Third Vow

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THE THIRD VOW Author(s): Phanishwarnath Renu and Kathryn Hansen Source: Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. 17, No. 2, THE WRITINGS OF

PHANISHWARNATH RENU (Summer, Fall 1982), pp. 31-54Published by: Asian Studies Center, Michigan State UniversityStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/40872472Accessed: 07-09-2015 02:43 UTC

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THE THIRD VOW

Translated by Kathryn Hansen

Hiraman the cart driver had a tickle down his spine.

For the last twenty years he had been driving a cart--a bullock cart. He had hauled rice and timber across the border from Morang, Nepal. In the days of rationing he had delivered smuggled goods from this side to that. But he'd never had a tickle down his spine like this before.

The days of rationing - how could Hiraman ever forget those times! Once he had carried four loads of cement and cloth bales safely from Jogbani to Viratnagar. After that he was a seasoned smuggler, and every black marketeer in Forbesganj respected him. Even fat sethjl, the wealthy merchant, praised his bullocks in his own dialect.

But his cart got caught on the fifth trip, in the tarai on this side of the border. This was how it happened. His client's clerk was hiding in Hiraman's own cart, hunched up among the cloth bundles. The police inspector shone his foot-long flashlight at the cart. Hiraman knew how bright it was. It could blind you for an hour if its beam even grazed your eyes. Then the police inspector shouted in his crackling voice, "Stop your cart, damn it, or I'll shoot!"

The caravan of twenty carts clattered to a halt. Hiraman had earlier predicted, "This poison will kill us all."

The inspector turned the light on the crouching clerk and laughed with devilish glee, "Ah ha! Mr. Clerk, eh? Ha, ha! Listen, you idiot driver, what are you gaping at? Take the blanket off this sack right now!" He jabbed his nightstick into the clerk's belly and said, "Off of this sack, damn it!"

Apparently there was an old feud between the inspector and the clerk. Otherwise it shouldn't have been so hard to bribe the inspector. The clerk offered him four thousand right on the spot. The inspector jabbed him again. "Five thousand!" Another jab, with the order, "Get down first."

The inspector pulled the clerk out of the cart and shone the light in his eyes. Then he called a couple of guards over, and they dragged him to some bushes twenty yards off. Five armed police surrounded Hiraman and his carts. He knew there was no hope this time. Jail? He wasn't afraid of going to jail. But what about his bullocks? Who knows how long they'd have to lie in the government pound starving! Then they'd be auctioned off. He would never be able to face his brother and sister-in-law again. The auc- tioneer's voice rang in his ears, "Going once! Going twice! Gone!" He could see the inspector and the clerk were not coming to an agreement.

The guard stationed near Hiraman's cart called softly to another guard nearby, "What's going on? What's the matter?" Then he walked over to the fellow to offer him some tobacco.

Going once! Going twice! Gone! Three carts now separated Hiraman from the guards. He made up his mind. He quietly unharnessed his two bullocks and tied them together. He then got off the cart and propped the front end up with a bamboo pole to free the bullocks from the yoke. The animals knew what they had to do. He tickled them behind the ears and murmured beneath



his breath, "Come on, brothers! If we escape, we can get plenty of carts like this one. Going once! Going twice! Gone!" And they were off.

In the shadow of the carts, thick underbrush bordered the road for a distance. Holding their breath, the three sneaked through the brush without making a sound. Then they picked up speed. Chests puffed out with pride, the bullocks plunged into the dense forests of the toral. They sniffed out the way and ran through streams and rivulets with their tails raised high. Hiraman followed behind. They kept jogging all night, those three creatures.

When they finally reached home, Hiraman lay in a stupor for two days. As soon as he came to his senses, he grabbed his ears and took a vow. Never again would he carry such things! Smuggled goods? Heaven forbid he should ever touch them! Hard telling what had happened to the clerk. As for his cart, God alone knew its fate. It had a genuine steel axle, and one of the wheels, at any rate, was brand-new. He had decorated it painstakingly with pretty colored tassels.

Hiraman had taken two vows. The first-never to haul smuggled goods. The second-never to carry bamboo. He asked eyery client point-blank, "Nothing illegal here is there? And no bamboo?" Even if someone offered him fifty rupees, Hiraman refused and turned the man away.

This was the reason why. A cart loaded with bamboo was a cart always out of control. The poles stuck out four feet in front and four feet behind. Once he'd brought a clumsy load like that to the town of Kharaihiya. His client's numbskull of a servant who was in front steering the bamboo began gazing off towards the girls' school. That did it! Right at the corner they collided head-on with a tonga. By the time Hiraman reined in his bullocks, the end of the bamboo had gone through the tonga's canvas top. The tonga driver smacked him with his whip and soundly cursed him.

Hiraman gave up not only bamboo, but loads to Kharaihiya as well. Then when he took to hauling between Forbesganj and Morang, he lost his cart in the border raid. For several years he drove his bullocks on a partnership basis-half the earnings to the cart owner and half to himself. Iss! It was like driving a cart for nothing! He couldn't even feed his bullocks on that pay. Finally, during the last year, he had got a cart of his own built. Here was how he did it.

May the goddess bless that circus tiger! Last year the horses that pulled the tiger cage both died during the Champanagar fair. When the time came to leave Champanagar and go to the Forbesganj fair, the circus manager announced to the cart drivers, "I'll pay a hundred rupees for the job." A couple of cartmen were willing. But their bullocks started bellowing when they were still ten yards away from the tiger cage, "Ba-a-ah!" They broke their reins and ran off.

Hiraman stroked the backs of his bullocks and said, "Listen, brothers, we'll never find a chance like this again. Now 's the time to get our own cart. Otherwise it'll always be partnership. Don't be afraid, the tiger is locked in his cage. You've seen tigers roaring before in the open tarai. Besides, I'm right here behind you."

The group of cartmen gave Hiraman a round of applause. His bullocks had saved the reputation of them all. The bullocks strode forward and were yoked to the tiger cage, one at a time. Only the bull on the right pissed profusely after it was hitched up. For two days Hiraman wore a cloth wrapped around his nose. The stench of a tiger was unbearable!

But even when he hauled the tiger cage, Hiraman had never felt such a

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tickle down his spine. A jasmine flower was blooming in his cart today. When his back tingled, he swatted it with his shoulder cloth.

For two years now the goddess of the Champanagar fair had been pleased with him. Last year he got the tiger cage. In addition to the hundred rupees cash, there was the tip, tea and biscuits, and watching the clowns and animal acts the whole way--for free!

And this time, this female passenger. Was she a woman or a jasmine flower? The cart had been filled with wonderful frangrance ever since she got in.

The right wheel accidentally hit a hole in the dirt road and the cart lurched. Hiraman heard a soft hiss come from behind. He whipped his right bullock and said, "Damn fool! You think I've got a load of gunny sacks?"

"Oh, don't beat him!"

Hiraman was startled by the voice of the woman he couldn't see. She had a child's speech, soft and musical.

Everyone had heard of Hirabai, the actress who played Lai la in the Mathura Mohan Nautanki Company. But Hiraman was an extraordinary man. He'd carried loads to fairs for seven years, yet he'd never seen a nautanki show or a movie. Nor had he ever heard the name of Laila or Hirabai, let alone seen her.

That's why he had been a little apprehensive when he encountered this woman wrapped in black one midnight, two weeks before the close of the fair. The servant who carried her trunk had tried to haggle with Hiraman over the fare, but the woman had shaken her head inside her veil and told him not to. While Hiraman was harnessing the cart, he asked the servant, "Say brother, no stolen goods here, are there?" Hiraman was even more dumbfounded when the man motioned for him to start up and then vanished into the darkness. Hiraman was reminded of the black sari of the old woman who sold tobacco at the fair.

How could anyone drive a cart like this? For one thing, he had a tickle down his spine, and for another, a jasmine flower was blooming in his cart. When he scolded the bullocks, his passenger began to protest. And what a passenger--a woman all alone, and no old tobacco-seller either! After he heard her voice, he kept turning around to glance into the cart. He swatted his back with his cloth. Only God knew what was written in his fate this time!

As his cart turned toward the east, it was struck by a ray of moonlight. A firefly sparkled on the nose of his passenger. Everything seemed mysteri- ous and strange to Hiraman. Ahead lay the plain between Champanagar and Singhiya village. What if she were a witch or a demon?

Hiraman' s passenger turned over. The moonlight fell full on her face, and Hiraman almost cried aloud, "My God! She's a fairy!"

The fairy opened her eyes. Hiraman turned his face towards the road and coaxed his bullocks. He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but his tongue had become dry as wood.

"Brother, what's your name?" Just like a music box! Hiraman's flesh quivered with excitement. He couldn't utter a word. Both his bullocks perked up their ears at her voice too.

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"My name? Hiraman's my name."

His passenger smiled. Her smile smelled sweet.

"Then I'll call you friend, not brother. My name is Hira too."

"Iss!" Hiraman didn't believe that. There was a difference between men's and women's names.

"Yes, my name is Hirabai."

Well, between Hiraman and Hirabai there was plenty of difference!

Hiraman scolded his bullocks, "Do you think you'll make any headway by eavesdropping? This short one on the left is acting up again." He flicked his whip over the left bullock.

"Don't beat him. Let them go slow. What's the hurry?"

Hiraman was faced with the question of how to address Hirabai. Should he call her by the familiar pronoun or the formal? In his dialect, elders were addressed with the formal ahã, or äp, form. He could manage a few sentences in Hindustani, but if he wanted to talk freely with anyone he had to use the village dialect.

Hiraman had an old dislike for the morning fogs of these autumn months. Many times he had lost his way and wandered about. But his morning he was happy to be surrounded by dense mist. The fragrance of the blossoming paddy crops wafted in from the riverbank. This was the smell of the festival days in his village. Again the jasmine flower bloomed in his cart. A fairy was seated in that flower. Praises to the goddess!

Hiraman glanced from the corner of his eye towards his passenger--his "friend." Hirabai 's eyes were fixed firmly on him. Unknown music surged within Hiraman. His whole body shivered. He said, "You don't like it when I beat the bullocks, do you?"

Hirabai had appraised Hiraman and found him to be a genuine diamond. This sturdy dark-skinned villager, still young at forty, had no concerns in the world except his cart and his bullocks. At home his elder brother tended the fields and raised a family. Hiraman respected his sister-in-law more than his brother and was even a bit afraid of her. Hiraman had been married when he was a child. Before the marriage was consummated, his wife had died. He didn't even remember her face. As for a second marriage, there were many reasons against it. His sister-in-law insisted that Hiraman be married to a virgin, and a virgin meant a little six-year-old. No one observed the law against child marriages. But only parents in dire straits were willing to give a girl to a previously married man. Hiraman's sister-in-law had vowed that the girl must be a virgin, and even her husband couldn't oppose her. So now Hiraman had decided against marrying at all. Why borrow trouble? Anyway, a married man could hardly run a cart business. Even if he lost everything else, Hiraman would never give up his profession.

Hirabai had seen few people as guileless as Hiraman. He asked, "What district is your home in?" When he heard "Kanpur," he burst into such laughter that even his bullocks got startled. Hiraman lowered his head shyly when he laughed. When he finished laughing, he said, "That's great! Kanpur--Ear City. So there must be a Nakpur--Nose City--too."

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And when Hirabai replied that yes, there was a Nagpur, he doubled up with laughter again.

"What a world! What incredible names! Ear City! Nose City!" Hiraman gazed intently at the flower behind Hirabai 's ear. He trembled when he saw the jewel of her nose-ring glistening like a drop of blood.

Hiraman had never heard of Hirabai. He didn't consider nautanki actres- ses prostitutes. He had seen women who worked in the companies before. The mistress of the circus company used to come to the tiger cage with her two little daughters and feed the tiger with affection. The older daughter used to give bread and biscuits to his bullocks.

Hiraman was sensible. As soon as the fog dispersed, he shielded Hirabai by hanging a sheet over the cart frame. "Just two more hours. After that it'll be hard to keep going. You won't be able to stand the Kartik sun. We'll stop on the Kajri River near Tegachiya and spend the midday there."

Seeing a cart coming from the distance, Hiraman grew cautious. He sat quietly and concentrated on the path and his bullocks. As the other driver passed by, he asked Hiraman, "Is the fair over, brother?"

Hiraman said he didn't know anything about the fair. He had a woman traveling to her in-laws in his cart. Hiraman made up the name of some village and told the man.

"Where's Chattapur Pachira?"

"What's it to you, wherever it is?" Hiraman laughed at his own quick wit. Even with the curtain down, his back tingled.

Hiraman peeked through a hole in the curtain. Hirabai was inspecting her teeth in a matchbox-sized mirror. Once Hiraman had bought a necklace of cowries for his bullocks at the Madanpur fair. A row of tiny little cowrie shells!

The three trees for which Tegachiya was named appeared on the horizon. Hiraman opened the curtain slightly and said, "Look, there's Tegachiya. Two of the trees are banyans, and one is--what's that flower cal led?--l ike the flower printed on your blouse. It has a nice smell. You can smell it for several miles around. Some people smoke tobacco scented with it."

"And what about those buildings on the other side of that mango grove? Is that a village or a temple?"

"That's the old Ramnagar estate." Hiraman used the local pronunciation, "Namlagar." Before lighting a bidl he asked, "Do you mind if I smoke? The smell won't bother you? The estate belongs to the son-in-law of the king who arranged the Champanagar fair. Ah, the good old days!"

With these words, Hiraman sweetened the conversation. Hirabai flipped back the curtain. Such a fine row of teeth!

"What good old days?" She propped her chin on her hand and insisted.

"The days of the Namlagar estate. Ah, what a glorious time that was, but see what it's come to now!"

Hiraman knew the secret of telling a tale. Hirabai asked, "Did you ever see those days?"

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"No, but I've heard about them. It's a very sad story, how that kingdom crumbled. They say that a god was born into the royal family. Now I ask you, a god is a god after all, isn't he? Even though he left the heavenly world and took birth in this abode of death, how could he contain his splen- dor? His brilliance shone on his forehead like a sunflower. But thanks to a twist of fate, no one recognized him. Once the viceroy and his wife came by plane to visit the king. Even the viceroy didn't recognize the god. Finally his wife figured it out. When she saw that sunflower brilliance she spoke to the king, 'This is not a human child. This is a god!"1

Hiraman imitated the pidgin Hindi of the British lady, adding some English swearwords of his own. Hirabai laughed heartily. Her entire body swayed as she laughed.

Hirabai adjusted her shawl. Then Hiraman felt as if-- as if--

"And after that? Then what happened, my friend?"

"Iss! Do you really like to listen to stories? Well, a black man-- even if he becomes a king or an emperor--wi 11 always be a black man. He'll never get the brains of a white man. Everybody laughed at the lady and dis- missed the matter. Then the god started appearing to the queen in her dreams. 'If you cannot serve me properly,1 he said, 'then let me go. I won't live with you.1 After that the god took his revenge. First of all, the two tuskers died; then the horses; then one by one--"

"One by one what?"

Hiraman' s mood was changing minute by minute. He felt as though a multicolored umbrella were opening inside him. One of the heavenly nymphs was riding in his cart. A god was a god after all.

"One by one, wealth and riches, cattle and kine, everything was de- stroyed. The god went back to heaven."

Hirabai sighed as she looked at the temple spire disappearing in the distance.

"But as he left, the god said, 'There will never be more than a single heir to this kingdom. I'm taking the riches with me, but I leave my virtues behind.' All the gods departed with him. Only Saraswati remained. That's her temple there."

Hiraman saw some merchants approaching with their pack ponies loaded with jute, and he dropped the curtain. He urged his bullocks on, and began to sing the invocation to Saraswati from the bideshiyã dance-drama.

Rails Mother Saraswati I beg of you, Come to my aid, oh mother, Come to my aid!

Hiraman asked the merchants merrily, "What are you paying for jute?"

The one with the lame horse answered vaguely, "At the most thirty rupees, at the least twenty-seven. It depends on the quality."

The younger merchant asked, "What's happening at the fair, brother? Which nautankl company is performing-- the Rauta or the Mathura Mohan?"

"The fair people know about the fair--not me!" Hiraman again referred to Chattapur Pachi ra.

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The sun had risen two bamboo poles above the horizon. Hiraman spoke to his bullocks, "Two more miles! Be brave and keep it up! It's time for a drink, isn't it? I remember last time how the circus clown and the monkey trainer got into a fight near Tegachiya. The clown gnashed his teeth like a monkey and started screeching. I wonder where in the world he was from?"

Hiraman again peeked through the curtain and saw Hirabai sitting with her eyes fixed on a piece of paper. Hiraman' s heart was bound by sweet music today. He remembered all sorts of songs. Twenty years or so ago, the bideshiya, balvaht, and chokrã performers sang song after song--ghazals and khemtãs . Nowadays people sang strange tunes that blasted from loudspeakers. Ah, the good old days! Hiraman remembered a song from the ohokrã dance:

My lover has become my enemy. Alas3 if it were a letter, Anyone could read it. If it were a letter - But, alas, it is my fate! No one can read my fate, My lover, O my fate!

Tapping his fingers on the shaft of the cart, Hiraman marked time as he sang. The boy who used to play the heroine in the chokra dance had a face just like Hirabai 's. Where had those days gone? Every month performers used to visit his village and Hiraman went to watch. He had been scolded by his sister many times on that account. His brother had even asked him to move out.

Today it appeared that Mother Saraswati had come to Hiraman 's aid. Hirabai said, "Beautiful! How well you sing!"

Hiraman blushed. He lowered his head and chuckled.

Today Lord Hanuman who lived at Tegachiya was also protecting Hiraman. There wasn't a single cart parked below the three trees. Usually there was a whole crowd of cartmen. Just a lone cyclist was sitting and relaxing. Hiraman repeated the name of Hanuman and stopped his cart. Hirabai began to remove the curtain. For the first time Hiraman looked Hirabai in the eye, warning her silently that the cyclist was watching them.

Hiraman propped up the front of the cart and unhitched the bullocks. Then he glowered at the cyclist and asked, "Where are you going? To the fair? Where' ve you come from? Bisanpur? And you're already pooped out? Such is youth!"

The skinny adolescent muttered something and, lighting a bidï, got up. Hiraman wanted to protect Hirabai from the eyes of all the world. He

looked around and found not a cart or horse in sight.

The thin stream of the Kajri River flowed near Tegachiya and then turned towards the east. Hirabai gazed at the water buffalo lounging in its waters and at the herons perched on their backs.

Hiraman spoke, "Why don't you go and wash up at the riverbank?"

Hirabai climbed out of the cart. Hiraman' s heart pounded. No--her feet were not crooked like a witch's, they were straight! But why were her soles so red? Hirabai walked slowly toward the riverbank, bowing her head like a village bride. Who could say she was a woman of the company? She was a girl, not a woman. Probably a virgin.

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Hiraman sat in the propped up cart. He peered into the back under the curtain. He first made sure he was alone and then put his hand on Hirabai's pillow. He sank into it, leaning on his elbow. The fragrance filled his body. He touched the flowers embroidered on the pillowcase and sniffed them. My word, such a marvelous smell! Hiraman felt high--as if he had smoked five pipeful s of hashish. He examined his face in Hirabai's little mirror. Why were his eyes so red?

When Hirabai returned, he laughed and said, "Now you keep an eye on the cart. I'll be right back. "

He took a folded undershirt out of his knapsack. He shook out his towel and hung it over his shoulder. Dangling his bucket in one hand, he went off. His bullocks called out to him in turn. Hiraman turned back to them as he walked away, saying, "I know, everybody's thirsty! I'll be back and give you some grass in a minute. Now be good." The bullocks twitched their ears.

Hirabai didn't notice when Hiraman returned from his bath. She had dozed off while staring at the waters of the Kajri, her eyes overcome with sleep lost the night before.

"Get up! Wake up! Have a bite to eat!" Hiraman brought curd, pounded rice, and sugar from the nearby village.

Hirabai opened her eyes and looked up with surprise. Banana leaves and a fresh clay pot full of curd in one hand, a bucketful of water in the other. And in his eyes, friendly invitation.

"Where did you get all this?"

"The curd here is famous. But you won't get tea until Frobesganj."

The tingling in Hiraman' s body subsided. Hirabai said, "You spread out your leaf too. What's the matter? If you won't eat with me, then put it all back in your pack. I won't eat either."

"Iss!" Hiraman said, embarrassed. "All right. Please take some first."

"What's this 'first' business? You sit down too!"

Hiraman was delighted. Hirabai spread a banana leaf for him with her own hands, sprinkled water on it, and served him some pounded rice. Iss! What a blessing! Hiraman saw the mother goddess partaking of the meal. Red lips adorned with a touch of curd, as if a hill parrot were eating rice and milk.

The afternoon passed.

Both Hirabai, asleep in the cart, and Hiraman, who had stretched out on a rug on the ground, woke up at the same time. Carts going to the fair had halted at Tegachiya, and children were making a commotion.

Hiraman got up in confusion. He peered under the curtain and gestured to Hirabai, "It's time to go." While he hitched up the bullocks, he ignored the questions of the cart drivers. Driving off he said, "She's a lady doc- tor from the hospital in Sirpur Bazar. She's going to see a patient--in Kurmagam near here."

Hirabai had forgotten the name Chattapur Pachi ra. When the cart had gone ahead a little way, she asked with a smile, "What about Pattapur Chapira?"

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Hiraman laughed so hard his sides ached, "Pattapur Chapira! Ha, ha! Those cartmen really were from Chattapur Pachi ra. How could I give them that line?"

Hirabai smiled and looked at the village. The road passed through its center. When the village children saw the curtained cart, they began to clap their hands and sing a rhyme:

In a bright red palanquin Sits the blushing bride Eating betel leaf.

Hiraman laughed. Bride--in a red palanquin! The bride eats the betel, and then wipes her mouth on her husband's turban. 0 bride, remember the children of Tegachiya! When you come back, bring them sweets of molasses. May your husband live a thousand years!

Hiraman1 s desire of a lifetime had been fulfilled today. Countless times he had dreamed this dream. He was returning home with his bride, and the children of every village were clapping ans singing. The women were gazing forth from every courtyard. The menfolk asked, "Where are you from? Where are you going?" His bride pulled the curtain of the palanquin aside and looked out. And so many other dreams.

After they had left the village, Hiraman stole a glance into the rear of the cart. Hirabai was reflecting on something. Hiraman too fell into a pen- sive mood. After a while, he began to hum:

Ah my love, don't speak falsely, for we must go to God. Without an elephant _, a horse or a cart. We must go there on foot. Ah my love . . .

Hirabai asked, "My friend, aren't there any songs in your own dialect?"

Hiraman now addressed Hirabai looking directly into her eyes. Could company women really be like this? The mistress of the circus company was a proper lady. But this Hirabai wanted to hear a song in the village dialect! He smiled openly, "Can you follow the village dialect?"

"Of course!" Hirabai nodded. Her earrings bobbed.

Hiraman drove the bullocks silently for a little way. Then he said, "You really want to hear a song? You won't give up? Iss! If you're that keen on hearing village music, then I'll have to take the side way. How can anyone sing a song on the main road?" Hiraman pulled the reins of the left bullock and jerked the right one out of the rut, saying, "We won't go through Haripur then."

The cartman following Hiraman saw him leaving the track and shouted, "Where to, cartman? Why are you going off the beaten path?"

Hiraman twirled his whip in the air and replied, "What do you mean, off the path? That road doesn't lead to Nananpur." Then he muttered to himself, "People in these parts have this bad habi't. They'll cross-examine you a hundred times on the road. Listen, brother, if you've got to go, then go! Country bumpkins, the whole lot of them!" Hiraman brought the cart onto the Nananpur road and slackened the reins. The bullocks fell back from a trot to a wal k.

Hiraman noticed how deserted the Nananpur road was. Hiraman understood the language of her eyes. "There's no need to worry. This road goes to Forbesganj too, and the people along the way are nicer. We'll get there by nightfall ."

Hirabai was in no hurry to reach Forbesganj. She had developed such confidence in Hiraman that there was no question of fear arising in her mind.

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Hiraman smiled broadly. Which song should he sing? Hirabai liked both songs and stories. Iss! What about Mahua Ghatvarin?

He spoke, "Since you are so eager, I'll sing you the song of Mahua Ghatvarin. It's got both song and tale to it."

The goddess had finally fulfilled this desire as well. Hail to the goddess! Today Hiraman would pour out his heart. He kept gazing at Hirabai 's suppressed smile.

"Then listen, if you please," he began. "Even today there are several old landings on the Parman River named after Mahua Ghatvarin. She was from this very region. Though Mahua was a lowly fisher by caste, she was one in a hundred in virtue. Her father was a drunkard who lay in a stupor night and day. Her stepmother was a living witch-very sly and crafty. She knew all sorts of thieves and people who dealt in hashish and opium. She was on intimate terms with all of them. Mahua was unmarried, but that witch worked her to the bone. When she came of age, there was no talk even of marrying her. Listen to what happened one night."

Hiraman hummed softly and cleared his throat.

In the monsoon months of Savan and Bhado The river overflows, O mother! The night is fearful, the lightning fierce, For I am but a young girl.

'"0, mother! How can I go alone to the riverbank? And especially to massage the feet of a strange wayfarer?' Her stepmother had locked her out. The clouds in the sky thundered and the rain began to pour. Mahua started to weep, remembering her dead mother. If her mother were alive today, she would clutch her Mahua to her heart at terrible times like this. '0 mother, was it for this day, was it to show me this that you kept me in your womb?' Mahua raged at her mother. 'Why did you die alone?' she asked, cursing her with al 1 her heart."

Hiraman noticed that Hirabai, bent over her pillow, was staring at him raptly, absorbed in the song. How innocent her lost expression looked!

Hiraman raised a tremolo in his voice.

O 3 you witch of a mother, Why didn't you feed me salt And kill me in the delivery room? Was it for this day, you whore? That you raised me on butter, milk, and utgan?

Hiraman caught his breath and asked, "Do you understand the language at all or are you just listening to the tune?"

Hirabai replied, "I understand everything. Utgan means ubtan, the cos- metic paste you put on your body."

Amazed, Hiraman said, "Iss! So what was the point of Mahua weeping and wailing? The merchant had already paid the full price for her. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the boat, telling the boatman to cast off and raise the sails. The sailboat flew like a bird. Mahua tossed and turned and wept all night. The merchant's servants threatened and frightened her, 'Shut up, or we'll throw you into the water!' Well, that gave Mahua an idea. When the morning star peeked out from behind a cloud and then hid

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again, Mahua jumped into the water with a splash. One of the merchant's servants had fallen in love with Mahua at first sight. He jumped in after her. Swimming against the current is no sport, and that too in a river swollen in the monsoon. But Mahua was a true river girl. Does a fish ever tire in water? Just like a migrating fish, she wriggled and swiftly sped through the stream. And behind her the merchant's servant called out, 'Just a minute, Mahua! Wait! I'm not coming to catch you, I'm your friend. Let's live together--forever.

' But--"

This was one of Hiraman's favorite songs. As he sang Mahua Ghatvarin, he pictured the monsoon river flooding, the new moon night, and the lightning flashing among thick clouds. In that flash he caught a glimpse of the young Mahua fighting the waves. The speed of the migrating fish increased. He felt that he himself was the merchant's servant. Mahua didn't listen to him. She didn't believe him. She wouldn't even turn around to see. And he was tired of swimming.

This time it seemed that Mahua was letting herself be caught. Of her own accord, she came into his grasp. He had touched Mahua, he had gained her. His exhaustion vanished. After swimming against the current of the swollen river for fifteen years, today his heart reached the shore. His tears of joy could not be restrained.

He tried to hide his moist eyes from Hirabai. But Hirabai, completely won over, had been looking at him for a long time. Hiraman brought his trembling voice under control and chided his bullocks, "I don't know what it is in this song that makes you slow down. You act like you're carrying a ten-ton load."

Hirabai gave a deep sigh. Hiraman felt a thrill suffuse his body.

"You're a master, my friend!"

"Iss!"

The autumn sun was growing dim even at two bamboos height. They had to reach Nananpur before sunset. Hiraman urged his bullocks, "Pick up your feet and muster your courage! Hey, giddyap! Come on, brothers, get a move on!"

He cajoled his bullocks all the way to Nananpur. Before each challenge, he reminded them of some past event. "Don't you remember how many carts were in the wedding procession for the headman's daughter? And how you defeated them all? Yes, move like that now. Come on! Just six miles from Nananpur to Forbesganj! Two more hours!"

They had recently started selling tea in the market at Nananpur. Hiraman filled his water jug with tea and brought it to Hirabai. He knew about company women, all right. They drank tea the whole day long, eyery hour on the hour. Tea was their life!

Hirabai offered him some. When he refused, she almost rolled over with laughter. "Come on, who told you bachelors shouldn't drink tea?"

Hiraman blushed. What could he say? It was a matter for shame. But he had experienced it. He had tried tea once when the circus company woman offered it to him. What a stimulating effect it had!

"Here, teacher! Drink some," Hirabai laughed.

"Iss!"

41



The lamps had already been lit in the Nananpur market. Hiraman lit his traveling lantern and hung it in back. Nowadays villagers who lived ten miles from the city considered themselves urbanités. They fined any cart traveling without a light. There was always some obstacle or another!

"Please don't call me teacher," Hiraman said.

"But you're my master. In our scriptures it says that anyone who teaches even a single letter is a teacher, and whoever teaches even one melody is a master! "

"Iss! So you know the scriptures too? What have I taught you?"

Hirabai laughed and began to hum.

In the monsoon months . . .

Hiraman was struck dumb by surprise. Iss! What a clever mind! Mahua Ghatvarin exactly!

The cart, rumbling, descended the slope to the dry bed of the Sitadhar River. Hirabai held on to Hiraman's shoulder with one hand. Her fingers remained there for a long time. Several times Hiraman tried to turn his gaze and focus on his shoulder. When the cart came to the ascending bank, Hirabai' s slack fingers again tightened.

Ahead the lights of Forbesganj glittered, and a short distance beyond shone the lights of the fair. A shadow created by the cart's lantern seemed to dance near Hiraman. To his tearfilled eyes, ewery light appeared as a sunflower.

Forbesganj was Hiraman's second home. Who knows how many times he'd come to Forbesganj, carrying loads for the fair. But with a woman? Yes, once--the year his sister-in-law had come to live with her husband. They'd put a canvas all around the cart, just like this, and made an enclosure.

Hiraman put up the canvas there in the cartmen's quarter. First thing next morning Hirabai would speak to the manager of the Rauta Nautanki Company and join the troupe. The fair would open the following day. There was a huge crowd already and the camps were full of tents.

Just for one night! All night long she would stay in Hiraman's cart. Not in his cart, in his home!

"Where's the cart from? Who, Hiraman? From which fair? What kind of a load?"

The cart drivers of each village sought each other out and parked their carts close together to form a camp. Hiraman was surprised when he saw a group of cartmen from his vil lage--Lalmohar, Dhunniram, Palatdas and a few others. Palatdas peeked into Hiraman's cart and cried out as though he'd set eyes on a tiger. Hiraman silenced them all with a gesture. He glanced at the cart and whispered, "Quiet! It's a woman from the company, the nautanki company."

"From the company?"

"??-- ! ! "

Now there was not one Hiraman, there were four just like him. They gazed at each other in amazement. What an effect that word "company" had! Hiraman

42



noticed that three of them clammed up all at once, while Lalmohar stepped aside and indicated he wanted to talk to Hiraman privately. Hiraman faced the cart and said, "The hotels and restaurants are probably all closed. I'll have to get some food from a sweet-maker."

"Hiraman, listen a minute. I won't eat anything right now. Here, you go ahead and eat," Hirabai said.

"What's this, money? Iss!" Hiraman had never paid for food in Forbesganj. After all, what were all these cartmen from his village for? He could not touch the money.

He said to Hirabai, "There's no point in bickering. Keep your money."

When he got the chance, Lalmohar came over to the cart too. He greeted Hirabai and said, "Two more people can yery well share the rice cooked for four. It's on the fire in our camp. We're all from the same village. How can Hiraman go to a hotel or sweet shop when his fellow villagers are here?"

Hiraman pressed Lalmohar' s hand. "Don't get so carried away."

As they walked away from the cart, Dhunniram opened his restless heart. "Iss! You're really something Hiraman! Last year, the company tiger. This year, a company woman!"

Hiraman answered in a hushed voice, "Listen, brother, she's not like a woman from our parts who'll put up with any loose talk. For one thing, she's from the west, and on top of that, she's from a company!"

Dhunniram voiced his doubt, "But I've heard that company women are prostitutes. "

"Shut up!" All of them rebuked him together. What sort of a man was he? Prostitutes? In the company? What brains! Maybe he'd heard that, but he certainly had never seen anything like it!

Dhunniram admitted his error. It occurred to Palatdas, "Hiraman brother, how can a woman stay all alone in the cart? Whatever else, she's a woman after all. What if she needs something?"

Everyone agreed. Hiraman said, "You're right. Palat, you go back and stay by the cart. And look, mind your manners. Do you hear?"

Lalmohar sniffed Hiraman' s shoulder-cloth. His body was reeking of rose perfume. Mmm! What a lucky stud! The last time he smell ed like a tiger for months.

Hiraman halted all of a sudden. "What should I do, Lalmohar brother? Tell me, please. She insists that I go see the show."

"For free?"

"But won't it get back to the village?" Hiraman asked. "No thanks! If I go see a nautankl one night, I'll hear about it for the rest of my life. They'll say I'm a country bumpkin acting like a city slicker."

Dhunniram asked, "Would your sister-in-law be upset even if you saw it for free?"

Near Lalmohar' s camp was the camp of the cartmen who hauled timber. Their chief, old Miyajan, was smoking his portable hubble-bubble and asked, "Hey brother, who's come with the load from Mina Bazar?"

43



Mina Bazar! That was what they called the red-light district. What was this old Miya saying? Lalmohar whispered in Hiraman's ear, "Your whole body smells of perfume. It's the truth!"

Lahsanva was Lalmohar' s apprentice and the youngest among them. So what if this was his first time at the fair? He'd been serving rich families since he was a boy. Every now and then he wrinkled up his nose to catch the smells in the atmosphere. Hiraman noted that his face had turned red. Who was that running over? Palatdas? What was the matter?

Palatdas stood there speechless. His face was flushed too. Hiraman asked, "What happened? Why don't you speak up?"

What could Palatdas reply? Hiraman had warned him to mind his manners. He'd quietly gotten into the cart and sat in the driver's seat in Hiraman's place. Hirabai had asked, "Are you a friend of Hiraman's too?" Palatdas had nodded yes. Hirabai lay down again. When he saw her face and heard her voice, Palatdas began to quiver unaccountably. Yes! He had seen the princess Sita in the vamlila lie down tired just like that. Hail! Hail to Si ta' s husband, the Lord Ram! Palatdas1 heart filled with praises to the gods. He was a Vaishnava and a kirtan singer. He wanted to touch the feet of the exhausted princess Sita, and his fingers trembled as if they were dancing on the keys of a harmonium. Hirabai sat up in a rage, "Hey! Are you crazy? Get out of here, beat it!" Palatdas felt sparks falling from her eyes. He fled.

What could he reply? He was trying to think of a way to leave the fair altogether. He said, "Nothing. I met a trader. I have to go to the station and pick up some goods. It'll be a while till dinner. I'll be back by then."

During the meal Dhunniram and Lahsanva heaped abuse on Palatdas. He was small-minded and mean. He kept track of every penny. After dinner Lalmohar1 s group broke up their camp. Dhunni and Lahsanva hitched their cart and went to Hiraman's site, following the track. Hiraman stopped on the way and said to Lalmohar, "Just take a whiff of this shoulder of mine! See?"

Lalmohar smelled it and closed his eyes. An indistinct word escaped from his 1 ips, "Eh--"

Hiraman said, "Such a smell just from the touch of her hand! Get it?"

Lalmohar grabbed Hiraman's hand. "She put her hand on your shoulder? No kidding! Listen, Hiraman, you'll never get a chance like this again to see a nautankl. Really!"

"Will you come too?"

Lalmohar's teeth flashed in the light at the crossroads.

When they reached the camp, Hiraman saw someone standing near the cart conversing with Hirabai. Dhunni and Lahsanva spoke together, "Where 've you been? The company's been looking for you for a long time."

Hiraman went over to the canopy. Oh, no! It was the same servant who carried the trunks, who had put Hirabai on the cart at the Champanagar fair and vanished into the darkness.

"So you're here, Hiraman! ̂ ery good, come here. Here's your wages and here's your tip. Twenty-five, twenty-five--fifty. "

Hiraman felt as if someone had shoved him out of heaven and hurled him down to earth. That someone was this trunk-carrying servant. Where had he

44



come from? The words that came to his tongue died there. I ss! A tip! He stood silently.

Hirabai spoke. "Here, take this. And listen, come to meet me tomorrow morning in the Rauta Company. I'll get your pass made out. Why don't you say something?"

Lalmohar said, "The lady's giving you a bonus. Take it, Hiraman." Hiraman looked at him harshly. This Lalmohar had no style at all.

Everyone heard Dhunniram's aside, even Hirabai, "How can a cartman leave his cart and bullocks in the fair to see a nautankìi"

Hiraman took the money. "What can I say?" He attempted a laugh. The company woman was going back to the company. What was it to him?

The trunk-carrier led the way, "Over here."

Hirabai stopped and addressed Hiraman 's bullocks, "All right, I'm leaving, brothers!"

They twitched their ears at the word "brothers."

"Brothers! Tonight--on the stage of the Rauta Sangit Nautanki Company-- Gulbadan! Come see Gulbadan! You will be pleased to learn that the famous actress of the Mathura Mohan Company, Miss Hi radevi, whose every glance wins a thousand hearts, has joined our company this year. Remember--tonight! Miss Hi radevi as Gulbadan!"

This announcement spread excitement through every sector of the fair. Hirabai? Miss Hiradevi? Playing Lai la and Gulbadan? She outshines film stars!

Your sidelong glances bewitch me3 my love. How can I describe my longing for you? All I desire is that you look at me And that, heart and soul, I look at you.

Ki rr-rr-r-karr . . . dhan-dhan-dhan-dharam! Every man's heart had become a drum.

Lalmohar ran up to Hiraman' s camp, huffing and puffing, "Come on, Hiraman! What are you doing sitting here? Come and see the celebrations. They're singing Hirabai 's praises and passing out leaflets!"

Hiraman scrambled to his feet. Lahsanva said, "Uncle Dhunni, you stay at the camp. I want to go too."

No one heard Dhunni 's reply. The three stepped in behind the nautanki company's publicity band. The band paused at every corner, stopped their music, and made the announcement. Hiraman quivered with excitement at every word. When he heard Hirabai' s name and the account of her charms, he patted Lalmohar on the back, "Wonderful! Marvelous, isn't it?"

Lalmohar answered, "Now tell me. You still won't go see the show?"

Dhunni ram and Lalmohar had been trying to persuade him all morning and had given up hope. "Go and visit her," they had urged. "She invited you when she left."

45



But Hiraman had only one thing to say. "Cut it out! Why should I call on her? She's a company woman, and she's gone back to the company. Now I've got nothing to do with her. She won't even recognize me."

Inside he sulked. Now, after hearing the announcement, he said, "We really should go, don't you think, Lalmohar?"

Hiraman and Lalmohar talked it over between themselves and headed for the Rauta Company. When they arrived near the tent, Hiraman indicated to Lalmohar that all enquiries were up to him. Lalmohar knew Hindustani. He addressed a man in a black coat. "Excuse me, mister--"

The man raised his eyebrows and replied, "What is it? What are you doing here?"

Lalmohar' s Hindustani faltered. Seeing the man's irritation, he stuttered, "Gulgul--no, I mean, er, Bulbul--no-- . "

Hiraman abruptly took control. "Can you tell me where Hi radevi stays?"

The man's eyes blazed. He summoned the Nepali guard standing in front and said, "Why did you let these people in here?"

"Hiraman!" Where was that musical voice coming from? Hirabai pushed aside the curtain of her tent and called. "Come here, inside. Listen, Bahadur! Take a good look at him. This is my Hiraman, understand?"

The Nepali glanced at Hiraman and smiled. He went over to the black- coated man and said, "He's Hirabai 's man. She says not to stop him."

Lalmohar brought pan for the Nepali and said, "Have some."

Hiraman was beaming when he came out of the tent. "Iss! Not one pass, but five! All for the eight-ãnnã section. She said that as long as we're here we should come eyery night to see the show. She thought of everyone. She said, 'You've got other friends with you. Take passes for all of them.1 These company women are really terrific, aren't they?"

Lalmohar touched the pieces of red paper and said, "Passes! Fantastic, Hiraman brother! But what will we do with five passes? Palatdas hasn't come back yet.

"

Hiraman said, "Let him go, poor guy. It wasn't in his fate. But wait-- first you've got to swear that not a word of this gets back to the village."

Lalmohar got excited. "What damn fool would dare peep a word? If Palat makes trouble I won't bring him along next time.

Hiraman had entrusted his handbag to Hirabai' s safekeeping. Who could you trust at these fairs? All sorts of pickpockets turned up eyery year, and you couldn't even rely on your own companions. Hirabai agreed. She locked Hiraman's black cloth bag in her leather suitcase. It had a cloth slipcover and a beautiful silk lining inside. Hiraman's wounded pride was restored.

Lalmohar and Dhunniram both complimented Hiraman on his sharp wits and praised his good fortune. Under their breaths, they criticized his brother and sister-in-law. Such a diamond of a brother they had in Hiraman! If it were anyone else--

Lahsanva was pouting. He had wandered off following the publicity party and had only returned an hour after sunset. Lalmohar upbraided him in true boss-like fashion, "No good bastard!"

46



Dhunniram put the khichrï on the fire to cook, saying, "Let's first decide who's going to stay with the carts."

"Who else will stay? This Lahsanva isn't going anywhere!"

Lahsanva burst into tears. "0, master! I beg you! Just one glimpse, please, just one!"

Hiraman spoke with generosity, "All right, all right. Why one glimpse? You can watch for an hour. I'll come back."

Two hours before the nautankl started the nagãrã drums began to roll, and with that people swarmed like moths. Hiraman chuckled when he saw the crowd at the box office. "Look at the stampede over there, Lalmohar!"

"Hiraman brother!"

"Who is it? Palatdas! Where' d you bring your load from?" Lalmohar asked like one from another village.

Palatdas wrung his hands and apologized, "I'm sorry. I'll accept whatever punishment you give me. But the truth of the matter is that Princess Sita--"

The lotus of Hiraman 's heart had bloomed on hearing the beat of the drums. He spoke, "Look, Palat, don't think she's like one of our women. See, she's given you a pass too. Here. Take your pass and come to the show."

Lalmohar said, "But you get it on one condition. In the middle, you have to let Lahsanva--"

There was no need to tell Palatdas. He'd already talked with Lahsanva.

Lalmohar posed a second condition, "If this gets around in the village--"

"God forbid!" Palatdas said, biting his tongue between his teeth. He went on, "The eight-ãnnã entrance is over here."

The gatekeeper took their passes and looked at their faces one by one. He said, "But these are passes! Where did you get them?"

Now Lalmohar put his Hindustani to good use. Seeing his frown, the gatekeeper cowered. "Where do you think we got them? Go ask your company! And look, there are not just four, here's the other!" Lalmohar took the fifth pass from his pocket and showed it to him.

The Nepali guard was standing at the one-rupee gate. Hiraman called to him, "Hey, mister! I was introduced to you this morning, and it looks like you've already forgotten me."

The guard answered, "They're all Hirabai's men. Let them in. They've got passes, so why are you stopping them?"

The eight-ãnnã section! The three had a look inside the theater tent for the first time. The section with benches and chairs was up front. On the curtain was a picture of Ram going to the forest. Palatdas recognized it. He joined his hands and made a namaskãr to the painted figures of Ram, Princess Sita, and brother Lakshman. "Hail! Hail!" Palatdas' eyes filled with tears.

47



Hiraman asked, "Lalmohar, are the pictures standing or moving?"

Lalmohar had already met the spectators sitting next to him. He replied, "The actors are still behind the curtain. Right now they're playing the overture while the audience gets settled."

Palatdas knew how to play the dholak, a folk drum, so he nodded his head to the beat of the nagava and tapped out the rhythm with a matchstick. Offering bidls around, Hiraman also got to know a couple of people. Lalmohar's acquaintance wrapped himself in his shawl and said, "It's still a while till the dance begins. I think I'll take a snooze!"

The eight-ãnnã section was the best of all. The farthest back, the highest up, with warm straw on the ground. The folks down there on the chairs would get sick of the cold pretty soon and have to go out for tea.

The man next to Lalmohar told his partner, "Wake me up when the show starts. No, not when it starts. When Hiriya comes on stage-wake me then."

Hiraman bristled at "Hiriya." This fellow appeared to be the lecherous type. With a glance he signaled to Lalmohar that there was no need to talk to him.

Dhan-dhan-dhan-dharam! The curtain rose. Hirabai immediately entered the stage. The tent was packed. Hiraman' s jaw dropped. Lalmohar laughed at every line of Hirabai' s song for no apparent reason.

Gulbadan sat surrounded by her court. She was making a speech. Whoever constructed a magnificent throne for her would be granted a reward of his own choosing.

If there be such a craftsman Let it be fashioned by him - A throne fit for a queen.

Kir-kir-kiri ! Her dancing was incredible! What a voice!

"Do you know, this man says Hirabai never touches tobacco or betel."

"He's right. She's a well-bred whore."

"Who says she's a whore? Where's the lampblack on her teeth?"

"She must brush them with toothpowder. "

"Absolutely not!"

"Where's the man who's talking like that? How dare he call a company woman a whore?"

"What's it to you? Are you her pimp?"

"Beat him up, the bastard!"

Hiraman 's voice pierced the hullabaloo in the tent, "Come on, I'll throttle each and every one of you!"

Lalmohar was lashing the people in front with his bullock whip, while Palatdas sat on a man's chest pummel ing him. "You son of a bitch! Calling Princess Sita bad names, and a Muslim to boot!"

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Dhunniram had been silent from the beginning. As soon as the fight broke out, he crept off and fled from the tent.

The nautankl manager in the black coat and the Nepali guard came dashing over, while the constable started flogging everybody. Lalmohar received a blow, burst into a rage, and began lecturing in Hindustani, "Mr. Constable, go ahead and beat me. I have no objection. But please look at this pass; there's another in my pocket. Have a look, your honor! It's not a ticket, it's a pass! So if someone speaks ill of a company woman in front of us, how can we overlook it?"

The company manager had it all figured out. He explained to the constable, "Your honor, now I understand. All this trouble is the work of the Mathura Mohan Company. They're trying to disgrace our company by starting a fight during the show. No, sir, release these men. They're Hirabai's body- gards. The poor woman's life is in danger. I mentioned that before, remember?"

The constable let them go when he heard the name of Hirabai. But their whips were confiscated. The manager seated all three on chairs in the one- rupee section. "Please sit here. I'll send out for some pan."

When the tent calmed down, Hirabai entered the stage again. The nagãrã began to thunder once more.

After a while the three simultaneously thought of Dhunniram. "Hey, where did he go?"

"Master, 0, master!" Lahsanva was hollering outside the tent. "0, master Lalmohar!"

Lalmohar answered at the top of his voice, "Here, over here! Come in the one-rupee entrance!" All the spectators turned and stared at Lalmohar. The Nepali guard led Lahsanva to Lalmohar. Lalmohar took the pass from his pocket and showed it to him.

As soon as he came near, Lahsanva asked, "Master, who was that man? What was he saying against Hirabai? Just tell me. Show me his face, and I '11 take care of him!"

The people gazed at Lahsanva's smooth, broad chest-bare skin even in the cold season! Another of their gang, no doubt!

Lalmohar hushed Lahsanva.

Let no one ask those four what they saw in the nautankl. How could they remember the plot? To Hiraman it seemed that from the yery start Hirabai had fixed her eyes upon him and was singing and dancing for him alone. To Lalmohar it seemed that Hirabai was looking at him. She had understood that he was the more influential of the two. To Palatdas it was a well-known story--what else but the Rœnayanal The same Ram, Sita, Lakshman and Ravan! Ravan took on various guises to steal the princess Sita away from Ram. Ram and Sita changed their forms as well. Here the gardener's son, who built the magnificent throne, was Ram; Gulbadan was the princess Sita. The gardener's friend's son was Lakshman, and the sultan was Ravan.

Dhunniram was running a high fever. Lahsanva liked the clown's part best of al 1 . He sang:

I shall take you3 little bird, And go to the Narhat bazar.

49



He wanted to make friends with that clown. "Won't you be my buddy, Mr. Clown?"

Hiraman had picked up half the refrain of a song--"Gul fam is slain." Who was this Gulfam? Hirabai wept as she sang, "Ah, yes, Gulfam is slain!" The drum kept time. Alas for Gulfam!

When they left, the policeman returned their whips and said, "Do you always bring your whips and sticks with you to the show?"

The next day word spread throughout the fair: Hirabai had run away from the Mathura Mohan Company and that was why they hadn't played at the fair this year. They had sent their hoodlums to stir up trouble. But they were no match for Hirabai. She was game! She had employed a whole gang of rustic bodyguards to defend her. Just let anyone murmur, "Oh, my darling." Just let anyone dare!

Ten days. Night and day.

During the daytime Hiraman hauled loads. At dusk the nagava playing started, and as soon as he heard it, Hirabai' s voice echoed in his ears, "Brother ..." "Friend ..." "Hiraman ..." "Master ..." "Teacher!" Music filled his heart all day long. Sometimes it was the harmonium, sometimes the nagava ̂ sometimes the dholak, and sometimes Hirabai 's ankle bells. Hiraman slept and rose, walked and moved to the tempo of these instruments. Everyone from the nautankl company manager to the curtain raiser came to know him. He was Hirabai' s man.

Every night when the nautankl began, Palatdas worshipfully saluted the stage with folded palms. Once Lalmohar went to show off his Hindustani to Hirabai. She didn't even recognize him. He was crushed. His servant Lahsanva had left him and joined the nautankl company. Lahsanva had made friends with the clown. He carried water night and day and washed clothes. There was nothing in the village to go back to, he said. Lalmohar was always dejected. Dhunniram had taken ill and returned home.

One day Hiraman made three trips to the station hauling goods. For some reason he kept thinking of his sister-in-law. What if Dhunniram had mentioned something in the delirium of fever? He was always rattling on about Gulbadan and her throne. As for Lahsanva, he had it made. He probably got to see Hirabai all day long. The day before he had said, "Thanks to you master Hiraman, I'm having a great time. After I wash Hirabai 's sari, the water in the tub turns to rose perfune. I soak my loincloth in it and let it dry. Here, you want to smell?"

Every night Hiraman heard somebody or other say Hirabai was a whore. But how many people could he fight? People just said anything that came to mind. They would even curse a king behind his back. Today he was going to visit Hirabai and tell her it was bad for her reputation to stay with the nautankl company. Why didn't she go work in a circus company? When she danced in front of everyone, Hiraman' s heart burned with envy. In the circus she could train a tiger to dance. No one would have the nerve to go near a tiger. Hirabai would be protected.

Where was that cart coming from?

"Hiraman! Hey, Hiraman brother!" Hiraman turned his head when he heard Lalmohar's voice. "What are you hauling, Lalmohar?"

50



"Hirabai's looking for you--at the station. She's leaving," he related breathlessly. Lalmohar had taken her in his cart to the station.

"She's leaving? For where? Is she taking the train?"

Hiraman unhitched his cart. He told the guard at the warehouse, "Bro- ther, watch my bullock cart for a bit. I'll be right back." He ran to the station.

"Teacher!" Hirabai was standing near the door of the women's waiting room, covered in a veil. She held out Hiraman's bag and said, "Here! Thank God, we've met. I'd given up hope. I won't be able to see you from now on. I 'm leaving, teacher! "

The trunk-carrying man had put on coat and pants today and become a gentleman. He was ordering the porters around, "Put this luggage in the ladies' compartment, all right?"

Hiraman stood with his bag in his hand, speechless. Hirabai had pulled it out from under her blouse and given it to him. The bag was warm like the body of a bird.

"Here comes the train," the man with the trunks made a face as he looked at Hirabai. His expression was clear, "What's so great about him?"

Hirabai became restless. "Hiraman, come here inside," she said. "I'm going back to the Mathura Mohan Company again. They're from my own region. You'll come to the Banaili fair, won't you?"

Hirabai put her hand on Hiraman's shoulder--this time on the right shoulder. Then she took some money from her purse and said, "Buy yourself a warm shawl . "

At last Hiraman blurted out, "Iss! All the time, money, money, money! Keep it. What would I do with a shawl?"

Hirabai withdrew her hand. She looked closely at Hiraman's face. Then she spoke, "You've really been hurt, haven't you, my friend? You know how it is--Mahua Ghatvarin has been bought by the merchant." Her voice was choked.

The man with the trunks called from outside., "The train's here." Hiraman left the waiting room. The man made a clownish face at him and said, "You'd better beat it. If they catch you on the platform without a ticket, it's three months in jail."

Hiraman silently went to stand outside the gate. What could he do? Railway station, railway rules. Otherwise he would have punched that fellow in the nose.

Hirabai climbed into a compartment right in front of him. Iss! Such devotion! Even seated in the train she kept staring at him.

Hiraman's heart burned with resentment when he spotted Lalmohar some distance away. He was always tagging along, wanting to be part of things.

The train whistled. Hiraman felt a voice within him rise upwards with that whistle--ku-u-u! Iss!

Chi-i-i-chakkk! The train started to move. With his left heel Hiraman pressed down on his big right toe. The pounding of his heart subsided.

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Hirabai wiped her face with a magenta handkerchief. Waving it she indicated, "Go now."

The last car passed him by. The platform was empty. It was all empty. Hollow. Freight cars. The whole world had become empty. Hiraman returned to his cart.

Hiraman asked Lalmohar, "When are you going back to the village?"

Lalmohar said, "What's there to do in the village? This is the time to make money. Hirabai 's gone, now the fair will break up."

"Okay. Do you want me to take any message?"

Lalmohar tried to persuade Hiraman to stay. But Hiraman had already turned his cart toward the road to the village. Now what was left at the fair? Hollow fair!

The dirt path for the bullocks carts stretched alongside the railway line for a long way. Hiraman had never ridden on a train. An old ambition arose in his heart, to journey by train on pilgrimage singing songs to Jagannath.

He couldn't bear to turn around and look under the empty canopy. Today too his back was tingling. Today too a jasmine flower kept blooming in his cart. The beat of the nagãra accompanied the fragment of a song.

He looked in back--nei ther gunnysacks, nor bamboo, nor a tiger. Fairy . . . goddess . . . friend . . . Hi radevi . . . Mahua Ghatvarin--none of these. Mute voices of vanished moments were trying to speak. Hiraman 's lips moved. Perhaps he was taking a third vow--no more company women . . .

Hiraman suddenly scolded his bullocks and cracked his whip. "Why do you keep looking back at the railway line?" They picked up speed and started to trot. Hiraman softly hummed, "Ah yes, Gulfam is slain!"

Glossary

Jogbani Town in Purnea District in Bihar, India, situated near the Nepal border north of Forbesganj.

Viratnagar Town in Nepal across the border from Purnea District.

Forbesganj Town in northern Purnea District on the rail line between the city of Purnea and the Nepal border; possesses a fine view of the Himalayas and deals in trade with Nepal, particularly in rice and jute.

Sethji Seth: title for a wealthy merchant or moneylender, ji: suffix denoting respect.

tarai Marshy plain extending from the foot of the Himalayas in Nepal to the northern Purnea region.

Champanagar Village near the city of Bhagalpur, across the Ganges to the south of Purnea and Saharsa districts. An annual fair is held at Champanagar to commemorate Behula, a regional folk deity, for her devotion to Lakhinder.

Hirabai Hlrã: diamond, bal', courtesan or dancing girl. 52



Lai 1 a Heroine of the famous Arabic love story, Laila and Majnun. Many nautankl plays have been written on the Lai la-Ma jnun theme.

nautankl Operatic type of rural theater from the Uttar Pradesh region, which employs stories from Sanskrit, Arabic, Persian and folk sources, and includes singing and dancing.

Hiraman Hlra: diamond, man: heart; one whose heart is like a diamond.

Kanpur City in the state of Uttar Pradesh, about 500 miles from Purnea; kãn: ear, pur: town or city.

Nagpur City in the state of_Maharashtra in central India, about 800 miles from Purnea; nãk: ear, pur: town or city. "Nagpur" and "Nakpur" sound almost the same.

Kartik Hindu month corresponding to October-November.

Tegachiya Te or ti: three, gach: tree; place of three trees.

bidl Cheap leaf-wrapped cigarette.

Saraswati Goddess of learning and the arts.

bideshiya Genre of folk play based on the life of north Bihar villagers, created by Bhikhari Thakur at the beginning of the twentieth century.

chokra Lit., boy; refers to the Vidapat troupes of northeastern Bihar in which boys took the female roles in dramatizations of the Radha-Krishna theme.

ghazal Urdu love lyric written in couplets and often set to music.

khemta Meter of Hindi prosody; verse form using this meter.

Hanuman Flying monkey companion of Ram in the Ramayana, who assists in the rescue of Sita from Ravan. Hanuman is worshipped as a deity for his strength, heroism, and celibacy.

Mahua 'Mahuã: a flowering tree characteristic of northern Bihar Ghatvãrin {ßassia lati folia) , ghatvarin: woman of the ghats, river girl.

Savan, Bhado Rainy-season months from July to September.

utgan Dialect variant of Hindi ubtan, an ointment or paste of ground mustard and sesame seeds used for massaging the skin.

Sita Wife of Ram in the Ramayana, famed for her loyalty and modesty.

ramilla Theatrical presentation of the Ram story, performed in villages and towns throughout north India, particularly during the festival season of Dashera.

Ram Princely hero of the epic Ramayana , who is exiled to the forest and fights the demon king Ravan to regain his abducted wife Sita. Considered an avatar of Vishnu, Ram became the supreme deity in a popular North Indian devotional cult.

Vaishnava Follower of a sect devoted to one of the forms of the great god Vishnu, most commonly Krishna or Ram.

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kirtan Genre of devotional song, primarily among Vaishnavas, performed in a group with a. lead singer and choral response.

Gulbadan Lit., rose-body; heroine of a nautankl play of the same name written by Trimohan Lai, based on'an Arabic story.

khichrl Simple dish of rice and lentils cooked together.

nagara Large single-headed drum played with two sticks, character- istically used in nautankl performances.

anna One-sixteenth of a rupee in the old system of counting money.

namaskar Gesture of greeting in which the speaker joins his palms in front of his chest and utters "namaskar," salutations.

Lakshman Brother of Ram in the Rãmayana. Lakshman accompanies Ram and Sita when they are exiled to* the forest.

tfholak Two-headed drum played with the fingers and used in folk music.

Hiriya Diminutive of Hira; suggests Hirabai's low status as an actress and indicates lack of respect.

Rãmayana Epic account of Ram's adventures, written first in Sanskrit by Valmiki, ca. 400 B.C., and extant in numerous later vernac- ular versions, such as the Hindi Rãmoharitmãnas of Tul sidas, as well as in fold variants.

Ravan I en-armed demon king or Lanka wno aDducts Kam s wire 5ita in the Rãmayana.

Gulfam Lit., rose-colored; hero of Indarsabha, an Urdu musical play written by Aga Hasan Amanat in 1853. The heroine, Sabz Pari, the "Green Fairy," falls in love with Prince Gulfam, but he is cast into a well by Indra when he tries to visit Indra1 s court. The fairy's beautiful singing wins her Indra1 s favor and the lovers are reunited in the end.

Jagannath Form of Lord Vishnu worshipped at the famous pilgrimage site in Puri, Orissa.

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Third Vow