FIVE STORIES

Five Stories

Madathil Narayanan Rajkumar

Contents-

1 2 3 4 5

Raconteur Kuttiajario Hunter's son Burgundy princess jahans

1 The Raconteur

Connaught Circus. I had supper with an aged narc who was my friend during that season.

The restaurant was striking with teal windows on either side. This dining assuetude was something I emulated from my good buddy A.S. When I reached down the street, it was dark and the narc went his own way... A gentleman in the shadows. He was drunk and stumbled on my path and while vaulting up, abused me as if it were my mistake he fell on my track . A very sordid phrase if my memory is right . I knocked him down with a hard one on his left cheek. He stumbled and drooped again. That was how I was taught in the village. If somebody abuses you, offer a blow. While rising up from the ground, he uttered smilingly that there is perhaps another way of reacting.

The gentleman further informed that he has a story to tell . In the interim , presented himself-‘ I am so and so, the raconteur’. We shook hands and parted.

I saw him again ,one early afternoon at Mohan Singh’s Place and he asked me while I was worrying about our serendipitous meeting. “Do you have fifty bucks to spare?. I had no lunch”. I said- ‘Sure. But, what will you give me back?’. I was very matter of fact in those days and in the prime of youth. With a sentiment of general nonchalance that was my run of the mill air.

“I will tell you a story”, the raconteur said. I gave him fifty rupees , and he rendered the story...

“Sometime in the distant past-There was a king ruling in a dust bowl land.” I interrupted-” I think, I have heard this story before'' .He susurrated- ” This is a different story.”

And took my permission to depart saying, “Pardon me,I am ravenous “.And with a splitting guarantee ,continued- “I will finish the story later.” No big surprise, I didn’t see him in the following two years, in that huge city.

One fine day I was with a companion walking around the B.J.Park.

Here I met him again.He outdistanced me from behind and halted in front . In a blunt accent, put in - "Do you have another hundred rupees?” I gave him that sum exclusively to impress my new companion with whom I was strolling.

The friend either imagined that I was very generous or foolish.But I didn’t get further statistics on that issue. In the wake of accepting the cash he said- “Where did we stop?”

And began portraying a couple of lines and stated, the Black Minorca or open sesame, Electra's anagnorisis, or something relevant or irrelevant. Then he ogled at my friend. “I am busy”, he said and went.

A couple of years passed. I met him inadvertently on a beach in the South. I needed to take several minutes to remember him. “You have transformed”, I said. “You as well “, he said.

Now ,he began narrating the rest of the story. “The Prince turned into a man. He wedded a princess from another nation. Also, he went to another nation to grow the fringes. The third stasimon… ". Things like that. This time I was more interested in him than the story.

While parting, he asked me-“Do you have some cash to spare”. Indeed, I said and gave him a couple of notes, since that was the season I joined a film venture and got some benefit.

He was upbeat and said-“I am staying at a lodge close by”.

“Would we be able to meet tomorrow evening”, he inquired. “”Sure- what time?” I inquired. “Evening, around this time,” he said.

The waves were colossal and the breeze was brackish.

Precisely on the time proposed, he arrived.

“If it’s not too much trouble,disclose to me the remaining part of your story-I requested.

“Much obliged for giving me your time”, he was extra courteous.

Then said- 'You are the story'. ..............

2

Kuttiajario

When I was studying at B.E. school, I met my dad’s companion, Kuttiajario. The school was five miles from my home. My dad’s friend would be going in a cycle and give me a lift till a lobby, close to Koppel Place,a junction with a vegetable market cramped by inter- state merchants, and was within a couple of miles from school. My Father worked till 7 p.m as he was supervisor and started home early in the day. He will likewise pedal a bike. Both had Raleigh cycles, Kuttajarios’s was dark, my dad’s cycle olive green..

‘Kutty’ in local tongue meant small, and Ajario is his family name and they were woodworkers by profession. His great granddad was a royal cabinetmaker in an ancient South Indian kingdom and there is a monument for him in that town.

My Father worked in the building profession, but since he was in supervisory cadre, he had to go early. Kuttiajario on the other hand need not go early. He could come by about 5- 30 p.m usual time of daily workers. My Father on the other hand had to disburse the wages of the workers and it will take an additional one hour, and then he will pedal a bicycle.

Kuttiajario was of medium complexion and was a shy person who delighted in good food and great yogurt. He was just two inches taller than my daddy who everybody thought was less tall than my mother, and some people took it as a shameful inglorious thing and made fun of the couple,though our well wishers didn’t do that. The concept of an ideal couple, is on the following lines- The man should work, but for a lady it is not obligatory to work outside home.The man should exceed woman in height and age, and a difference from 3 years to 7 years is considered ideal.You see, this is an old story.

We boys,myself and my elder brother made a scale by the wall as base, and subjected mom and dad for the height checking. Dad was happy to check because he enjoyed the whole ceremony, but mom was not, because she was afraid that the children would detect that she was taller, and mom felt restive , as she always was, in a situation that made my dad of lesser merit than her. But my dad was confident even if he loses in physical height checking, he knew that there are several other zones where he could prove his merit. But the reality is that in spite of several assays by us in different stages of life, it was proved sans dubiety that they were of the same height. But when they walked together, mom appeared to be taller to an onlooker because of the saris she wore.

Sometimes, he wore spectacles while working with wood. There was much contrast between the two, my father was a scholar in the local language and even a few poets were his friends, however he didn’t know English, which mother did. The sole English thing that I saw him composing was his signature in full. Indeed, that was the only English I saw him writing, his signature…Kuttiajario had two children, a boy and a girl. Also, the most amusing part is that I had never seen them in my life even till now. Since Kuttiajario lived in a house a few miles from us and mother was least interested in such visits..

Kuttiajario and my dad made periodic trips to interesting places,of cultural or religious significance. My father had a habit that once he seated himself on a comfortable seat in a bus, he would start sleeping, which had earlier landed him into strenuous situations. But when Kuttiajario was around with him, my mom appreciated these journeys.

When dad passed away Kuttiajario was the one who was least affected about the demise, showing no intimation of grief on his face. Some friends wept openly, but he was sort of stoic and I don’t know what exactly took place in his mind.

My sister was chubby and was short in stature maybe 4 feet 10 inches but she was the least bothered about her short build . She ate snacks and delicious munchies every now and then, and this made her further corpulent . She was not interested in studies and when my mom got a transfer to another town, she was extra hampered and would sleep by the worktop. We both used the same table, but had different drawers. When I started

studying, she would start dozing. Mother put her in a typewriting institute and she would walk every morning passing football grounds. She had a friend and some people were jealous of her brains as she spoke brilliant English and later she got married and went to Singapore to settle there.

I went to the metropolis to see my uncle and his brother by marriage. This brother in law read impressive books and I went to get-away, and took me to good hotels that served gulab jamun and Basundi, both sweets. In light of the fact that my father found him a line of work, however very little thought that I didn’t need a work. This confidence, in oneself, has its benefits just as disadvantages.

I went to the magical waterway in my late twenties, I had a tendency to see the mystical stream. So I left work in the town I lived in and went to the metropolis. From that point one can go to the magical stream. Subsequent to arriving at the city, I posted my resignation letter, and with a companion’s assistance got a temporary vocation, and the following month went to see the mysterious waterway. My companions and associates cautioned me, subsequent to seeing the stream you won’t return. Nobody has come back till now. I said, I am not stressed, first I need to see it in my own eyes. If I don’t return, no issue, my eyes will be glad, and that is the best blessing you can provide for your eyes, I contended. I went there . It was simple at the outset, there was a stream great and amazing, At that point you need to walk. I saw the stream. It was spectacular. But I failed to see magic anywhere. I remained there in that town by the stream, for quite a while, and afterward returned to my town. The first to see me in the wake of arriving at my home was Kuttiajario, my dad’s best friend. ‘You saw the waterway?’, he asked in incredible engrossment. ‘Indeed’, I said.

‘How was it?’, he asked. Then I said. ‘The river obviously is excellent. But I didn’t perceive any magic in it.’ ‘Fool’, he said-. ‘The magic isn’t in the river, the magic is in your mind.’ I didn’t tell, anything. In any case, I was distraught that he called me a fool.

Then one evening, from my parent’s conversation, I caught. They said -‘Raj will again, go to the magical stream’. ‘Chances are’, father said in his distant tone. ‘We will find a young lady for him, he is still young’. My mom said. Then I married. Then I found a new line of work, family, children, stress, more pressure, it was trying my limit. Around then I had three youngsters, and was 45 years of age. Neither a youth nor an elderly person, however the last depiction would be better, as individuals who saw me affirmed. The next year mom also passed away. My sister went to another city. My senior sibling left the country and sailed to a far off land with family. Such countless changes throughout everyday life. I changed positions and places.

At that point I went to a major city. More tiring jobs,transfer,stress, office work, transport stop line, deadlines, line at metro station, my bike in carport, kids’ expenses, lease, work environment pressure, long schedules, gossips, stress, long hours of work, restless nights, I was exhausted, and numerous things all in a nebulous line. I lost rest, I shed pounds. I left my work and went to the village. I needed to meet my kin and talk silly things or chat looking at the hot sun while sitting in a tea shop.

Someone advised me,Kuttiajario has left the village to see the magical waterway.I was told by those guys in our village. ‘You know the way to the magical stream’, they said.

‘That was a long way back,’ I cut short the discussion. ‘Moreover, the area might have changed’, I said. But I went to see my father’s buddy Kuttiajario . After many meanderings in that old village below the mountains, by the river ,I met Kuttiajario. There were three guys and a gal yelling at the passageway of his hut. ‘Long live Kuttiajario, long live Kuttiajario’ , the youth cried. I was unable to bear the tumult of their screech. A young lady and three gentlemen.After meeting him, I told Kuttiajario- ‘ Advise your young friends to stop shouting’. He said that in case you advised them to stop, they will cry more. Then I said to Kuttiajario in a private second. His eyes were sparkling. I told him, I need to be your follower. He said, why?. I need to dispose of my meandering brain. He said-I can’t guarantee you , however you can remain here.Now proceed to get water from the stream. He gave me a huge pitcher. I went to the river to get water. It was dusk. I had blended considerations. Is he a fraud, I thought. Let it be, after all he is my dad’s friend who made doors and windows to our house. Moreover he is an old man and may need help.

One should not forget one’s father’s friends. I stepped into the river to get water. ............

3

Hunter's son Ujjain. 1876. I was offered a throne. But I resolved to be a hunter. My granddad drafted in his memoir. So we are a clan of hunters. My dad, a hunter. I am a hunter’s son. My elder sister, separated by only a year, had a clinical degree. But she is also a huntress. Be that as it may, the new lord had an issue. In one of his pleasure chasing excursions, he missed his brilliant heirloom. A valuable ring. It was a family heirloom. Of honor and consecrated thought. He needed to get back. A rhino gulped it and went to the backwoods. My dad was old. He could not go. So the king sent us two, my sister and myself to the woods to chase the Rhino down and recover the treasure. I was willing, my sister reluctant. Still, we both

started. My sister is a superior Hunter. She conveys her clinical equipment in her satchel consistently. Elixirs and needles, to treat the poor on movement. What’s more, here we go. First, we landed at a hamlet and remained for a sizable interval of time. In any case, situations were appalling. Girls in birth are sent to the abode of death. My sister remains there for a quarter of a year. I pronounce, we are off from the principal crucial. We start.

At that point, we reach a spot under the scourge of a fatal malady. My sister remains there for a quarter of a year and fixes numerous by her medication and advice. Then I state, Sister, we are away from the fundamental mission. We continue the excursion. We arrive at a forest transit. There, beloveds are scorched alive for wedlock from an alien tribe. Sister lingers there for a quarter of a year and battles. At that point I state, Sister, we are away from the key mission. We restart the excursion. We hit at the woods where the Rhino lives. We recognize the Rhino following seven days. Sister stands up to the Rhino. She speaks the Rhinos language. I can understand but can’t reply. Rhino says - I can’t vomit the treasure back. It is in my tummy. You need to slay me to get it. Will you kill me? I request you to spare my life. Sister was benevolent. She says to me, sibling we will return. I say what’s regarding the lord’s legacy. The king has numerous dazzling rings, the rhino has just a single life. We will return- she says. I said- It is a precious family ring.

Overlook it, sister says. However, we return. I was afraid. At the point when we arrive at the royal house, the king will kill us. I solicit -Sister, are you quip scared of the ruler’s wrath? She says I will lose my life – Also a rhino’s life matters. I declare I don’t have the foggiest idea. I am apprehensive. Sister says-The Prince is your old buddy. He can support you. Out of nowhere, I recall my friend, Prince. A friend is an excellent thing. ..................................

4 Story Seven Burgundy

Station.I think I have seen him in a dream. The dream. Now. And myself. Which of these three is a falsehood? I question. At that point I met him…I talk. We go to an eatery. My cousin wiped out. Didn’t come.

Coming here after the blue moon. Last time was to see my aunt in I.C.U. in a medical clinic. Medical clinic was a film studio when I visited this spot before college. I saw actor P. there in a good way. The actor was handsome . Uncle knows studios.Once he attempted to act, yet fizzled. He was a family man who cherished children. Aunt cried in the l.C.U. No words. Possibly she thinks of bygone eras. Perhaps she thinks about my plight. I sold every one of my properties and came there. A pauper. Her lineage got affluent. My dad and his sibling (aunt’s spouse) were more like friends. Possibly she contemplated that.

Possibly she pondered the couple of moments or days she has on this planet. Anyway she cried. There was love streaming without bounds.He was a decent uncle. My newfound friend -Food. Talk. His mom gave him this name.Aberastasuna. Means wealth. He is wealthy in habits. Rich talk.Like the flow of the Rhône. His grandfather played in 1934 World Cup. His walk was more like a hop ,but beautiful. He came from a Jazz Festival and told about his place where the rivers flow to the South. I like him. I talk- My life. My dad.

My upbringing in a small town. I become familiar with different dialects. Knowing love is better than knowing dialects. He inquires. Was it an exercise in futility? I say- No. You love

and express in multiple tongues. He looks.Love is good. Love is life. It attracts the best things . I like that flavour. He had Chablis and Scallop Risotto.l had pudding.We talk.Time passes-

I don’t care for that minister. When a cleric offended my mom for wedding from another religion.Ironically I wedded from the same community of that cleric who admonished my mom. Life sometimes takes a 360 degree turn. We can’t resist.

I welcomed him. We will meet in the rose garden. Rose nursery before the Archives, where I do research. (It is now November.Cutting time.Still…) In the parterre we will sit overlooking flower beds- I say.

Why ?-He inquires. ‘Just that,’ I said. I would prefer not to leave behind an old buddy . I should see him again in wonderful spots in future if possible. Yes, if possible.

………….

5

In the pre-fall. I was enrolled with the ‘Cambridge Tutors’, that coordinated private educational assignments for people. In my short stay in urban areas, this was my style of

living, registering with private tutors bureaus and a couple of my friends also imitated and I was never out of occupation, in any place. In the wake of arriving at T’bad,I rented a flat near the recreation center territory and needed to take a metro train up to work square and he again get city transport to where my classes are, subsequent to passing a few scaffolds and government organizations on the way. I. P. Sir, the head of the Cambridge Tutors was an extraordinary researcher in several dialects but he spoke only his mother tongue, except to me communicating in English. He was a family man living in the first floor of his leased apartment that could be reached passing a line of gulmohar trees. He was having hemiphlagia and was treating it with gulmohar plant, and his wife opposed his naturopathic tendencies.While masterminding the princess’s classes, Mr. I.P. sir told me that my possibilities in life are up soon, because I will soon be meeting the most interesting person in the royalty, if not the wealthiest(her cousin was the assigned royal, enjoying the benefits). I trusted him. I had incredible respect for this honourable man and his family. Princess Jahans was looking great with flawless skin and genteel manners and a smile very polite. She remained in the third storey of a major structure and her sister in law occupied the second floor. She wore little ornaments, except a thin gold chain with an emerald

pendant. The entering room, which was quite spacious, had bamboo blinds coated in green and purple, and as it was mid April and the breeze was hot, the blinds were lifted up, and one could see the pleasure houses and art galleries of the old nabobs at a distance. The third nabob’s collection of artefacts have been made a museum.

Furniture in the front room was stoical like a devotee of minimalism. But one saw half-read books around and on the sofa, lay a piece of clothing of pearl cotton weaving string, with a long needle announcing ‘work in progress. The wind that came from the open blinds was hot but pacific. I have heard from Mr. I. P that the princess detested all excesses, and was in a way ahead of her era and culture, still she enjoyed staying inside the four walls, and went only to certain functions where her company was essential. I also heard that she spearheaded one hospital that runs on charity. She had two schools and she was the virtual headmistress, and has decided to enhance her qualifications so that at the parent- teachers meetings it will not be an issue, a school run by a less educated woman.

The princess wanted to pass a couple of papers for her post graduate course, which she was pursuing as a private candidate. She had American Literature as an optional subject, and I happened to be a favourable choice by luck, as I studied it under a knowledgeable gentleman, though my scholastic properties remained doubtful. Though lacking in scholarship, my confidence was towering and you see in the teaching sector, confidence is of lesser value than actual erudition in the subject, lest sharp gals and guys should discover your Achilles heel. But I was adamant that I could teach, and Mr. I.P. Sir supported my enterprises. Princess Jahans was a brilliant woman who wore a ravishing

blue hues sari on my first visit. As I climbed up stairs to the upper rooms, her sister-in-law passed a few inquisitive glances at me.The princess had grown up daughters and sons and her husband was in a foreign country and visited only a few times a year. A kid was at home during my first visit, and she told me that as her youngest son. The boy was about fourteen or fifteen years old and was smart looking and had wavy long hairs. And she showed me later the photograph of her husband fixed on the walls,his image surrounded by skyscrapers. I did not ask which place, neither she told me, but it looked like a city in the gulf region.

I had the basic qualifications that Princess Jahans wanted in a tutor. So the deal was about to be fixed. She was looking good and had a demanding grin. I was matter of fact and demanded Rs. 3000 per month for teaching her one hour everyday, except weekends. She said that she would give Rs.4000 every month, but I should teach her two hours every day.

I agreed, but I will not teach on weekends,I said. And she agreed. So the deal was settled.

I was in a better situation, money- wise, she in a better position, maybe, wisdom wise, but that will be a dubious part and yet to fathom.

Neediness or no destitution, I never showed up on weekends. Instead we will go to the city grounds and fly kites till 2.pm and when the kids are hungry go to a moderate restaurant somewhere near. Even when I was in hard times, I never took my kids to a cheap restaurant except for a couple of times for tea. My philosophy in these eras was, if you have two lakh rupees debt you can pay it off, provided you are healthy. But if you have serious health issues, many lakhs or more will not make amends. This philosophy, I had to alter now and then, but did not deviate from the core idea.

She said- ‘I don’t like individuals who are not punctual, you must be on time’.I agreed.

Punctuality was something I tried to copy from my father, but I was a slow student. My father’s ideas were more revolutionary- 'People exaggerate the value of money, for example, if you want to learn good manners you don’t need money, if you want to be punctual you don’t need money.' People he used to say, fail for lack of discipline rather than dearth of cash. I did not absorb the whole idea, because I could not anyhow gloat my discipline. Though I wrote an essay for my eldest sons, starting the essay, like this discipline is the backbone of life, and he got an A, for that.

One day the attendant said- ‘Mehman log hai’, meaning guests are present. So I may better wait.I waited for a few minutes, till the princess made an appearance.

An Interesting thing was on the way, you come across a few classical book stalls, maintained by drop- out boys who seldom knew the value of the things that they sold, and once I got a great library edition of a classic volume for ten rupees. The boy cared more for the money he got that day than the contents of the books he sold, perhaps he was brought up that way, or maybe for other reasons, I didn’t know.

And there was another tuition. This was an old gentleman and his grandson. The grandpa told me,'Sir, you coach my youngster to learn', and I was willing if the boy cooperated, but he didn’t. The boy was influenced by his father who wanted to put him into business.I recollect that family was living in the centre of the city, in a ‘gali’(small street). Finally, I told the granddad, that the classes can’t proceed as the kid’s dad and the kid thought the opposite.In the last day I made a prayer before the family, that I gained from my mom and we separated cheerfully.

Once when I reached her house, there was her husband. I was wearing my father in law’s shirt when he was in Jammu and it was a good one for those winter days but not suitable for a teacher’s profession. I could easily be passed for any other type of workman other than that of a private tutor.

He asked me about my parents and family, and if my wife is working, and how many kids I have and what were they doing. I said my parents are in the country house as they don’t like city life.About my wife, I told that she is a national athlete with a gold medal in javelin. 'How do you throw javelin’, he asked .He was earlier interested in sports and he told that his father wanted him to be a cricketer but he pulled out.

‘How do you throw javelin?’,he asked. I said, it is 75 percent technique and 25 percent strength. People who are stronger need not throw long distances, and I added my own theory, it is more mental than physical .'Shot put?', he asked. ‘It is 75 percent strength and 25 percent technique,’ I said.And I was in fact recalling from a conversation with a sports champion many years ago and I was not quite sure about my view.We didn’t have numerous discussions.

On another day, the princess entertained me with her attempts in verse making. My knowledge of poetry was very small with the exception of that I had a few poets as my friends in youth, and we never discussed poetry, but rather chatted in hotels .There was a decent shop in K. where great fish fry was served, and I think I had gone there with two or three scholars or writers, and the main interest was food. I made some positive comments.

In that season, I bought a T.V. and a washing machine, on a new loan.There was another man on the same floor, the eldest son of the landlord,who would yell back at the credit card executives. I couldn’t do that, yes I was apprehensive but a terrible word and slanderous comment at my significant other and I blew up, however was in a poor situation to take the affairs to court,so left the topic.

The head of the previous institution where I worked told me, ‘Raj, cash is more important than knowledge ‘.The aged scholar's remarks,I neither believed nor disbelieved.

I discussed this topic with, I.P. Sir of Cambridge Tutors,(no connection with the original institution) who arranged classes for me and he was vehement in his counter argument.

‘Tell your old friend that it is not so. Without knowledge, money has no life. You need a great knowledge to keep your money safe, and also you need knowledge, shrewdness, cleverness and some other factors to make money, only after making the money do people realise that money is of most importance. But they fail to see the journey to that, which is more important than the end, and that escapes sharing. You can share your wealth, but rarely share the process. A true man shares the process.’.He was furious.

Many days we would look from the front room, towards the race course which was a mike away.Now and again, we would check if the faces that came back are frantic or joyful and Princess Jahans had a couple of lessons to impart on this topic.

Once we met in the parlour of an inn as I preferred that way, eyes were following and we dropped that thought further. Also, we had frozen yogurt,then I dropped the idea of taking classes in public places.

At that point it happened that I survived a train mishap and just evaded demise by a thin shave.

The place where princess Jahans stayed was one of the properties under dispute and some of the revenue officials visited now and then carrying thick files , and the princess or her sister in law would attend them, and in the meantime I will be going through the newspaper’s art pages. Since I was least interested in politics,I left the front pages.

Sometimes her youngsters would ridicule her, maybe about her expectation to learn at late season, and I knew that you need a lot of stamina to swim against those currents, and sometimes the ridicule I could overhear from the phone was about learning the subject from a bizarre instructor.

And one day I told her that I am going to Mahabaleshwar with my family, as the establishment where my wife worked covered family trips with expenses ,stay and travel and she would avail that. When I met her, the princess said- ‘Still, you may need money’, and gave me Rs.2000, and with that amount I bought a collection of Emily Dickinson and some other items,but nothing connected with travel.

Once the princess said- ‘Sir, aren’t these authors millionaires, I thought so.’. I said- ‘Not everybody, though some are, but most of them are not'.

In that conversation some things had to be made clear, why an author writes. People become writers not because they want to make money, but because they are writers.

Towards the end of that season, she said, ‘Sir, we need not proceed with these classes any more.We had sufficient sessions.’ ‘Alright’ – I said, That evening the princess gave me Rs. 2000 and said- ‘Don’t give back’. I said that I don’t accept presents, even from a princess.

Then she said it must be accounted for in the tuition fees. However, she said she is grateful. I said- ‘I as well’. She disclosed to me that I had reduced to ruins her insight into educators. She never had thought that tutors resemble me, asking for credits. Was my other companion right reasoning that cash is preferable to knowledge?. But, this of course is a tricky subject, and before the final chime, we can’t offer the correct verdict. Perhaps this is just a recess. She said she is getting a ton of migraines in the wake of seeing me and it could not be a good sign. We parted warmly. Maybe that was a good season.

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