NOBODY LIGHTS A CANDLE
Anjali Deshpande
12
Chandola was on the way to Amirpur. Had he come to get the radish he could not pull out that day or to run away from the horns of motorcars and to indulge his subconscious desire to soak up the silence of this place? When Adhir reached close to Chandola his mobike almost involuntarily became indolent. That day he had not paid attention but today he saw a small room standing a little away from the road with a plastic chair in it. On its wall was scrawled ‘proparty agent’ in white. A man sat on a high pile of neatly arranged bricks picking his teeth. Adhir came to a halt there.
“Ram Ram,” he said to the bored looking man. The man shook his head and climbing down brought out the chair. Beating away the dust on the seat of the chair with his bare hands he said, “Sit down, sahib.” He then fetched a plastic jug from inside which may have been red when new along with a glass, and rinsing the glass with a little water he poured out of the jug, filled the glass to the brim and handed Adhir a glass of tepid water to suit the temperature outside. He told Adhir that his name was Bharat and could get him a ‘very nice plot’. “The paroparty market is hotting up now, in a year two will become four.”
“I am indeed looking for some land here,” said Adhirath.
Pointing to the vacant land next to his room Bharat said, “Take this plot. Near the road. Fifty yards. You can get a pelot of hundred yards also. Only two pelots have been sold till now. Just take your pick. Will measure you one wherever you want.”
“Not this. Want something bigger. Of four acres?” Adhir said thinking that the farmhouse he wished to inspect was about that large. Suddenly he realized that it was this wish for inspection that had brought his motorcycle to a halt. Bharat smiled very faintly. Had his eyes not been fixed on his face Adhir would not have seen the smile. Bharat was now looking at his motorcycle. All of a sudden Adhir looked at his own bike from the view point of Bharat. The black paint was rubbing off. The box that he used to keep things in had many scratches. It looked old and much used.
“Land rates are going up sharply,” Bharat said. “had you come even a year ago you could have got four keele (acres) in fifteen sixteen lacs. Now the rate has climbed up to eight lacs for one keela. It won’t be less than thirty two lacs.”
Adhir smiled. “Thirty two or thirty five, what difference does it make to the rich? They don’t have even the time to go looking for land. They hire people like us.”
“Ohhoo, so you are also from our laine? Should have said so,” this time Bharat laughed openly with genuine pleasure.
“No, no,” Adhir said, “I work in their office. Getting stuff from the market. Carrying cash. Things like that. The work needs someone trustworthy.”
Bharat was now alert. Land was for sale close by, he told him and sat pillion on Adhir’s bike. Both went ahead on the silent empty road. On both sides there was so much land lying vacant that Adhir began to feel surprised. Clumps of tall grass with blades sharp like razors grew on them. At one place he saw some bushes in very glossy green, the type he had seen sitting in plastic buckets of florists. Glittering green fronds of feathery leaves to be added to bouquets for free. He always used to think that the florists dipped them in paint. Now he was surprised to see that the fluorescent green was their natural colour.
“What is this?” he asked Bharat.
“This? We call it jhund. In days gone by they used to thatch roofs with this grass. Now they use concrete. Its blades are very sharp. It can cut your fingers.”
“No, no, not that grass. That other bush, the very green one.” But they had left behind those bushes.
“Must be some wild grass,” said Bharat carelessly. Having taken a round of the place they returned to Bharat’s room. Bharat had shown him two pieces of land, one was nearly three acres big, the other was about two acres. The larger one was a little away from the road and a narrow pathway led to it.
“Will find out about more pelots and let you know,” Bharat said.
“These pieces are too close to the village, they won’t like it,” said Adhir. Looking around he pointed to the iron gate of the farmhouse on which elephants still stood with garlands in their trunks.
“What is that?” Adhir asked.
“That too is up for sale. But it is very big, could be nineteen acres” said Bharat.
“Well, show it to me at least.”
Bharat began to scrape his nails.
“Let me tell you the truth. I have never seen so much land in my life. Can’t we see it? Who knows, the owner may sell it piece by piece?” Now Adhir was beginning to regret that he had asked for only a four acre plot. How would he know that a narrow looking path could lead to a large expanse of land? Frankly, he did not even know how much an acre was. Just now when he saw the three acre plot that is when he began to get some idea of how much it could be.
“They won’t sell it in pieces. They need a huge amount of money.” They both walked to the gate. “If the guard is there he will show it to us. Are you from Delhi?”
“Yes. And you are from this very village? Chandola?”
“No, I am from Bahadurgarh. Have to come here for business. There the rates have crossed the capacity of every pocket. Builders have started camping there. Most of the land is already sold. Rates of all places nearby are also on fire. Here it is still cool. There aren’t too many dealers too. Rates here too are high. One can make a decent commission.”
Bharat called out for the chowkidar at the gate, “Chetiram, oye, Cheti.” There was no response. Bharat inserted his hand between the rods of the gate, found the bolt and slid it open. It was not locked. Both of them entered the wide footpath that led in. Right in front of them was the house that could only hang as a picture frame on the wall of Adhir’s house. After about two hundred metres, it seemed as if the hemming ended, the land opened up. Adhirath then knew that what was visible from the road was only a small portion of the house. It did not even face the road, its face was towards the east, on his left. In the front was a wide lawn. A marble fountain. A wide veranda stood behind pillars of sandstone. Adhirath was astonished to see that even the frames of doorways and windows were made of stone.
“People spend lacs on building houses in which nobody lives,” Bharat said. “And millions don’t have a roof over their heads. Did I speak the truth or what? You agree, don’t you?”
On the other side of the house from where the gate could not be seen, there was more land. Adhirath thought the land was endless. A small pond stood behind the house as the border between the garden and the rest of the land. It was made of a cement tank sunk into the ground and broad leaves floated on its surface. A pipe jutted out of the pond.
“It is attached to a small motor. They suck the water out to water the plants,” said Bharat. “Then fill up the pond again. Everything was planned carefully. They take a lot of care of the place.”
“They are growing lotus,” Adhir tried to display his knowledge.
“It has blue flowers.”
“Neel kamal! I used to think that Neel Kamal is only a myth.”
“Here everything is unique. Now it is in ruins. You should have seen it earlier. Even the cauliflowers they grew here were green. You have seen a pumpkin, no? Our pumpkins are round, aren’t they? These people had long ones. With very smooth skin, with spots on them faint spots.”
Three mulberry trees formed a triangle near the pond and the ground beneath was mushy with the fallen fruit on which were stuck fat ants and even fatter honey bees grown lethargic with the excess of food. The dead body had been found in this very triangle but Adhirath did not know this. He sighed deeply. Why would anyone want to sell such a calm and beautiful place? Till the eyes could see there was land. A vast field of dry yellowish stalks, the remainders of harvested mustard. Yellow and reddish marigolds were planted near the house in complete disorder. In a corner the purple hue of alyssum sparkled. He looked around. On his right were bushes of the same fluorescent green foliage he no longer wanted to know the name of. A bird called.
“Allah teri kudrat,” Bharat said. Adhir looked at him with curiosity. “That is what the bird says. Black partridge. Every day in the afternoon it calls. Must be standing somewhere on the wall at here.”
This time even Adhirath thought that the bird was complaining “Allah teri kudrat”. The teetar speaks Urdu! He turned his head from one side to another to catch a glimpse of the famous bird that he had only heard of. A grey Hare emerged from the green bushes and ran into nearby bushes shaking its ears.
“They get to eat all the fruits here,” said Bharat. He shook a branch and the ripe nearly black fruit rained on the ground.
“Will you believe me if I told you that only the day before a girl’s body was found here? The entire village came and stood here. That is why nobody has eaten any of this fruit here. The policemen did not even taste it. He raised his arm again to the branch but Adhirath caught it preventing him from shaking the tree. Grass did not grow under the trees. Red blotches were scattered over the ground below. It was difficult to tell where there was blood and where the juice of overripe fruit. The juice of mulberry and blood must have got mixed together. Adhirath picked some fruit from a low branch, there were bees sticking to them and he had to shake them off.
“Had I had this place I would never sell it,” Adhir remarked. His eyes trained to look for signs of crime also failed to distinguish between mulberry stains and blood stains beneath the trees. The soil was red. At one place it had been dug up a little. Police must have taken a sample from there. “Please don’t shake the tree. We never get a chance to pluck fruit from trees,” he said.
“They are selling because they need the money. They used to make TV parts. Had a factory in Noida. That shut down. It is happening to a lot of people, businesses are closing down. Land, that is real wealth. What is in a factory? It can be locked up. A lot of people are selling their factories to forners. So I have heard. It is also possible that these people may have some family dispute, brothers dividing up property. Maybe they have to clear a debt. Who knows what it is. Earlier they did not have the time to come here, now they have all the time in the world but the land will not be theirs.”
Adhirath nodded. Mulberries were melting in his mouth. No need to even chew. Sweet as if dipped in syrup. Had he not picked them himself, that is what he would have thought, that the fruit seller had coated them with syrup. This fruit of his childhood. When he was a child women came to sell them in small baskets lined with the fresh green leaves of the tree heaped with red fruit looking like piles of ants and a green unripe fruit would sometimes be winking from the heap. His grandfather, his dear nanaji, used to call them jalebe. Truly, they are like jalebi. He will take a bag full home.
He looked around. The partridge had fallen silent. Something glinted on the ground. He bent and picked it up. Glass. A section of thick blue glass, not from a bangle, much wider than that, must have been a kangan. It had two tiny white glass beads on it. He turned it around studying it. When he looked up he found Bharat was studying him. Now he must have to find a way to come here alone. They should leave now.
“The chowkidar is enjoying a luxurious life. Where is he?” asked Adhir in an attempt to cover up for his slip. “He could have given us a plastic bag to carry some fruit.”
email: anjalides@gmail.com
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