IV. Monsoon Tears
An utter hollowness engulfed Tapan’s heart. It came as a sudden shock and made him befuddled. The intensity of the shock was confusing. He tried to reason out but emptiness lingered, simmering within.
For the last few days he was busy writing a story. It was late June, and in spite of all forecasts the monsoon clouds never appeared unlike every year. Occasional lumps of nimbus gathered around the southern sky raising hopes of the much cherished rain, but at the last moment a gust of wind blew away the cloud to the north, frustrating all such hopes of respite from the unendurable summer heat. Some overenthusiastic environmentalists had predicted a climate change and a gloomy future for the city.
Tapan could not sleep well the previous night. The air conditioner did not work because of load-shedding and the stuffiness of the room compelled him to get on to the roof and roam aimlessly. At times he fell flat on his back and observed the crescent moon and the lumps of stars spread randomly along the Milky Way. The constellation of the Ursa Major hung motionless like a great question mark as though questioning the raison d’être of life which, Tapan had realized now, was devoid of love and tender sentiments which, as displayed ostensibly , were all hypocrisy. At dawn he got back to bed finally falling asleep and got lost in meaningless horror dreams which started assailing him in an unending stream. He discovered himself walking along a narrow alley with lofty metallic walls on either side. Both the walls had a outward bent with their tops lost in abysmal darkness. He had to stop at last as he reached the end of the alley blocked by the same outwardly slanted walls. He heard the horrible clanking of something sliding down the front wall, may be some heavy metallic ball. He turned around to walk back in order to escape from the onslaught of the heavy matter dropping down, but found to his renewed horror that a new wall had emerged blocking his return path. His sleep dissolved and he heard the ringing of the door bell.
‘Oh my god, it was the doorbell which in the dream had got magnified and horrified me. But who the hell has rung the bell at these hours?’ he muttered to himself, moving languidly toward the door. Opening the door he found the maid servant. He glanced at the wall clock above; it was eight and she had come on time. Unlike her mother, this girl of early twenties was very punctual notwithstanding her heavy morning chores. He had heard from her mother that she had left her drunkard husband, along with her one-year old child, and now lived in her widowed mother’s house. Her mother’s gout problem had become serious since last month and she had taken up her mother’s duties in all the neighboring houses.
Tapan let her in and drowsily went into the bathroom to get fresh. By the time he was done, her daily tasks of cleaning utensils, sweeping and mopping the room had already been complete and she was seeking his permission to leave. Her insinuating postures had always made Tapan uncomfortable, forcing him to look away from her and gravely utter, ‘OK, I’m shutting the door.’ But today he looked straight at her, scrutinizing her intently from head to foot. The well-built female body with resources to make any male lose his head did not have any appeal to him. His stare made her embarrassed and she stooped down her head, appearing to him like a lifeless robot. Finally, she collected herself and returned his stare with expectant eyes. The corner of her sari’s fold hanging slightly lose, she bent forward a little, which made the enticing folds of her tight boobs clearly visible to Tapan. Turning toward the almirah, Tapan took out a five hundred rupee note. Handing her the note, he said in a conspiratorial tone, ‘Come at two o’clock; I’ll pay five hundred more after the service.’ The girl smartly snatched the money from his hand, tucked it inside her blouse, and smiling at Tapan, left deliberately sweating her heavy butts. All the gestures of the girl displaying her resources that could turn the heads of sages did not have any impression at all on Tapan.
Combing his hair in front of the mirror, he was horrified to see his image which looked like a lifeless zombie. He rubbed his bleary eyes again and again, but it was always the same as though it were someone completely different from him. All of a sudden everything in the room started taking unusual grotesque shapes. Then the furniture, TV set, refrigerator, all melted into a dense grey fog and began to ooze into his soul. He found himself saturated with utter loneliness and unendurable hollowness.
Diversion might ease the gloom, he thought. So he went out and started roaming aimlessly along Kolkata streets. The sun was already up and the footpaths were congested with the midday crowd.
He inched through the unending flow of multifarious humans, an assortment of robots having no concern for one another. The morning breeze had already gone and the sun had gone far above the horizon as though pouring down molten lava and burning everything; Tapan felt beads of sweat trickling down his back. A water pipe had leaked, and municipal technical hands were busy repairing it, blocking one side of the road. The mishap had left its marks on the city footpath and the busy road below – stagnated water with blackish mud in cracks and crevices, and accumulated dirt carried by water from garbage dumps and scattered here and there.
The flow of commuters along with rows of vehicles halted with the red traffic signal. Tapan stood alongside a shabbily dressed tall man. Nasty odor from the armpits of the man made him dizzy. He turned his head toward a porter with a heavy load on his head and watched the shabbily dressed urchins joyfully playing in the stagnated water at the street corner, sprinkling muddy water at one another. Now the congealed traffic of men and vehicles started melting down with the green signal. Tapan took shelter at the corner of the light post to escape the suddenly released onrush and his vision was drawn straight into the green light at the other end of the street. The emerald green rays seemed uncanny. It started becoming brighter and brighter, dazzling his eyes, zooming in and engulfing his existence as though he were floating in a vast green fog, flowing slowly but relentlessly into an endless empty pit, the suffocating greenery oozing down to his soul.
Last week he had at last decided to marry. He was satisfied with the carefree bachelor’s life, but at last changed decision after the bitter experience of illness. The proposal had already come – a school teacher of thirty five, exactly of his age. After long hesitation he had at last accepted her proposal and consented meet her at the appointed place this evening and finalize the paraphernalia.
He took his lunch early from a restaurant. Upon returning home, he felt sleepy; it was just half past twelve, and he would have to wait an hour and a half for the girl. He undressed and fell asleep as soon as he lay down on the bed. But there was no relief even in sleep, which was again interrupted by meaningless dreams, the hollowness turning into a demon and pursuing him even in sleep. His sleep broke by the doorbell’s sound. Once again the girl had come on time.
The payment was far beyond her expectation and she did her best to please him in the hope of getting further appointments. But he went through the motions like a programmed machine. The first experience did not incite any thrill, emotion or outburst of passion in him. His mind drifted to the anatomy and physiology of the reproductive union of two human bodies, and everything appeared funny to him. His absolute coolness discouraged the girl utterly. She put on her garments, took the rest of her payment and left with downcast eyes.
‘Shreya would be no different from this servant girl,’ he thought, and decided not to meet her at the appointed place. Later on he might call her and inform coldly that he had changed his opinion about marriage. It was just four and they were to meet at six. If he were running late, she would come to his flat. So he should get out to some place where she could not find him. But where to go? Suddenly, it occurred to him that he could go visit his friend, Pulak. He had not met Pulak for a long time, and Pulak might also advise him how to get out of this predicament. He got dressed, and after having a cup of tea from a footpath tea-stall, he took a bus for Dum Dum Chiriya More. Pulak’s house was in a lane close to that area.
Getting down at Chiriya More he found the sky overcast with rain clouds. The TV weather forecast yesterday had pred
icted the first monsoon rain today, but Tapan had ignored it, because of his previous experience with weather forecasts. But now the sky really looked menacing, and he thought he should have brought along the umbrella. Pulak’s house was five minutes’ walk and Tapan moved quickly to avoid the rain. At the corner of the lane leading to Pulak’s house, he stopped short to buy a pack of cigarettes from a stall. A street bitch with three puppies wagging their tiny tails approached him. Tapan had always liked the street dogs. He bought a pack of cheap biscuits and offered them to the dogs. The bitch gulped them down in a moment, but he had to break them into pieces for the small puppies. Suddenly, a sharp yell made him look aside; there was a pup fallen to the side of the lane and a well-dressed boy of about twelve getting down from his bicycle. The puppy had inadvertently walked into the lane and was run over by the fast-moving cycle. The boy dropped the cycle on the street and ran fast toward the pup. He picked it up on his lap, ignoring the dripping blood from its mouth that spoiled his costly garments. Tapan quickly moved to the boy’s side. The bitch smelled the pup and came back howling. The boy blurted out, ‘It’s dead!’ and a torrent of tears rolled down his cheeks.
With a strong wind and rumbling of thunder, it started raining heavily. Tapan got drenched thoroughly and the hollowness of his mind was completely washed away by the first rain, the rain of love.