V. Naipaul - The Mystic Masseur

Partap said, ‘Narayan so smart he stupid. He playing right in we hand now, pundit. He changing his name, man. With Indians he is Chandra Shekar Narayan.’

‘And with everybody else,’ Swami added, ‘Cyrus Stephen Narayan.’

Leela brought large sheets of paper and many red pencils.

Ganesh said, ‘I think over what you say, and we going to start up we own paper.’

Swami said, ‘Is just what go knock hell out of Narayan.’

Ganesh ruled out columns on the sheet before him. ‘Like in all things, we have to start small.’

The boy put Time and the New Statesman on the table. ‘These is small papers. Very small papers.’

Swami laughed. It sounded like gargling in the next room. ‘You see, sahib, the boy could talk good. And, man, he is a born writer. He know a lot more than plenty of big big man in this place.’

The boy repeated. ‘Yes, these is very small papers.’

Ganesh smiled sympathetically. ‘That go cost a lot, man. We have to start small and simple. Look at your uncle Swami. He start small when he did bringing out papers.’

Swami nodded solemnly.

‘And Partap. And me. We did all have to start small. We starting up with four pages.’

‘Only four pages?’ the boy said petulantly. ‘But that ain’t no sort of paper at all, man.’

‘Later we go build it up, man. Big big.’

‘All right, all right.’ The boy angrily pulled his chair away from the table. ‘Go ahead and make up your so-call paper. But just leave me out of it.’ He attended to his Coca-Cola.

‘First page,’ Ganesh announced. ‘Bright page. No advertisements, except in the bottom right-hand corner.’

‘I always did promise myself,’ Partap said reverently, ‘that if I did ever start up a paper, I woulda dedicate it to Mahatma Gandhi. I know a boy, if you treat him nice, could pick up a block with Gandhi picture from the Sentinel office. We could put this on the top of the front page and I could always find out some words or something to go with it.’

Ganesh marked out the space for the homage.

‘That settle,’ Swami said.

The front page going to be a page of attack, attack,’ Ganesh said. ‘Leave that to me. I working on this article exposing the Destitutes Fund and Leela busy writing a little report about the social welfare work she doing.’

Swami was so pleased he tried to cross his gargantuan legs. The chair creaked and Ganesh looked hard at him. Leela came out and swept through the room. ‘Some people look as if they are never see furnitures before. Next time I are going to bring some benches.’

Partap sat bolt upright and Swami smiled.

The boy, sitting against the wall next to the refrigerator, said, ‘Yes, the page settle. But I wonder what people go say when they see in one side the page dedication to Mahatma Gandhi and in the other side attack, attack.’

Swami said sharply, ‘Shut up, boy. Otherwise, don’t mind you big and wearing long pants, I haul you across my knee and I give you a sound sound cut-arse, right here, in front of the pundit self. And I leave you home next time and you never touch any paper I bring out. If you ain’t have nothing but suckastic remarks, keep quiet.’

‘All right, you is a big man and you go shut me up. But I want to see how all you going to full up the three other pages.’

Ganesh ignored the exchange and went on ruling columns on the inside pages. ‘Page two.’

Partap sipped some Coca-Cola. ‘Page two.’

‘Yes,’ Swami said, ‘page two.’

Partap snapped his fingers. ‘Advertisements!’

‘A whole page advertisements on page two? You see the way inexperience people does talk?’

‘ Some advertisements,’ Ganesh pleaded.

‘Is what I did mean,’ Partap said.

‘Four columns on page two. Two for advertisement?’

Partap nodded.

Swami said, ‘Is how I use to do it.’

‘What you going to put in the two columns?’ The boy.

Swami turned around quickly in his chair and again it creaked dangerously. The boy was holding up Time before his face.

‘How about a little thing by you, pundit?’ Partap asked.

‘Man, already I writing up a whole front page. And I ain’t want my name to appear in the paper. I ain’t want to bring myself down to Narayan level.’

Swami said, ‘Culture, sahib. Page two is the culture page.’

Partap said, ‘Yes, culture.’

There was a long silence, broken only by the boy turning over the pages of Time with unnecessary rustle.

Ganesh tapped his pencil on the table. Swami propped his hands against his chin and leaned forward on the table, pushing it towards Ganesh. Partap crossed his arms and furrowed his brow.

‘Coca-Cola?’ Ganesh said.

Swami and Partap nodded absent-mindedly and Leela came out to do the honours. ‘I have some enamel cups, you know, if that are going to make you people any happier.’

‘Oh, we is all right,’ Partap smiled.

‘Cinema,’ the boy said, behind Time .

‘What you mean?’ Swami asked eagerly.

‘Film reviews,’ Ganesh said.

Partap said, ‘Film reviews is a first-class idea.’

Swami was enthusiastic. ‘And on that selfsame page, advertisements for films. From the Indian companies. One review for one advertisement.’

Ganesh slapped the table. ‘That self.’

The boy was humming.

The three men sipped Coca-Cola with abandon. Swami laughed and chuckled till his chair creaked.

The boy said coldly, ‘Page three.’

‘Two more columns of advertisement there,’ Ganesh said briskly.

‘And a nice big advertisement on the whole of page four,’ Swami added.

‘True enough,’ Ganesh said, ‘but why for you jumping ahead so?’

Partap said, ‘Only two more columns to full up.’

‘Yes,’ Swami said sadly, ‘two more.’

The boy walked to the table and said, ‘Feecher.’

They looked at him inquiringly.

‘Feecher article.’

‘The paper finish!’ Swami cried.

Partap said, ‘Who go write the feecher?’

Ganesh said, ‘People know my style. Is something for you people to write. Just gimme page one.’

‘Serious, religious feecher on page three,’ the boy said, ‘to make up for page one which, if I ain’t getting deaf, going to be a page of attack, attack.’

Swami said, ‘I outa practice. In the old days, man, I coulda turn out a feecher in half a hour.’

Partap said hesitantly, ‘A bright little thing about Parcel Post?’

The boy said, ‘Serious and religious feecher.’ To Swami he said, ‘But what about that one you show me the other day?’

‘Which one?’ Swami asked casually.

‘The flying one.’

‘Oh. That little thing. The boy talking, sahib, about a few words I scribble off the other day.’

Partap said, ‘I remember the one. The New Statesman send it back. Was nice, though. It prove, pundit, that in ancient India they did know all about aeroplanes.’

Ganesh said, ‘Hmmh.’ Then, ‘All right, we go put it in.’

Swami said, ‘I go have to polish it up a little bit.’

Partap said, ‘Well, I glad that settle.’

The boy said, ‘All you forgetting one thing. The name.’

The men became thoughtful once more.

Swami tinkled the ice in his glass. ‘I better say it right away, sahib. I is like that, sahib. No beating about the bush. If you can’t get a good name, blame me. I use up everything when I was a proper editor. Mirror, Herald, Sentinel, Tribune, Mail . Everything, man. Use them up, Hindu this and Hindu that.’

Ganesh said, ‘Something simple.’

Partap toyed with his glass and mumbled, ‘Something really simple.’ And before he had time to take it back Partap had said, ‘The Hindu?’