a scarecrow in an eggplant-patch, I went and sat on one side of the stage. Monuments indeed! No other place for tall tales – who in all mankind eats monuments? But to protest would fetch me a cuff; I could only swallow his gigantic fib in silence.

Grace the stage and eat bugs. Why, my dear chaps, I suppose my catfish-curry would have stuck in my throat if I hadn’t got myself embroiled in your play. I, Palaram Banerjee, of weak stomach and invalid spleen, what need had I to play Sage Dadhichi with a faceful of prickly beard? I had fallen among villains, and a pretty fix they had landed me in.

There was I – sitting comfortably on the Chatterjees’ terrace – watching an enthusiastic rehearsal. But no one could be found to play the part of Dadhichi. Tenida, casting his saucer-like eyes about, suddenly pounced on me and seized my shoulder: “Ah, got him!”

“Oi, oi!” I protested.

“No oi-oi’s from you,” growled Tenida. “Say ‘aye aye’ instead. You look like an ascetic too – sort of harmless and goat-like. We’ll stick on a nice goat’s beard – see if it doesn’t suit you! You’ll look exactly like that old gaffer at the Rays’.”

And this was the present result.

I didn’t appear in the third act. Sitting in gloomy silence by the stage, I swatted mosquitoes for dear life. No – this was insufferable. Come my entrance, and I’d have to meditate again. Meditate, and I’d be attacked by more bugs. Most deadly bugs, too.

What could I do?

Every fibre of my body was quivering with rage. Out of the kindness of my heart, I was acting a part in their wretched play. That seemed the outside of enough, but to insult me into the bargain! Bullying me like that! Threatening to punch my nose into a nosegay! You had to admire his conceit. What if his nose was as lofty as a pyramid and mine as flat as a Chinaman’s? To insult my nose on those grounds! Well, hold it. Not so fast. I’d bring him to a sticky pass yet, and watch him flounder, with this snub nose of mine held as high as the mythical mountain of Mainak.

But, in plain fact, what could I do?

I thought and thought, but to no avail. Meanwhile, on the stage, Tenida was delivering a magnificent peroration, and executing such leaps that the Chatterjees’ ancient, bug-infested mattress had begun to groan ominously. It was difficult to tell whether he was acting in a play or doing the high jump.

Stage-manager Habul came hurrying past. “Here, Pela, why’re you sitting in the dark like a ghost?”

“Brother Habul, give me some tea,” I begged. “My throat feels as parched as a dry log.”

Habul turned up his nose. “Oh, go on! Don’t drink so much tea – the way you played your part, you shouldn’t need it!”

Adding insult to injury, was he? I bared my teeth at Habul in a horrible grimace, but the darkness engulfed all.

Should I do the disappearing act, beard and all? Dash straight home while the going was good? It’d serve them right if they looked for Dadhichi before his next scene, and found the sage had absconded. But no – that wasn’t a good idea. Next morning would be sure to bring retribution – who’d save me then? Potoldanga’s celebrated Tenida would speed me heavenwards with a couple of his celebrated slaps.

No, no – none of all this. I’d kill the snake without breaking the stick. I’d make them bleed all right – but they’d have to swallow the thrust with the smiles still on their faces. I’d make a wisdom tooth sprout among Tenida’s thirty-two shiners. And I wouldn’t spare his henchman Habul either, that obsequious insect of a stage-manager.

‘Lord, give me light,” I prayed silently. “A light in the darkness.”

And lo, a light appeared.

I said to Habul, “Brother Habul, I’m going home for five minutes.”

“Why?” asked Habul in alarm.

“This stomach of mine – it’s feeling a little…”

“That does it,” said Habul. “All these dealings with you chronic invalids and your weak stomachs. Looks as if you’ll let us down in the end. You’re to go on in a little while, remember?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in five minutes,” I assured him.

To myself, I said, “We’ll see how strong your stomachs are by and by. Want to feed me monuments before I act, eh? We’ll see if you can digest a stronger compound yet!”

Within the promised five minutes, I made my return. It hadn’t taken me long to ransack my uncle the doctor’s medicine-cupboard. I had found the magic drug, and was carrying it back with me. Nearly an hour remained before my entrance – plenty of time for me to do my little job.

The big tea-kettle was simmering on the stove; I approached it quietly. No one noticed, they were all peering out of the wings, absorbed in the play. Tenida was leaping about like an energetic Bheem – and what claps he was getting! Wait a bit – I’d see how many claps he wanted in a while.

His pyramid of a nose held high in triumph, Tenida returned to the wings. “How 'd my part go, Habul?” he asked, grinning broadly.

“Oh splendid, splendid!” replied Habul humbly. “Who but you could play a part like that? The audience is shouting ‘Bravo, bravo!’”

I knew why the audience was applauding. The poor fools had no idea whether Tenida had been playing Bheem’s role or Viswakarma’s. But the really interesting part was yet to be performed.

Tenida shook the stage with his yell of “Tea! Someone bring in the tea!”

Habul fled precipitately.

The drop curtain had risen once again. I sat rapt in meditation as Sage Dadhichi and manfully ate bugs. My disciple Dahimukh was standing at a prudent distance – experience had made him wise.

Enter Biswakarma and Indra. In other words, Tenida and Habul.

Habul began:

“Great sage, our holy master.

I come to you at Lord Shiva’s command.

The lightning-bolt that from your ancient bones

Is to be drawn –”

Tenida continued:

Shall by the best of Viswakarma’s art

Into a mighty weapon be transformed

The planets nine, and all their several seas

Shall tremble with its roar and everything

Still or moving, quick or dead, shall burn

In its bright flame –”

Then he added lines of his own invention. “Ooh, what a stomach-ache I’m getting!”

“My stomach’s churning too,” said Habul hollowly.

I just glanced at them out of the corner of my eye. They had sworn they could digest monuments, I’d see what their digestions were really worth!

‘Peace, peace,” I enjoined.

“First let me muse upon the sacred name.

Till my trance is broken

Let not a word be spoken,

I will surrender then my ancient frame.”

So saying, I sank into meditation. My trance wasn’t one to be broken in a hurry. The bugs persisted in their attack – but never mind. As I sowed, so should Tenida and Habul reap. Hot tea and a strong purgative combined – could I afford to let them off so quickly now?

Tenida’s facial contortions were impossible to ignore. “Get on with that meditation, Pela, quick! The cramps I’m getting in my stomach!”

“Quiet,” I said sternly. “Disturb my rapt devotion,

And I’ll curse you as the only proper caution –”

Do you think I was really meditating? Poppycock! Out of the corner of my eye, I was watching Tenida’s face grow ashen. Habul was in much the same condition. God was kind indeed.

“Oh Pela, I’m done for!” moaned Tenida abjectly. “Come out of that trance, quick, I beg of you – I’m falling at your feet, Pela!”

Habul joined in. “Brother Pela, I’m dying too!”

I sat deaf and unmoving. Do what you will! The trance of a sage – in a business of body-sacrifice, too! Was it to be broken so easily?

“Good God, I’m done for!” Tenida disappeared in a flying leap, in the direction of the dark mango orchards. Habul followed at his heels.

And the play?

Need I say any more about it?

June, 2009

A.C. aka Pontla

Pontla'r Paata

Summer Stuff

Dadhichi, the Bugs and Biswakarma

Pontla Post: Prothom