Tikkipala (40 page)

Recently she had tried to get a journalist to write a piece on them but he had returned from the high jungle saying he could not see anything wrong with the lifestyle of the tribal people. ‘For the first time they are being properly fed and
clothed. They have been given homes and their children are being educated. What more can these people want? They are very lucky, and who are you to try to send them back into the stone ages?' he had protested.

Perhaps when wedding guests came and saw with their own eyes, they would understand, thought Devi, that the only thing these people wanted was for the timber company to go away, for the road to be closed and for the winch to be removed. Only then would the tribe have any chance of building up their culture once again.

The aunts laughed in unison when Devi told them where she wanted to be married. ‘My dear, that shabby place is out of the question.'

‘Why?' said Devi. ‘When my grandfather stayed there it was beautiful. I have managed to get it looking quite good.'

‘What do you think?' said Srila.

‘Let's have a look at the old photos.' Mala took out an album.

‘Perhaps we can do up the place to be exactly as it was fifty years ago,' Srila said. They starting becoming enthusiastic. The only problem was going to be persuading Queenie.

‘It is far too small,' she sniffed.

‘But at least one hundred guests will be able to stay there if they are squashed

around the floors,' said the aunts.

Queenie glared haughtily. ‘You imagine that there will be only one hundred guests to the wedding of my grandson? I would expect five times that number.'

‘Our niece says she will not marry at all if the wedding is a big one.'

‘Also,' cried Queenie, ‘how will we get wedding parties and also food and equipment to such an out of the way place?'

‘When our father stayed there, they lived in style,' said Mala. ‘And nowadays, with better transport, it should be even easier.'

‘We can carry up all sorts of good carpets, furniture and lighting.'

‘We can employ a dozen chefs and get lorry loads of food up there for them to prepare for the occasion.' The sisters were getting excited with the idea.

‘Do you have chefs who are able to prepare a proper pilau?' asked Queenie, who was also becoming interested. ‘I have a fellow here in Bidwar who makes the finest gold leaf, even better than any you can find in Hyderabad.'

‘And we could invite the sister of the Prime Minister. I know her personally.'

‘I am a personal friend of the Prime Minister himself,' scoffed Queenie. ‘So we shall have him also.'

The idea that his beautiful girl was going marry this feckless wreck of an artist depressed the Raja deeply. He had even racked his brain, trying to think of a more suitable young man to rescue Devi from her predicament. He still did not know who the father of her baby was, but all the same could not help feeling that anyone, no matter what the circumstances, must be better than Nirmal. He would have liked to discuss the matter with Queenie, persuade her that the match was unsuitable, ask her if she knew another boy who would be better. But Queenie seemed unaware of the drawbacks of her grandson. In fact, in spite of all the young man's failures and character defects, Queenie persisted in being proud of him.

Now the Raja stood at the open door of the hall in which Nirmal was supposed to have been repairing his statue and said ‘You will have to leave here till after the wedding.' He found it difficult to banish resentment from his voice.

‘Why?' asked Nirmal. ‘I haven't finished this yet.'

‘Because it is our custom that the bride and bridegroom should not meet till the wedding day,' said the Raja.

‘Couldn't I just stay in here with the door shut? Not come to meals or anything where I might meet her,' pleaded Nirmal. ‘I am getting on so well, and don't want to stop work now.'

The Raja sighed. ‘In that case you must remain cooped up in here and meals will be sent to you. Presumably you can urinate in the grounds so your only internal requirement should be for shitting, an act which I will not permit in my garden from anyone so you must make a time for entering the palace latrine for this when it is certain that my daughter is not around.'

‘What about bathing?' asked Nirmal humbly.

‘Bathing,' bellowed the Raja. ‘Do you do it? Nothing about you has given me any reason to think so.' Then the Raja gazed around what had once been a large and tidy hall and now seemed to have been turned into a rubbish tip. Every surface, every area of floor was scattered with broken bits of clay and cloth, straw and bones, metal and fluff, while Nirmal himself was bent over something very small on a table. So small in fact that he held a magnifying glass to his eye.

‘I don't see any statue. It seems to me that you have just been faffing around in here and doing no work at all,' scowled the Raja.

Nirmal gazed at him, hurt in his expression. ‘But sir, piece by piece I am reducing it till I get right down to its smallest essence where it will be most powerful. This is to be my best work ever.' He waved a respectful hand at the tiny thing on the table.

‘I have never heard such a load of rubbish,' roared the Raja. ‘And talking of work, my good fellow, since you are to marry my daughter, when are you planning to do some? For I hope you are not expecting her to support you.'

Nirmal looked alarmed.

‘How are you and my daughter going to live? Where are you going to live? On what are you going to live?' persisted the Raja.

Nirmal sighed and sat down heavily.

‘Well?' roared the Raja.

‘I have not given these matters much thought,' said Nirmal piteously. ‘But now I shall give them my most serious consideration.' He paused, looked hopefully at the Raja, and asked, ‘Would you like to see this piece of work, which is, I think, totally unique in the world of art.'

‘No,' the Raja bellowed, storming out.

The thags were amazed and thrilled when they were told about the wedding at the hill palace. They got together for a secret meeting in their village to discuss the matter and make plans.

‘This will be just like the old days,' an ancient thag said, ‘when we would capture whole wedding parties, women loaded with golden jewels, vehicles stashed with wedding gifts of value.' The thags felt their mouths watering at the thought. It had been a long time since they had had a decent haul. Perhaps the dreary years of field
hoeing and palace housework, which had been their lot since the re-routing of the road and the speediness of modern transport, was at last over.

But an old man looked worried. ‘For hundreds of years our people have been able to relieve travellers of their goods and lives because we were able to keep our sacred trade secret.'

‘That is true,' said another. ‘In the past, when guests failed to reach their destinations, those expecting them could not guess at their fates. Us, the followers of goddess Kali, were never under any suspicion and that was our strength.'

‘But now,' went on the old man, ‘Because this particular wedding is to take place in the very residence in which we are employed, we shall become the targets of suspicion.'

‘And remember how our parents came under suspicion when the son of the Raja was lost. We would not like to be subjected to that kind of thing again.'

Some of the old men shuddered and winced, remembering.

‘No, no,' said the others and they fell into a morose silence.

After a while a young man said, ‘But surely there must be some way in which we can profit from this event. Is it possible that we are going to allow this great opportunity to pass us by?'

‘Also,' said another. ‘It would be an insult to the goddess to refrain.'

Again they lowered their heads in silent thought. Another old man spoke. ‘It is clear to me that we cannot knock off all the wedding guests, for in that way we will surely be discovered, but perhaps it will be possible to knock of a few, say every
fourth or fifth vehicle. These Raja weddings are always such large affairs, that the absence of a few guests will surely be hardly noticed.'

The others nodded, relieved. ‘You are right. When we know the numbers that are to be expected, we can work out what proportion to eliminate.'

‘Though I suggest we do not go for those travelling in expensive vehicles,' suggested a man.

‘But surely these will render the best pickings,' the rest objected.

‘True,' the man said. ‘But these will also be the best connected. People in expensive vehicles are likely to be connected with police, government and even media whereas those in rut-put vehicles are unlikely to have a voice to be heard. These poorer ones will also certainly be draped in valuable clothing and jewels for such an occasion, and after their vanishing, their families will scream and protest, but who is there to hear them?' Reluctantly the others had to agree.

‘Seven being Kali's number, we will take every seventh car,' they decided in the end, ‘provided it is not a wealthy one.'

Nirmal, sequestered in his hall, worked steadily on. Sometimes Maw came to look and advise. The statue was becoming so small that Nirmal, even with a magnifying glass at his eye, almost had to touch it with his nose to see it.

Maw was starting to feel despondent. He saw now that it had been stupid to expect the Ama to work without the juices, poisons and animal parts of the subtle ones, no matter how small the statue. Perhaps his faith in the Coarseones' powers had been unfounded. Was it worth continuing with this artist, Maw wondered, and asked Nirmal, ‘When you are married will you go on living here?'

‘Married.' Nirmal gazed at Maw blankly for a moment. ‘Oh, married. I had forgotten that.'

‘Or will you move into a place of your own?' That would make things difficult, Maw thought.

Other people began asking Nirmal questions. ‘What will you wear for your wedding?' the Raja asked. ‘Would you like to come into town with me and we will choose a nice silk kurta together?'

‘Oh, I am at a rather crucial stage with my statue,' Nirmal muttered.

The Raja exploded with fury. ‘Look here, Nirmal, you are about to marry my daughter and therefore I expect you to take a little interest at least. Get your mind off that bloody statue, which, as far as I can see does not exist,' He aimed a glare of mighty contempt towards the place where Nirmal insisted his molecule of statue stood. ‘Your wedding is a week away and it is time you got your mind on it.'

‘Don't keep worrying him,' Devi begged her father. ‘I don't mind what he looks like or how he is dressed. And can't we just go on living at the palace. Surely things are alright as they are.'

‘Nonsense,' bellowed the Raja.

Queenie agreed to go to the rescue. ‘You come with me now,' she told Nirmal. ‘Get into the car,' she stormed, stepping cautiously through the foul droppings from the shaved statue. ‘Because there are many things that have to be discussed and arranged before we all set off for Parwal for your wedding. Your father-in-law to-be says you have not even sorted out what you will wear and I understand that you have
not given a thought to where you are going to live.' She added, her tone bleak, ‘Or how.'

Sighing, Nirmal wiped his hands and followed her. As he went out he gave last and reluctant good bye glance to his invisible, dancing, crystal chip.

Tikki was suffering. The things that once made her so strong and beautiful had become like enemies and were turning against her, stabbing at her heart, making her legs ache so that she could hardly walk. Her terrible whiteness that, at first the people of tribe had found so beautiful, now make it impossible for her to be in the daylight for a moment. She hurt even in moonlight. An uneven ticking had started inside her body, as though the machinery part of her was going wrong. The radiation gathered from the rocks that empowered her had started breaking down her joints and damaging her muscles. She was once a god made in the image of man, but that image had started fading. She was becoming afraid, because very soon there would be no human essence left of her. She had evolved, grown and thrived on the essence of animals and all her internal energy came from subtle mechanisms deep inside her, but these things were running out now. She would no longer be anything to do with mankind unless the people of the tribe could find a way to put some part of them in her again.

In the high jungle the tribal people looked down and saw preparations being made for another of the Coarseones' parties, but now they did not care, for the Tikki had abandoned them and their lives were utterly pierced by ugly sounds and light. The men who had cut their trees down played little radios from which poured loud and
dreadful sounds all day and often deep into the night. An electric generator that had been rigged up on the mountain top roared and clattered day and night and produced a stark and hideous light which blotted out the stars. Most of the tribal people understood the Coarseones' language now and many spoke it too. But though they protested when the Coarseones came to install light in their breeze block homes, the electrician paid no attention. ‘You are in the twentieth century now,' they said as they screwed the neon bulbs to the ceilings.

The children of the tribe now went to school, could read and write the Coarseones' language and when they came home and found their parents sitting in the dark, they would switch on the new electric lights to do their homework, ignoring their parents' efforts to persuade them of the beauty of darkness. They felt scornful of their elders for shunning neon lights.

When the elders tried to teach them about the subtle life, the older children looked bored, disbelieving or even scornful. ‘We are happy that we don't have to live in tree tops. We are going to work for the timber company when we grow up,' they said.

One or two of the clever ones had ambitions to go to college or even immigrate to the USA. When the wood cutters switched on their radios, the young tribal people would gather round to listen and ignore the complaints of their elders. They began to learn the Coarseones' music off by heart and to sing snatches from the songs.