Rohinton Mistry - Such A Long Journey

The bus arrived, very crowded, and Gustad had a hard time of it. Negotiating with his loads, he accidentally prodded a woman in front of him. She turned with a stream of angry words. ‘What is he doing, not watching where he is going. Coming on the bus with his big-big packets, poking disrespectfully, just like that. With so much luggage he should take a taxi, no? Why come on bus and harass us. Poking and pushing us as if we are not buying a ticket and he is the only one buying a ticket…’

Gustad was in such good humour after meeting Ghulam Mohammed that it did not bother him. He bowed deeply to the woman and said, as elegantly as he could, ‘I am so sorry, madam, for the inconvenience. Please accept my apology.’ He smiled charmingly at her scowling face.

The woman, who had probably never been called madam or received so gallant a bow, was flattered and mollified. ‘That is all right,’ she said, cocking her head to one side, ‘please don’t mention.’ During the rest of the journey they exchanged smiles whenever their eyes met. ‘Bye-bye,’ she said when her stop arrived, which was one before his.

Tehmul-Lungraa was waiting impatiently in the compound. ‘GustadGustadletme. Gustadletmehelpletmecarry.’

He gladly handed over the book parcel. Tehmul was proud of the honour. ‘Thank you,’ said Gustad when they reached the door, and took it back before turning the key.

Tehmul raised a finger to his lips: ‘Gustadquietveryquiet.’

‘What?’

‘QuietquietGustad. Notwellnotwellsleepingnotwell.’

‘Who is not well?’

‘RoshanRoshanRoshanissleepingRoshan. Nonoisequietnotwell.’ Gustad frowned and waved him away as he opened the door with his latchkey.

‘You are waiting for sunset before doing it, like I told you?’

‘Always,’ said Dilnavaz.

Miss Kutpitia leaned against the wall, favouring one leg. ‘Ohh! This rheumatic foot.’ She pondered, her chin in her hand. ‘There can be only one reason. The black spell has gone so deep and strong inside Sohrab, the lime cannot pull it out.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I am sure,’ she said indignantly. ‘Listen. When a spell goes very deep inside, it requires another human being to pull it out.’

‘And how to do that?’

‘There is a method. First, the same seven circles round his head. But instead of throwing the lime in the sea, cut it, squeeze the juice, and make someone — anyone — drink it. That person will pull the spell out of Sohrab.’

Simple enough, thought Dilnavaz. ‘And where does the spell go afterwards?’

‘Inside the one who drinks the juice.’

‘That means someone else will have to suffer?’

‘Yes. I myself don’t like that.’ Miss Kutpitia shrugged and continued: ‘But it is the only way.’

‘I cannot make an innocent person suffer, baba.’ Assuming it works, of course. ‘Who can I give the juice to, anyway?’

‘We have someone right here in Khodadad Building.’ The old woman smiled mysteriously.

‘Who?’

‘Tehmul-Lungraa, of course.’

‘No, no!’ Dilnavaz shrank from the idea; it seemed utterly callous to her. ‘Maybe I should drink it myself. After all, Sohrab is my son.’

‘You are talking rubbish.’ Dilnavaz said nothing to that, struggling with the dilemma, and Miss Kutpitia continued. ‘Listen, I am not a wicked person. You think I like to harm innocent people? But look at Tehmul. How much brains does he have to begin with?’ Dilnavaz listened silently. ‘So what difference will it make? Tehmul himself will not notice anything. What I say is, we should be happy that for the first time he will do something good for another person.’

‘You really think so?’

‘Would I say it otherwise?’

No, Miss Kutpitia would not say it unless she believed it. But what am I supposed to believe? ‘OK, thank you. I will do it. And thank you also for giving the newspapers to Roshan. Her class now has highest collection for refugees.’

‘Good,’ said Miss Kutpitia, opening the door for her to leave.

In her kitchen, Dilnavaz took a lime from her hiding-place, sliced it and squeezed the juice into a glass. Then a spoonful of sugar. A pinch of salt. ‘A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, the medicine go down, the medicine go down…’ She filled it with water and stirred, watching for Tehmul through the front window. Hope he comes before Gustad.

The compound was empty. ‘Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down…’ The pneumatic honking of the school bus sounded, and Roshan appeared in the compound. ‘In a most delightful way…’ Looking so unwell. Her cheeks pale and her brow dotted with perspiration. ‘What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?’

Roshan nodded. ‘I had to keep going for chhee-chhee.’

‘How many times?’

She thought for a moment. ‘Four. No, five times.’

‘Change your clothes and lie down. I’ll give you medicine.’ When will this chronic diarrhoea leave my poor child alone? She went to fetch the pills. Roshan followed, and saw the glass of lime juice.

‘What’s this, Mummy?’ She lowered her nose to smell.

‘Stop!’ Dilnavaz leapt to take it away.

‘But what is it?’

‘Nothing, nothing.’ She tried to sound calm. ‘Something for cooking. If you drink it your stomach will get worse.’ Shivers went up and down her spine. Dada Ormuzd! What would have happened if my child swallowed the spell-filled lime juice? Even the thought is scary.

Roshan made a face at the pills. ‘Brown ones again? They taste so bitter at the back of the throat.’ She swallowed them expertly and went to bed.

Dilnavaz did not have to wait long, for Tehmul soon hobbled by the neem to look up into its branches. She beckoned through the open door. ‘Come in.’ He approached shyly. A hand went to his groin for the circular scratching. ‘Don’t do that, Tehmul.’ Obedient, he removed the hand and stuck it in his armpit. ‘Look what I have for you.’

He sniffed the glass of lime juice, watching a floating pip with great interest. ‘Drink, drink,’ she said. ‘Very tasty.’

He took a tentative sip. His eyes lit up and he licked his lips. ‘Veryveryverytasty.’

‘Drink it all,’ she encouraged. ‘All for you.’

Tehmul tilted the glass and drained it without pause, then smacked his lips and burped. ‘Verytastypleasemorepleaseplease.’

‘No more.’ It had been so easy. ‘I will call you again when there is more, OK?’

He nodded eagerly. ‘Callpleasecall. Morepleaseverytasty.’

‘Now go.’ He swivelled on his good leg and flung the other around, kicking the door. ‘Shh,’ said Dilnavaz. ‘Quietly. Roshan is sleeping, she is not well.’

Tehmul put his finger over his lips. ‘Quietquietquiet. QuietRoshansleepingquiet.’ He shuffled carefully through the doorway and returned to the compound.

The sound of the door latch drew Dilnavaz from the kitchen. ‘What is all this ghumsaan ? How much did Jimmy send?’ she asked, nettled by the two bulky packages Gustad placed on the desk.

‘ Ghumsaan ? Without even knowing what is inside? This is the Major’s parcel. And these are four beautiful books. Art and wisdom and entertainment.’

She clapped a hand to her forehead. ‘Books! More books! You are crazy. Where will you put? And don’t repeat your nonsense about the bookcase you and Sohrab will build one day.’

‘Calm down and leave it to me. But first listen to who I met at Chor Bazaar.’

She looked at him disbelievingly. ‘You are not going to say Major Bilimoria.’