Amitav Ghosh - The Circle of Reason

The day wore on and there was still no sign of any activity in Bhudeb Roy’s house. Alu sensed that the village was unnaturally quiet: all day long he had not seen a single person out in the fields. It’s as though they’re waiting, he said to Rakhal; but Rakhal only laughed. In the afternoon, soon after Alu, Maya and Rakhal had eaten a quick meal of rice and fried potatoes, Nonder-ma disappeared. Where’d she go? Rakhal asked Maya. She said she was going out for a minute to Bolai-da’s to buy something, Maya said, and then … Rakhal shrugged, and Maya busied herself cooking their dinner.

At sunset Rakhal came to a decision. They’re going to come at night, he told Alu. That’s why they’re doing nothing now. That circle of drums isn’t going to be of any use now; if they come at night, they’ll get at the house first, perhaps from the back. We’ve got to move everything into the house. We’ll roll the drums here and stand them up before the front door. You can do that. But, first, we’ll have to get Maya and Toru-mashi out of the house.

How? said Alu doubtfully.

I’ll talk to Maya, said Rakhal, but his face was eloquent of uncertainty. They both climbed down to the courtyard, and Rakhal went to the kitchen. They both came out again soon, Rakhal crestfallen, Maya calmly wiping her hands on her sari. Alu looked from one to the other: So? If I leave, Maya said, where will I go? All right, all right, said Rakhal, but now go and talk to Toru-mashi. Maya nodded, and they watched her go to Toru-debi’s room, and hesitantly push the door open.

She came hurtling out a moment later. She threw the scissors at me, Maya gasped. She says the machine is about to save us: she’s finished four and she’s halfway through the fifth.

Didn’t you tell her, Alu said, that Parboti-debi …?

If you want to tell her anything, you can go and talk to her yourself, said Maya, and turning her back on them she went straight to the kitchen. Rakhal shrugged.

They went out to the circle of oil-drums, and Rakhal put Alu to work at moving the drums. It was a pointless and exhausting job, for the drums were all half-full of carbolic solution, and very heavy. Alu could only move them by levering them over, and rolling them along the ground, and that meant spilling most of the carbolic solution. But Rakhal insisted that it had to be done. In the meanwhile, with minute, painstaking care, Rakhal wrapped the contents of the tarpaulin-covered heap in jute sacks and carried them into the courtyard. He would not let Alu touch them. When he had finished, the stack of sacks seemed even larger to him than it had outside. But Rakhal was worried. It won’t be enough, he said, examining it. I’ll have to go and get some more. You stay here and don’t go out of the house. I’ll be back in ten minutes.

He ran out of the house, in the direction of their huts. He was back again soon, with a plastic sack over his shoulder. When he had added the sack to the others, the stack seemed huge to Alu. But Rakhal shook his head, dissatisfied. I don’t know if it’ll be enough, he said, but it’s too late now …

Soon after the last glow of twilight had faded away, they heard the whine of engines in the distance. A minute later Balaram shouted down: They’ve come, they’ve come. Alu raced up the ladder with Rakhal. Balaram was rigid in front of the window, pointing out, and for a moment his look of blissful, rapturous relief stopped Alu dead.

Looking out, they could see three jeeps at Bhudeb Roy’s gate, and they counted more than a dozen shadowy figures as they climbed out. Then three powerful searchlight beams simultaneously flared out of the jeeps’ hoods, blinding them. Rakhal caught Alu’s shoulder and led him to the ladder. He was perfectly calm and unhurried but the scar was shining brilliantly on his cheek.

There are more of them than I thought, he said as they climbed down the ladder. I’m not sure we have enough to deal with them in the sacks. And now it’ll be impossible to meet them hand-to-hand.

Alu caught a glimpse of Toru-debi, squatting in a corner of the courtyard with her head in her hands. But Rakhal had his back to her, and he went on urgently: You’ll have to do something. I can’t leave the house now. You remember the old loom-shed in our courtyard? The pits are covered with palm leaves and earth now, but you just have to pull and the palm leaves will come away. You’ll find a sack in the pit; it’s a sort of plastic, the kind you get fertilizers and insecticides in. Pick it up, but very, very carefully — do you understand? very very carefully — and bring it here. Don’t open it, don’t look into it, don’t shake it, don’t drop it. Just bring it here. And run as fast as you can. They’ll surround the house soon, and you won’t be able to get back after that.

It’s no use.

They both spun around. Toru-debi, watching them from her corner, let slip a bitter, mocking little laugh. It’s no use, she said again. Her hair hung around her face in damp, tangled knots; her sari had slipped off her shoulders, and her blouse had come undone. Her right hand was resting on her sewing machine beside her.

Nothing’s any use now, she muttered. It’s the end. Just one blouse left to go and he’s died. She ran her hand over the machine’s shining wheel and pulled, with all her strength. The wheel was absolutely rigid. She smiled at them: You see; he’s haunted. There’s something in him.

Suddenly her face lit up, as though something had occurred to her. She tore her blouse away, and her heavy breasts spilled out. She lifted the black, sinuously curved machine off its wooden base and settled it on her lap, clucking to herself.

Maya darted forward and caught her hands. Toru-debi looked up shamefacedly, straight at Alu. I thought it was you, she said confusedly. Aren’t you going to do something? Then all at once her naked breasts and shoulders collapsed as though an immense weight had been lowered on to them. What’s the use? she said. It’s the end.

Alu felt his throat go dry as he looked at the terrible incandescent desolation in her eyes. Then Rakhal was shaking him, whispering: Run, there’s no time to lose. And Maya was beside him, holding his hand: Yes, go. I’ll look after her; don’t worry.

In a daze, Alu found his slippers and went to the back door. But before he could slip out Toru-debi shouted again: Alu, come here. For one minute; only one.

Slowly Alu went back to her. She stood up and put the sewing machine in his arms. Throw it into the pond, she said. It’s dead. She leant forward and searched his eyes. But you’ll get me another, Alu my bit of gold, won’t you? she said, her voice full of trust. A better one?

Alu turned and ran blindly out of the door. Listen! he heard Maya shouting after him. He turned and saw her, framed in the doorway, smoothing back her thick black hair, biting her lip in worry. Come back soon, he heard her shout, and then he was running again, blindly, hardly noticing the weight of the sewing machine in his arms.

Before he could reach the forest, he heard footsteps and stopped, alert again. Then he recognized a familiar bandy-legged figure racing towards him. Kahan? Where are you going? Bolai-da shouted, panting. He spoke in Hindi, as he always had to Alu, ever since he taught him the language. Where? What’s happening? Nonder-ma said …

Then he noticed the sewing machine and his eyes widened. Alu put the sewing machine into his arms. There, he said, look after that. I’ll take it back from you some day. And don’t go to the house.

And then he was running again, flying down the path, grateful that he knew it so well, that the darkness made no difference. One of his slippers tore and he kicked it off in mid-step, without checking. He was almost there, no further than a few yards, when a microphone boomed behind him: This is a warning to you; this is a warning. Come out peacefully.