Murmur of the Lonely Brook (6 page)

“Aama, give me food, I have to leave soon.”

“Why so early? There’s no one at the temple now.”

“My friends will be there.”

Parvati gave her food. She was in no mood to deliberate. She loved watching her daughter grow up as much as she loved all her children. Sometimes she took a few rupees from her savings to buy a packet of maggi for her, just to see the smile on her face whenever she served her noodles.

“Aama, give me two rupees, I need to buy something.” She needed to buy a strip of bindis. She planned to show off her striped red jacket that came with a red hood. Her friends said she looked awesome in that outfit. Only a red bindi was missing. Ria did not have the typical Kinnauri look. Her face partly reflected her mother’s Tibetan lineage. She had a round, oval face with narrow eyes, which mostly disappeared when she laughed. But there was an innocent glow about her that radiated when she spoke.

***

Diwakar stood up; they couldn’t sit for long. The three moved up the narrow path, one behind the other. Huge boulders lay on either side of the trail. Sunlight came through the greenery, and finches and wagtails hopped around in the grass looking for food. Yellow and blue poppies, wooly and furry catmints peeked through the grass and violets braced the sunny underside of the rocks. A group of langurs screeched in the distance. Diwakar saw one sitting on an oak tree observing them, its white, silvery body with black face and long tail etched against the sky. The langurs fed on oak leaves and young shoots. They were afraid of humans and lived away from villages.

A while later, the men reached another bend and a clearing where they stopped. It was noon and all of them were thirsty. They went down to the stream for water. Diwakar passed on nuts to his friends. They sat on a huge rock next to the stream. The mountain was near. A rhododendron stood proud with its pink blossoms. The grass was tall and wild. Ahead there was no road but only the stream to follow.

It was afternoon when they reached the top. The last part of the climb was a bit tough. They had to make it through boulders, sometimes crawling, sometimes leaping, and sometimes clenching grasses and bushes to pull themselves along. The top was flat with just a few trees. From a distance, the grass looked as if it changed color from emerald to light green. The brahma kamal formed clusters of white. They were in full bloom, the outer petals, greenish white while the inside was pink. Neelam, who was the youngest in the team, started picking flowers while Diwakar and Kiran looked around. They had to move a bit farther before they saw the beautiful larkspur with translucent blue petals standing among the wild grass. These flowers only blossomed during this time of the year. Both started collecting and piling them on a large cloth. Once they had enough, the cloth was tied up and they took a final break. It was late afternoon and they had to go down before sunset. This area was also home to leopards, but they normally kept to the trees. Each took one bunch on his back and started down. They had to be careful while descending with a load, but they were accustomed to it. All of them had been born here and the hills were part of their daily life.

***

Ria reached the temple. On the way, she had met her friend Lila who accompanied her. Both sat on the stairs. The temple looked deserted, although they could imagine the sound of drums and cymbals that would soon be there. A few children played on the compound. Ria took out the strip of bindi and asked Lila to help her with one. She gave her one too. She was a bit upset, as there was no sign of the young man. She expected him to be there. A few more children came but not the young man she was expecting. And then she saw him coming through the outer door. There were two more men with him. They walked straight to where Ria and her friend were sitting. Her heart started beating and she was afraid Lila would be able to hear. They turned at the last moment and took a seat not far from them. While passing, the boy glanced at her and smiled. Ria blushed but then looked the other way.

Her friend smelled something and said, “What are you hiding from me? I can see you are blushing.”

“Nothing,” Ria said, looking the other way.

“I don’t believe you,” she said with a light push.

“Okay, I will tell you, but do you promise not to tell anyone?”

“I am your best friend; you can trust me.”

“You see that boy in the center in the orange shirt and blue jeans?”

“Yes, what about him?”

“He is the boy I told you about.”

Lila looked again but now with more interest. He was an average young man but smart in looks. She smiled at Ria and pinched her lightly.

Nisha and Parvati reached the temple before the sun went down. A crowd had gathered and everyone was getting ready. Earlier, a group of men had already left to meet the three boys halfway. There they prepared long flower sticks with vines and flowers. The news reached them that they were ready and the drummers stood up. Devta went ahead to meet the team. Behind him went a group of men dressed traditionally wearing long gowns, umber in color, and black hats made of cloth that made them look somewhat like primitive Chinese tribesmen. They were dressed in a manner preserved over generations and used only for this occasion. And behind all went the married women in groups, all wearing shawls with black-and-white checks over their dhurrie. Nisha went with Parvati. The party reached the venue and then the drums, bugles, and cymbals raised the pitch and tempo as if to greet them. The men in front danced, forming small chains of three and four, and the boys danced with the flower sticks, throwing them up in the air and catching them again. The women started singing age-old songs in a chorus and everyone started back toward the temple.

Nisha looked at Diwakar, whose topi was decked in flowers, his eyes gleaming, a smile of content and achievement on his youthful face. Their eyes met and he blinked. The team reached the temple and formed a long chain that ran around the compound. Then the dance started. The team dressed traditionally blew on age-old trumpets while someone played a tune on an organ. The drummers accompanied the trumpets and organ and the whole group danced to the rhythm in a slow trance, moving around the temple. Devta danced with them. The flower boys threw the sticks up high and then caught them. Diwakar watched Nisha blend with the group yet stand out with her graceful movements. He walked boldly to her and took out a bunch of larkspur that he had kept carefully in his pocket. While she danced, he placed them on the corner of her topi. He smiled and went back. And the hills danced with the sound of hidden tremors.

Nisha danced mechanically with the group—she saw the men in front also dancing hand in hand—it was dark with light coming only from the torches near the temple. She imagined Pravkar in the group and smiled. She started dancing with a new vigor as if the spirit of the festival was truly within her. She swayed with the group, undulating with the primitive tune floating over the compound. Diwakar looked in awe from a distance.

The spirit of Devta meanwhile had entered one of the men. He moved in front of the group. He was the Devta now; his mouth was sealed with a silver needle piercing the flesh of his cheeks but without a drop of blood! The Devta started telling the story of yesteryear, of past glory in wars, and more. He explained how he founded the village, how he fought the enemies, how he protected the people from the rains, snow, flood, and ferocious animals. The mountains listened at a distance. It was the story of his own people.

Chapter 6

Pravin sat in one corner of the tea shop. He had been in Solan for the last few days and his purse was much lighter now. In Peo, there had been no expenses because he stayed with Mamaji, who even gave him a hundred-rupee note before he left for Solan. It was under his friend’s advice that he moved here. Mamaji said the chances for finding a job were good as this was a large city. In Peo, he had met almost everyone on Mamaji’s list of references. No one had a job for an electrician who lacked experience. He did not feel disappointed but consulted Mamaji, who said the timing was not good or he would have put Pravin in some job in the company he himself worked for.

The first two days in Solan, he slept in the local temple. He had a light blanket that he used as a bed sheet and a cover. But now there was a problem. The police had come in last night and picked up a man sleeping a few feet away from him. Others said this happened quite often as the police needed to produce someone to blame for many unsolved crimes. The tea shop was in one corner of the temple and close to the bus stand. He met Raju there, a boy from a nearby village. Raju studied until six when he left home for a job. Raju was working in the tea shop for a small sum but was on the lookout for a better job. The owner gave Raju a small corner in the storeroom to sleep. And though it was full of dirt and rats, Raju accepted it because he had a roof over his head. Raju told Pravin he would not mind if he wanted to share his place for a few days.

Pravin got up for his morning ritual. For the last two days, he had been trying to meet this friend of Mamaji’s. He had called him and gone to his office. The gatekeeper said he was busy. Pravin did not understand how a person could be busy for two full days. He was not used to the civilized ways of rejection. He waited outside the office until late evening but never got an audience with him. Last night he had called Mamaji and spoken with him. Mamaji assured Pravin he would speak with his friend and asked him to visit one last time. He greeted the gatekeeper, “Namaste, Uncle.”

The gatekeeper, Kishen Singh, looked at Pravin. He had sympathy for this boy who had waited patiently for two days. His lips lifted in a smile from under his huge gray handlebar moustache and said, “So, you have come again. Maybe today he will see you. Sit in this stool while I inform him.” He went inside and came back a few minutes later. There was a faint smile in his eyes.

“He will call you soon.”

Pravin was pleased but remained quiet. He prayed silently and asked for a glass of water. Kishen looked at him for a while and then went inside his small room.

He came back with his lunch box and said, “You can have two rotis and keep two for me. I will get you some tea.”

Pravin thought of refusing at first but he was hungry. He survived on a single slim meal of dal and rice served at the temple in the morning. And at night, he had two rotis from a streetside shop that catered to rickshaw and taxi drivers.

“What happens if he calls me?”

“I know him better; it will be quite some time. You can have your food.”

Pravin finished the food and was having tea when the call came. The gatekeeper wished him luck and he went inside.

Pravin had never been to an office before. A pretty girl guided him inside and he found himself standing at the end of a huge table overflowing with papers. The man behind it wore spectacles and was busy writing something. He looked at him once and continued with his scribbling.

“Arun (Mamaji) called last night and told me about you. But we have already taken people for this project.” He looked at him again.

“Any job will do, sir.”

“But you are an electrician.”

“I can do anything, sir.” It was not in his nature, but he pleaded.

“I am sorry but I cannot help you. Most of the laborers come from the local union and I cannot take someone directly. It will be a problem for both of us.”

Pravin did not fully understand what he said. He stood there with a blank look on his face.

“You can leave your name and phone number. Someone will call you if there is a vacancy. You can go now.”

The gatekeeper knew immediately what had happened when he saw Pravin coming out with a long face. “Sit here and have one more cup of tea.”

“No, I must leave now. I need to find a job.”

“Listen, I have a friend who works for a building contractor. A few days back he said they needed a few helping hands. The pay is small, about a hundred and twenty per day plus extra money for extra time. But this will help you sustain yourself.”

Pravin thought for a while. In his village, the laborers from outside made about a hundred and fifty to two hundred per day. And this was not the kind of work he was looking for.

“I will think about it.” He thanked Kishen Singh profusely before he left.

***

Raju waved when he saw Pravin coming. He was glad to meet someone who spoke his own language. He set out a hot cup of tea.

“Brother, you don’t have to pay; this is from my daily quota. But first tell me, did you get the job?”

Pravin shook his head and sat down, but before he could say anything, a customer called and Raju rushed to greet him.

Pravin sat quietly and thought. He had to find a job; he did not have much money left. It would only last for a few more days.

Raju came back; he always had a smile on his youthful face. “Brother, you look depressed. Never lose hope. Did you see that restaurant in the corner? They need a helping hand in the kitchen. It’s not a difficult job. I suggest you go and meet the manager. The pay is just okay but you get free food. You can sleep in the kitchen or you can share my bed,” he said in a single breath before rushing away again. It was a busy hour as one show ended and another started in the movie hall nearby.

Pravin thought for a while. He knew a little about cooking; maybe he should try his luck. Something was better than nothing and more than anything he needed food to live.

The manager was a middle-aged man from Punjab. He was some distant cousin of the owner and had been running the show for the last many years and knew his job well.

“You will get five hundred per week for the first month and if you learn the job and do it properly, you will get more the next month. But if you take leave, I will deduct from your pay, so you better not take leave. The cook will teach you everything. And one last thing: everyone does everything here. If this sounds okay, you can start today.”

Pravin met the cook, Vikram, a man from Nepal who greeted him with a smile. In his village, the Nepalis were treated as outcasts. They mostly served as laborers. He felt a bit awkward working under a man from Nepal but this was far from his village. He smiled back.

The restaurant was a busy place and served low cost, varied meals from a small menu. It opened at eight in the morning and closed at ten at night. Pravin felt exhausted at the end of the day. The smell of food was getting to his head and he felt like throwing up. He decided to sleep at Raju’s place.

The tea stall was closing down when Pravin reached it. The owner, an old man, had already left. Raju was washing the tea glasses but his face lit up when he saw Pravin. “Aaté, just give me a moment before I finish this lot. I cannot rush. If I break any, the old bastard will deduct the cost from my pay.”

Raju piled all the glasses carefully; he then went inside and took out four chapati’s (handmade wheat breads) rolled in a newspaper. They were stiff and dry; he looked at Pravin and smiled. He brought a bowl of milk and dipped them in the bowl.

“So, you got the job?”

Pravin smiled and said, “Yes, thanks to you. The hours are long but I can manage.”

“Do it as long as you want to do. You can leave when you have a better job.”

Raju closed the shutter and waved at Pravin to follow him. On the backside, a small lamp glowed in front of a door. The storehouse was large but there were other tenants. The old man only kept a corner room for his goods.

Raju unlocked the door and said, “Welcome to my palace.”

It was a small room and Raju had cleaned up one corner. The goods, mainly a few sacks and tins, were stacked on one side. A thick soiled rag served as a mattress. A photo of Shiva, a shirt and trousers neatly folded, and a broken radio lay in the corner. Pravin used his bag as the pillow. A shaft of light came from a small opening near the ceiling covered with cobwebs. A low-powered bulb threw shadows, which moved with them. Pravin sat down; he was too tired to think of anything. He took out his blanket and both got under it. Soon he was fast asleep.

Raju got up early. Every morning he opened the shop, but first he had his very special tea with lots of milk. Raju pushed Pravin who was still sleeping.

“Aaté, we need to move.”

Pravin joined him and after having tea, left for the restaurant. The other staff was waiting outside. Pravin stayed a bit aloof from everyone except Vikram, who was friendly and warm. He had been working here for the last eight years. In his village in Nepal, he had three daughters and was saving money for their marriage. He wore the same clothes every day and only washed them on Sunday, which was a holiday. His work was routine. In the morning, he boiled lentils and rice in a big vessel and during this time, he chopped all the garlic, onions, tomatoes, and chilies. Boiled chicken was kept in the refrigerator. According to orders from customers, he mixed everything, then added a few spices here and there. For items marked “special,” he added a spoon of butter on top and some cardamoms. Pravin learned the tricks very quickly. He took orders, helped Vikram, and also served food during rush hours. Everything went fine and at night, he slept with Raju.

It was the second week when an unruly group entered the restaurant. It was rush hour and the place was nearly full. The four took seats and waved. Pravin took their order but while returning to the kitchen two men waved at him. They also gave some orders. Pravin wrote the orders down but while serving, he got them mixed up. The four men called him back.

“Is this what we ordered?”

“I think so, sir,” he said calmly.

“You think so? Do you have a brain to think?” one of them shouted.

“You think we eat non-veg? We are pure vegetarians and you served us chicken, you scoundrel! How dare you?” another said.

“Stop yelling now! There must be a mix-up,” Pravin said firmly.

“Look! He is not even sorry!” the first man said.

The manager rushed to the table.

“What is your problem?”

“This bastard served us chicken and we are vegetarians.”

Pravin had had enough. He pulled the first man up by his collar and punched him in the face. The man was too shocked to believe what happened and for a moment, there was total silence. The manager pulled Pravin back but before he could say anything, the four men got up and left. The other customers were staring.

“Get lost now!” The manager shoved Pravin toward the gate.

“But they were abusing me!”

“A customer has every right! And it was your fault. Do you want to ruin the reputation I built with so much effort? Get going now. I don’t want to see you here again.”

Pravin had only a week’s pay with him. He walked down the road, still in a rage. He came to the tea stall where he met Raju and told him what happened.

“You did right, brother. We get paid for our work, not to listen to abuses. Don’t worry, you will find something else.”

Pravin sat down and thought. And then he remembered the gatekeeper, Kishen Singh.

It was closing time when he met Kishen Singh. Kishen gave him a wide smile as if he were meeting a long lost son.

“How have you been?”

“Not too good, Bhaiyaji.” Pravin told him briefly about the last few days and how he lost his job.

“Okay, give me some more time. I will take you to my friend.”

After everyone left, Kishen closed the gate and double locked it. Both walked about a kilometer and reached a construction site. His friend Anil was seated with a group and smoking bidi. He rose up and hugged Kishen. Both came from the same village in Bihar.

“Jai ho, Bhaiya! It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Is everything fine with you and Bhabi?”

“We are fine with blessings of Ramji. This is Pravin and he is in distress. Please give him some work.”

“I will surely do something. How can I say no to you?”

He turned toward Pravin and said, “Please come tomorrow morning.” Pravin nodded and looked at Kishen.

“Your job is done, my son,” he said with a smile.

“Anil bhaiya, we will leave now.”

Kishen and Pravin went back to the road. “You must have dinner with us before you go,” Kishen insisted.

Pravin did not have the heart to say no. Kishen had already gone out of his way to help him.

It was only a few minutes walk and soon they reached an old dilapidated building. Kishen lived in a terrace room with his wife. There were two rooms that opened onto a terrace. A few sarees and a pair of pajamas hung there. Kishen pulled a string cot from one corner.

“You sit here while I change. Your bhabi (his wife) must be in the kitchen.”

“Listen, we have a guest for dinner.”

Nobody replied. Pravin could make out that one room was used as kitchen. Both sat on the cot. Kishen lighted a bidi and offered one to Pravin but he refused.

“I left my village when I was sixteen. I have seen the world before I came here. It isn’t like it used to be; there are few good people left now.”

“How long have you been here?” Pravin asked.

“About eight years. We moved here soon after I married.”

Pravin realized Kishen married late and also came to know that they didn’t have any children. Kishen’s wife came with dinner soon. It was plain dal, roti, and some vegetables. But it was home-cooked food and Pravin ate to his heart’s content. Kishen’s wife stood there with her face half covered in her saree, which she pulled over her head.

“If you want, you can stay here with us. We have only one room so you will have to sleep here on the terrace. It’s okay except during monsoons when you can move into the kitchen,” Kishen said with a smile.