Amitav Ghosh - The Circle of Reason

Balaram tried to help Rakhal and Alu build the shed, but they would not let him, for it was almost certain that he would hurt himself. So Balaram had to content himself with sitting on the steps outside his front door and watching them.

Rakhal and Alu worked fast, and the shed shot out of the ground. They were interrupted only once. Bhudeb Roy had been watching the shed go up from his veranda. He was intrigued as well as suspicious. One day, a few days before sending off his monthly report to the police station, he decided to make inquiries. He walked down the red-dust path to Balaram’s house, with a few of his sons behind him.

Shombhu Debnath saw him coming down the path and scrambled into the branches of a tree. Bhudeb-babu, he called down, how’s it going? Getting it up still or are you going to bring some more planes down on us? Any more on the way?

Bhudeb Roy ignored him, but his sons threw a few pebbles into the tree. Shombhu Debnath cackled with laughter.

Balaram was sitting on the steps outside his front door. Seeing Bhudeb Roy turn into the path which led to the house, he was suddenly very flustered. He rose quickly to his feet and looked around him. Then he hurried across to a drum of carbolic acid which had been left outside the house, against a wall. Planting himself in front of it, he spread his hands protectively across.

Bhudeb Roy saw him, smiled politely, and made his way towards him, skirting round the shed. Don’t come any closer, Balaram rapped out when he was a few feet away.

Bhudeb Roy stopped and looked at him in surprise. What’s the matter, Balaram-babu? he said. I only wanted to ask you whether you’re buying cattle. This shed …?

Balaram glared at him: No. It’s for a school.

Bhudeb Roy’s cordiality drained away. His tiny eyes hardened. Have you bought this land? he said.

Balaram, watching him closely, his face drawn with tension, said: No.

Bhudeb Roy rubbed his huge jaw and bared his teeth in a smile. Then, I have to tell you, he said, that you can’t build here. You’re encroaching on government property.

Balaram stood erect and swept a mass of silver hair from his forehead. Bhudeb-babu, he said, Pasteur didn’t allow misguided and superstitious people to stop him from building his laboratory at Villeneuve l’Etang. Nor shall we. If the government wants its land, let it file a case in the district court. That’s all I have to say to you.

We’ll see, Bhudeb Roy said through his teeth. We’ll see. He turned and walked back towards his house. Be careful, Shombhu Debnath called after him, from his perch. A man could hurt himself at your age.

Balaram, shaken, went into the house. He came out with an old tattered blanket and threw it over the drum of carbolic acid.

Next evening Alu wandered into Balaram’s study. Balaram was making notes by the harsh light of a naked electric bulb. He was pleased to see Alu, for it was a long time since he had stepped into the study. He smiled and, prompted by years of half-forgotten habit, patted the arm of his easy chair. Come here, he said. Come and sit. Then it occurred to him that Alu had long since grown too heavy for the arm of the easy chair, and he hastily changed his gesture and waved at a chair. Sit down, he said, get that chair.

Alu did not seem to hear him. He stood over the easy chair, looking at the floor and shifting his feet. What’s the matter? Balaram asked, surprised. Are you looking for a book?

No, said Alu, and scratched his head.

Then? Science Today ?

I want …, Alu blurted out, I want to get married.

Oh! said Balaram. He ran his hand through his hair: That’s a big business. We must set about it scientifically. We have to think about the right personality types and things like that. We can’t set about it in a hurry …

Balaram stopped; he had a sudden glimpse of regions of immense effort and risk. Nervously he said: It takes a lot of work. You’d better talk to your aunt. Maybe she knows a girl. Perhaps she could advertise in the newspapers. I don’t think I’ll be able to help.

No, no, Alu broke in, I already have a wife. He stopped, flustered: What I mean is I already know someone. A girl. That’s what I mean.

You mean …? Balaram looked at him in disbelief. You mean … love? A love-marriage?

Alu was almost tearful with embarrassment. Yes, he said, his voice a strangled bleat. I want to marry Maya. Maya Debnath.

Balaram rose from his chair and threw his arms around Alu. Hugging him to his chest, he ran a hand over his knobbly head. I’m very glad, Alu, he said, his voice choked. Very glad, and very happy. She’s a good girl. You have … you have the blessings of the Cosmic Boson, as Gopal would say.

He stopped and dropped his arms. But I don’t know, he said pensively, what Toru will say. Because, you know, Maya works here, and women have their own ideas about these things. But that doesn’t matter. Mere prejudice. We can persuade her …

Then a thought struck Balaram and he cut himself short. Frowning, he began to pace the floor. Alu watched him in silence. After a minute or two Balaram stopped opposite Alu and said: Maybe you should wait a bit, Alu. You know what weddings are. People everywhere. There’ll be dozens of people running in and out of the house and we can’t keep an eye on everyone. It’s not safe. Anything could happen to the carbolic.

He leant towards Alu and whispered: Did you see Bhudeb Roy yesterday? Did you see how he looked at the carbolic? He’s planning something; I know him. He’s thinking of ways to get at it. We have to be careful. Very careful. We have to watch him. There’s nothing he won’t do to get his hands on that carbolic.

But he wasn’t looking at the carbolic acid, Alu said in surprise. He went across to talk to you.

Balaram silenced him with a gesture. You don’t know, he whispered angrily. You’re too young. That’s how he always goes about things. The carbolic is what he really wanted. He fears it like a fox fears light. He fears it because it’s clean. He’d do anything … No, it wouldn’t be safe to hold a wedding in the house now. He could easily slip his men into the house. No, Alu, you’ll have to wait a bit. Wait till the school is properly on its feet, then we’ll give you a wedding to remember.

But …, Alu began.

No, said Balaram. He squeezed Alu’s shoulder. Listen to me — just this once.

All right, Alu said reluctantly.

Balaram led him to the door of his study. He patted him on the back and said: Just a few months. That’s all. Right now we have the school to think about.

A week later the shed was ready, and in another two weeks the looms had been installed, the slates and the yarn bought and an order placed with a carpenter for two blackboards. A board painted by Balaram and Alu appeared on top of the shed declaring the Pasteur School of Reason open for admissions.

The news spread, and over the next few days most people in Lalpukur found one excuse or another to wander down the red-dust path and steal a suspicious look at the new school. But nobody stepped in. There was not so much as one admission. The shed didn’t look like a school. It was not even remotely like the familiar tiled, yellow, corridored buildings that people associated with schools. Nor did it look at all like the tin-roofed garages of the commercial and secretarial colleges in Naboganj. It was something else altogether; possibly malign, possibly not. People were curious, but no one was willing to be the first to find out.

It was Rakhal who stepped in at that critical point in the school’s history when it was teetering on the knife’s edge of oblivion. Rakhal had temporarily lost interest in the school after helping to build the shed. Then one day he noticed Alu and Maya sitting dejected by the empty loom-pits in their courtyard, steaming gloom.