16.5
‘BUT I thought you used to call him Shambhu,’ said Mrs Chatterji to her gardener. She was referring to his young helper who had just gone off work at a little after five o’clock.
‘Yes,’ replied the old man, nodding his head vigorously. ‘Memsahib, about the chrysanthemums –’
‘But I just heard you call him Tirru when he left,’ persisted Mrs Chatterji. ‘Is he Shambhu or Tirru? I thought his name was Shambhu.’
‘Yes, Memsahib, it is.’
‘Well, what is Tirru then?’
‘He doesn’t use that name now, Memsahib,’ continued the gardener candidly. ‘He’s on the run from the police.’
Mrs Chatterji was astonished. ‘The police?’
‘Yes, Memsahib. He hasn’t done anything. The police just decided to harass him. I think it’s to do with his ration card. He may have had to do something illegal to get one, because he’s from outside.’
‘Isn’t he from Bihar or somewhere?’ asked Mrs Chatterji.
‘Yes, Memsahib. Or Purva Pradesh. Or maybe even Eastern U.P. He seems reluctant to talk about it. But he’s a good boy, you can see there’s no harm in him.’ He pointed with his hoe in the direction of the bed that Tirru had been weeding.
‘But why here?’
‘He thought a judge’s house would be safest, Memsahib.’
Mrs Chatterji was nonplussed by the logic of this. ‘But –’ she began, then thought better of it. ‘What were you saying about the chrysanthemums?’
While the gardener explained the maraudings of the driver’s son, Mrs Chatterji continued to nod without listening. How perplexing, she said to herself. I wonder if I should tell my husband. Oh, there’s Dipankar. I’ll ask him. She waved to him.
Dipankar came over. He was dressed in kurta-pyjamas, and was looking rather serious.
‘Something extraordinary has happened, Dipankar,’ said his mother. ‘I want your advice.’
‘And he does it to trees as well, Memsahib,’ continued the gardener, seeing his ally approach. ‘He broke all the lichis, then he broke the guavas, then he broke all the little jackfruit from the tree at the back. I got really annoyed. Only a gardener can understand the pain of a tree. We sweat for it and see it bear, and then this monster breaks them off with sticks and stones. I showed them to the driver and what did he say? No anger, not even a slap, just “Son, one doesn’t do this sort of thing.” If my child damaged his big white car,’ continued the gardener, nodding forcefully, ‘then he’d feel something.’
‘Yes, yes, very sad,’ said Mrs Chatterji vaguely. ‘Dipankar, dear, do you know that that dark young man who helps around the garden is on the run from the police?’
‘Oh?’ said Dipankar philosophically.
‘But aren’t you upset?’
‘Not yet. Why?’
‘Well, we might all be murdered in our – well, in our beds.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘It could be anything. The mali says it’s to do with a ration card. But he’s not sure. What should I do? Your father will be very upset if he hears that we’ve been harbouring a fugitive. And, as you know, he’s not even from Bengal.’
‘Well, he’s a good fellow, this Shambhu –’
‘Not Shambhu, Tirru. That’s what he’s called, apparently.’
‘Well, we needn’t upset Baba –’
‘But a High Court Judge – with a wanted criminal working on his chrysanthemums –’
Dipankar looked beyond his hut to the large white chrysanthemums in the far bed – those few that the season and the driver’s son had spared. ‘I’d advise inaction,’ he said. ‘Baba will have enough on his plate now that Tapan is leaving Jheel.’
Mrs Chatterji continued: ‘Of course, it isn’t as if the police are always – what? What did you say?’
‘And joining St Xavier’s. It’s a wise choice. And maybe, then, Ma, he can go on to Shantiniketan.’
‘Shantiniketan?’ Mrs Chatterji couldn’t make out what that holy word had to do with the matter on hand. An image of trees came to her mind – great trees under which she had sat and partaken of the lessons of Gurudeb, her master, the waterer of the garden of the culture of Bengal.
‘It’s being parted from the soil of Bengal that’s been making him so unhappy. He’s a divided soul, can’t you see, Ma?’
‘Well, he certainly has two names,’ said Mrs Chatterji, slipping down the wrong fork of the conversation. ‘But what’s this about Tapan and St Xavier’s?’