Land of Five Rivers (17 page)

Kapoor felt like a criminal. He started making the beds in the rooms. He could hear his wife grumbling away as she rinsed the cooking pots and plates. ‘New Year indeed! To hell with such festivals in this biting cold. They may suit white people. We have our own
Diwali
and
Baisakhi,
both in fair seasons. Only
Lohri
is in winter and people light bonfires to warm themselves. And I have to rinse all this garbage with icy cold water. To hell with this New Year.’

At long last the lights were switched off. The children were fast asleep. But Kapoor’s wife went on nagging and grumbling. After a while she said: ‘This New Year be damned! Why doesn’t it fall on the 2nd of January? By then you will have drawn your salary.’

Kapoor kept silent.

His wife’s voice flitted about in the dark like a bat going round and round the room. And then found a perch on some wall.

At the hour of midnight when lights in all the five-star hotels were dimmed so that men could embrace and kiss other men’s wives and burst into singing
‘auld lang syne’
to usher in the New Year, the Kapoors were fast asleep with their backs to each other.

o
ne passenger ho!

Santokh Singh Dhir

        B
aroo, tonga-
wallah,
rose with the sun, harnessed his horse to the tonga and was the first to arrive at the stand outside the railway station. ‘Anyone for Khanna?’ he shouted, ‘for Khanna, ho!’

Baroo knew that there was little chance of finding a passenger in the early hours of a winter morning. But nothing would daunt him. Even on frosty, winter mornings when his body shivered in the cold, his one thought was to be first at the tonga stand.

Baroo turned his face towards the bazaar and yelled at the top of his voice for a passenger — as if it was just one more he awaited. But not even that one he sought emerged from the bazaar. He turned towards the footpaths leading to different villages and called in the direction of each one. Not a sign of life! As if all the passengers of the world had been bitten by snakes. Baroo joined a hawker sitting by the side of the road and lit a
bidi.

His horse showed signs of restlessness. It snorted a couple of times, swished its tail and took three steps on its own. ‘Patience, Son! patience! Won’t be long now! Let’s wait for someone with a full purse and an empty brain and we’ll be away.’ Baroo leapt up, and tied the reins to the shaft.

The whistle of the train at the railway station pierced Baroo’s ears like an arrow. He spat on the ground. He swore at the train and the man who had invented it. The express thundered by. And then the shuttle. ‘It’s these incestuous trains!’ he cursed. ‘One every hour,’ and again he cried at the top of his voice for a passenger.

He lit another
bidi.
He inhaled strongly and in one long pull smoked away half of it. He exhaled through his nostrils, cursed the
bidi
and threw it away. The smoke burnt his mouth as if he had swallowed a handful of chillies.

The horse was restless. It stamped the earth with its hoofs; champed the bit between its teeth, shook the shafts of the tonga and the harness. The multi-coloured plume on its head fluttered in the air; the silk scarves tied to the bit waved like banners. A surge of pride went through Baroo’s frame. ‘Patience, brother! we’ll soon be racing the wind...’

‘Baroo, your horse is full of life; its always stamping its feet,’ remarked the hawker.

‘No horse like my horse!’ exclaimed Baroo. ‘Just look at the sheen of its coat! A fly would slither down if it alighted. I look after it as if it were my own son.’

‘That’s the only way to get the best out of an animal!’ agreed the hawker.

The sun came up; but still no passenger for Khanna. More tongas came to the stand. And across the road Kundan was also calling for passengers for Khanna.

Baroo caught sight of a well-dressed man with a bag in his hand coming down the bazaar. Baroo watched his movements with a hawk’s eye. The man came nearer the stand but gave no indication of where he was bound. The tonga
wallahs
began to shout.

‘Come along here for Sirhind!’ ...‘Anyone for Maloh — O!’ But the man betrayed no sign of his destination. When Baroo called for Khanna, the man did not as much as look up. ‘These new-fangled gentlemen!’ muttered Baroo to himself ‘They’re never in a hurry to open their mouths.’

The man stopped by Baroo’s tonga and enquired in a barely audible voice, ‘Have you any other passenger...?’

Baroo leapt down to take the man’s bag and spoke most politely, ‘Sir, you take the front seat... we’ll leave in a jiffy — just take one more passenger.’

The man did not let go of his bag. What was the point of sitting in a tonga for an hour or more? He walked up to the front of the tonga and stopped near the footrest.

Baroo yelled as loud as he could for another passenger just one more passenger.

The man dumped his bag on the front seat and began to stroll around with his hands in his trouser pockets. Baroo patted his horse on the flanks and then began readjusting the rear seat. A cycle-rickshaw came and stopped by the tonga. The rickshawpuller struck a bargain with Baroo’s passenger. Baroo’s heart sank.
‘Babuji,
there’s strong head wind...’ The cycle rickshaw won and bore its booty away.

The day was well-advanced.

Baroo went and sat by the hawker on the pavement. He had a strong urge to smoke his favourite brand of cigarette. But how could he squander two whole
pice
on a single cigarette? It looked like being a poor day. The rate was only four
annas
per passenger for Khanna; and there was a law against taking more than six. If he got only one load, it would be only one and a half rupees... it took three rupees every day to feed the horse. Why was he idling away his time on the pavement? He went and sat down on the rear seat of his tonga. Prospective travellers would feel that there was at least one passenger already present.

He began humming a film song and then a couplet out of
Heer Ranjha.
Then he stopped abruptly and peered at the fields at the distance. He espied a group of peasants coming along a footpath that coiled its way through the crops. In front were four rustics wrapped in black and white shawls. They looked as if bound for the law courts. Baroo turned his tonga towards them and shouted: ‘Going to Khanna, Chaudhary? Let’s be on our way.’

The peasants looked at each other. One of them spoke. ‘We are bound for Khanna; but we will only go if you leave at once.’

‘Certainly!’ Baroo assured them. ‘As soon as you are seated we’ll be on our way.’ Baroo grabbed the reins near the bit and turned his tonga towards the stand.

‘We have to get to the
tehsildar’s
court. We have a hearing at Samrala.’

‘You get on the tonga. I’ll get you there in a jiffy.’ The men took their seats. Baroo turned towards the stand calling for just ‘One more passenger’.

‘Are you still looking for another?’ asked one of the peasants. ‘We should have known. A tonga
wala
is always a tonga
wala
.’

‘Oh, let him make his living too,’ replied another. ‘It won’t hurt us if we are a few seconds late.’

From the stand Baroo drove his tonga into the bazaar. He stood on the shaft and yelled, ‘Anyone bound for Khanna —
baiee-o
one seat for Khanna.’

‘You want to rob a lone passenger on the way?’ shouted someone from the pavement. People began to laugh. Baroo bared his teeth in a grin showing his red gums. He joined in the laughter but continued calling for ‘one passenger’. He parked his tonga on one side of the road leading to Khanna and rejoined the hawker.

‘You are behaving exactly like other tonga
wallahs,’
complained one of the passengers.

‘Brother tonga
wallah,
why do you harass us?’ said another.

‘We’re not going to wait, Chaudhary! Just one more passenger. If he turns up, so much the better. If he does not, we’ll go without him.’

Kundan noticed the agitation of Baroo’s passenger. He took his tonga closer to Baroo’s. ‘I can take your passengers to Khanna...’

‘Lay off, you son of a barber! Lay off your dirty ways!’

Baroo glowered at Kundan. He saw a cluster of women coming up. ‘We’ll be off now, Sardarji. There come more passengers.’

The peasants also saw the party of women and decided to wait a little longer.

The party came closer. Some of the women carried trays covered with tray cloths. The older women had veils drawn across their faces. The girls were in colouful costumes. Baroo stepped in front of the party and addressed them in a tone in which a dutiful son would address his mother.
‘Maiji,
we were just waiting for you. Come along to Khanna’.

‘No brother, we are on our way to the temple of the Mother-Goddess,’ she replied casually.

‘Yes, of course,
Maiji,’
said Baroo a little crestfallen.

‘
Oi,
are you ever going to leave?’ grumbled one of his party.

What an impatient lot passengers are!

Baroo had come to the end of his tether. He spoke candidly. ‘It won’t be long now. Just wait for one more passenger. Let me get my journey’s worth.’

‘While you count your costs, we’ll have our case dismissed.’

Kundan chipped in again. ‘Some people can be very simple and get caught in booby traps. This chap won’t start; and if he does he’ll never get you there. You’ll find yourselves in a ditch. His horse is the wildest creature alive.’

Baroo turned pale with anger. He tried to keep his temper in control as he spoke to Kundan. ‘Barber’s son, is it the angel of death which makes you babble so? Go and get your Mama to oil your rickety cart; it creaks in every joint. And don’t waste your time yapping like a pup.’

Kundan smacked his foot with his whip and called in an irritated tone: ‘Come along all of you? I’ll take three to Khanna on my chariot! I’ll get you to Khanna in less than a minute... and for three
annas
only.’ He edged his tonga forward.

Baroo’s passengers were a little fed up. They didn’t feel they were tied to him by any solemn contract. They began to dismount.

Baroo was in a rage. He called Kundan an incestuous raper of his mother. He tucked one end of his
tehmad
in his waist and challenged Kundan, ‘Get off your trap, little boy.’

Baroo’s temper unnerved Kundan. Nevertheless he dismounted. ‘Mind your language, you bloody brewer!’

Baroo uttered another full-mouthed abuse and flourished his whip. ‘You filthy fornicator of your sister! I’ll pass you through the spokes of the wheel of my tonga.’

‘I dare you to touch me!’ Kundan kept a brave face despite his fright.

‘Vanish, make yourself disappear, barber’s son! I’ll drink up your blood without letting a drop fall on the ground.’

Baroo only waited for Kundan to abuse him so that he could knock him down.

‘What have I said to you that you should widen your nostrils in anger at me?’ asked Kundan a little nervously.

‘You steal my passengers.’

‘I just call for passengers; you can tie up the ones you have.’

‘I’ve been watching you since the morning; I’ll tear up your top-knot by the roots.’

‘You’ll pull my top-knot will you?’

‘You dare take over my passengers!’

‘Come along
Babaji,’
said Kundan taking one of the peasants by the shoulder.

Baroo caught Kundan by the collar. Kundan grappled with him. The two began to wrestle. People rushed up to separate them. It took some time for the other tonga
wallahs
and the passengers to get the two apart. The contractor of the stand reprimanded them both soundly. Everyone was agreed that the passengers should go in Baroo’s tonga. The passengers again took their seats.

People felt that he had had a raw deal and felt sorry for him; they wanted to get him the additional passenger and send him on his way. Even his passengers were willing to wait a little longer to let Baroo earn his full fare. All said and done, the poor chap had to fill his horse’s belly before he could fill his own.

A head-constable of police came and enquired. ‘Lads, any tonga leaving for Khanna?’

Baroo turned over the pros and cons in his mind. This chap wasn’t going to pay a
pice;
but one could not say ‘no’ to a policeman. And with him there, he might put in two extra passengers. ‘Come
Havildarji!
my tonga is ready to leave. Take the front seat.’

The Head-constable got on the tonga. Baroo called at the top of his voice for one more passenger.’

A shopkeeper came up from the bazaar and without a word got on Baroo’s tonga. Two old women were coming up the road leading to the stand. Baroo called out to them,
‘Mai,
you want to go to Khanna?’ The women quickened their steps. One of them held up her hand, ‘Hold on, brother!’

‘Hurry up ladies,’ exorted Baroo impatiently.

The women hurried up and clambered up the tonga. ‘Brother, what will you be wanting?’

‘Take your seats ladies. I won’t fleece you!’

The tonga had eight passengers full-two rupees worth of fares. Perhaps the Lord would send along some more by the time he left and he might do a second trip. Baroo paid his tax to the contractor.

‘I hope you won’t look for more passengers now,’ exclaimed one of the peasants.

‘No Sirs, enough is enough. We’ll take the name of the Lord and start.’ Baroo patted his horse and untied the rope from the shafts.

He thought he might now buy himself a cigarette. He leapt off the tonga and went to the hawker to buy one of his favourite brand.

The Ambala-Ludhiana bus drew up beside the tonga. In a trice the passengers left the tonga and disappeared into the bus. The bus snorted like a dragon and vanished leaving clouds of diesel smoke and dust to settle on the tonga-drivers’ faces.

Baroo stood in the centre of the stand, held up his whip and called with all his might: ‘One seat for Khanna,
baiee o.’