His knees began to throb.
It was an old habit. Whenever his mind became deeply agitated, Nabadwip Babu would pace like a madman. Hour after hour he would walk, sometimes inside the room, sometimes on the veranda. Then when his knees began to throb, he would pause for a moment. He would open the enormous betel box—big as a tiffin carrier—and stuff two betel leaves into his mouth at once. Then, chewing steadily, he would sink his massive frame into the easy chair. This habit was years old. The love of betel and the carrying of that enormous betel box ran in the family like an inheritance. Wherever he went, whatever else he might forget, he never failed to take along this constant companion of his—the betel box.
Pacing on the hospital veranda, Nabadwip Babu came to a stop by the railing. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. He removed his thick-lensed glasses and carefully cleaned them with the corner of his cloth, rubbing thoroughly. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and face properly. Then, holding the glasses up to examine the lenses once more, he carefully placed them back on his nose.
In the lawn before him, two tall palm trees stood embracing each other. Who knew for how long! A colorful bird was pecking at the yellow fruits, eating them one by one. A few dropped with soft thuds. They had no worries. They were content. All the burden of anxiety that God had come and placed on human shoulders—Nabadwip Babu stood there thinking about it. The burden of domesticity had settled on his shoulders long ago. He was still carrying it today. Long ago he had read a story about Sindbad. That old man who climbed onto his back and simply wouldn't get off. Many people don't realize that all humans unknowingly carry Sindbad's demon on their backs their entire lives. Nabadwip Babu smiled to himself.
Opening the box and putting two betel leaves in his mouth, Nabadwip Babu tucked it back into his pocket. He tried once more to calculate mentally when exactly this demon had climbed onto his back. He tried to figure out when Surobala, mother of five daughters, had first entered the Bose family as his new bride. Twenty-two years? Twenty-three years? Or was it even longer? Something like that. Twenty-three or twenty-four. Yes, it must be that. After all, the eldest daughter was already twenty-one.
Nabadwip Babu's forehead grew damp with sweat again. You see so many boys on the streets, yet when it comes time to marry off a daughter, not a single suitable groom can be found. And after this one, there would be four more—one, two, three, four. He wiped his face once more with the corner of his cloth. There was a kind of stifling heat.
He looked at his watch—it was four o'clock. Surobala had been taken on a stretcher to a special room more than half an hour ago. Each moment felt like an hour. Soon perhaps one of their people would come with news: "It's a girl."
Nabadwip Bose began pacing again, unnecessarily fast. Ever since the third daughter, amulets and talismans had begun accumulating on Surobala's body. They had done no good. He had certainly been disappointed, but he hadn't broken down.
Nabadwip Babu looked up to see some torn papers and dust swirling near the hospital gate, caught in a breeze that spun them around before carrying them outside. A small boy, kicking a coconut shell, suddenly tumbled flat onto the ground. He looked around, then got up again, dusting himself off. The hospital sweeper, holding a long brush, was cleaning the drain while hurling obscene curses at someone. Amazing! Nothing had changed anywhere. Everyone was busy with their own work.
It was the office cashier, Manish Babu, who had noticed it—for several days now, Nabadwip Babu's mind seemed somehow restless. After hearing everything, he had mentioned Golok Thakur of Behala. After Manish Babu's eldest daughter, following three sons in succession, the fourth child had indeed been a beautiful baby girl, thanks to Golok Thakur's amulet. Hearing this, Nabadwip Babu had smiled to himself. Because Manish Babu knew that Surobala's most recent amulet was also from Golok Thakur. He hadn't had much faith in gods and goddesses. But when the fourth child also turned out to be a girl, he had begun making rounds of temples and shrines.
Each time, Surobala had returned from the hospital with a dejected heart, carrying another daughter. Once again she would silently enter the kitchen. Nabadwip Babu would calmly put a couple of betel leaves in his mouth, bow devoutly to Siddhidaata Ganesha seated on the wooden shelf above the door, and set off for the office. There was no deviation anywhere in the household. In their crumbling, lime-flaked house in Hayat Khan Lane, it was as if a long-memorized formula was running—memorized without understanding. What it all meant, God only knew! He had never tried to find meaning in it either. The math worked out fine. There was no variety. Sometimes a sigh would escape him. But he didn't consider that weakness.
This time, however, hope had taken root in both husband and wife's hearts from the very beginning. It was written in his palm, they said—after five daughters would come a son. Nabadwip Babu had paid a hefty fee to show his palm to some famous holy man at Dakshineshwar. After listening to everything, the holy man had given reassurance. He had also prescribed a small ritual. The planets were causing all this trouble. Planetary appeasement was needed. Feeding a dozen or so Brahmins would likely make the result even stronger.
Needless to say, Nabadwip Babu had spared no expense in arranging the planetary appeasement. Drawn by some powerful attraction, he had gone back to Dakshineshwar, but he couldn't find that holy man again. Perhaps he had gone to some pilgrimage site. That day he had repeatedly tried to free himself from a doubt lurking in the corner of his mind.
That day he had somehow forced himself to make the calculations work in his mind. It wasn't right to worry so much about such a trivial matter. Nabadwip Bose felt ashamed.
In the entire universe, how tiny was this earth! And of that earth, Hayat Khan Lane was just a small part. He was merely an inhabitant of one room in it! Practically nothing at all. Spread across space, spanning millions of light years, were countless solar systems. Billions and billions of stars, each as vast as countless suns. And where was Nabadwip Bose in all this! It made him laugh.
Six nurses hurried past him. They probably knew nothing about the vast solar system. How terribly busy everyone was! They didn't know how petty their desires and longings were. He felt compassion for them. From his punjabi pocket he took out the enormous betel box and put two more leaves in his mouth.
It was visiting hour now. Everyone was bringing fruits to their loved ones. Nabadwip Babu tried to picture these reunion scenes in his mind. He knew these scenes. He had come here many times. Here too was that same fixed formula. The same fixed equation. He felt compassion for them. Today he felt tremendous compassion for everyone in the world. Everyone was so small.
A shy young wife was walking slowly forward, holding a bright-faced baby in her arms. Her young husband walked beside her. Probably their first child. He remembered a very similar scene from long ago. He could still clearly recall Surobala's shy smile from that day. After that they had come here so many more times. But he never again felt that first-time sensation. This time, though, he seemed to feel a kind of thrill. This time it had to be a boy. Everyone was saying so. It was clearly written in the lines of his palm. That holy man's amulet from Natagard was absolutely infallible.
There was no point listening to old Aunt's words. She had bluntly declared... "This time too you'll get another girl, Nabu!" Nabadwip Babu hadn't been annoyed. Uneducated, old-fashioned people. No point listening to them. But it had been a long time now. Nabadwip Babu kept looking at his watch frequently. He stopped pacing. Perhaps by now Surobala was gazing at their son. Perhaps she had forgotten all her pain and suffering. Their first son. The treasure of so many days, so many hopes and longings! He should get insurance for the boy. He would have it done through Subodh Babu from the office. He had been doing this work for a long time.
He had about ten more years of service left. He would have to arrange something within that time. There was no point putting the boy in these useless local schools. This wasn't some child he could just hand over to others, satisfied with barely getting him through matriculation. Without good teachers and a good environment, a healthy, beautiful life couldn't develop. What a competitive world it was! Without proper qualifications, you couldn't make a place for yourself anywhere these days.
Suddenly two crows came squabbling into the courtyard right near Nabadwip Babu, grappling with each other before tumbling down with a thud. He felt extremely irritated. One couldn't even think a single peaceful thought in peace. But why had the old aunt suddenly said such things? His mind gradually filled with melancholy. Was it all lies? Was everyone deceiving him? Even Surbala? But how could that be! It was as if some demon of disbelief had gripped his throat with both hands. Amazing! How base they all were! How petty their minds! It seemed none of them knew anything about the cosmic universe.
Again he remembered—lime plaster flaking and falling from the walls. Pitch-black darkness on the stairs, dark as carbon paper. That tiny eight-by-ten room in Hayat Khan Lane. The ancient wooden bed propped up on two bricks. All the household possessions crammed and stuffed beneath it. The room sagging at every corner. Opening the southern window, the eye would hit against a massive wall, beneath which lay a depot for rotten eggs. These too, it was said, were sold cheap to hotels. The stench of rotten eggs had now become bearable to everyone's nose. A stove burned at one end of the veranda. In the nooks and crannies of Hayat Khan Lane, coils of smoke from the stoves danced and played.
Now again Nabadwip Bose's mind turned to the cosmic universe. With his mind's eye he seemed to see Surbala sleeping soundly with another baby girl beside her. Her cheap red-bordered sari had ridden up above her knees. Her mouth hung open, and an ugly sound emerged from her nose. Below, at the water tap, the maid was scrubbing dishes and chattering away continuously. The boy next door had started reciting at the top of his voice. Nabadwip Babu's body felt strangely churned up.
He didn't feel like thinking anymore. That same old sum. Failing year after year, memorizing the same lesson without understanding a single letter.
Spitting out a mouthful of betel juice, he came and stood again by the veranda railing. No! He couldn't wait any longer. So much time had already passed. An unknown apprehension twisted his chest. What if something had happened to Surbala again? A nurse was approaching this way. He could ask her.
- What news from bed sixteen?
- Oh, she's doing well. She's been taken to the bed.
- What happened? Boy or girl?
- I can't say that.
- Could you bring me some news!
Pleading crept into Nabadwip Babu's voice.
- But I have work to do here!
Nabadwip Babu pressed a hundred-rupee note into the nurse's hand. Cheerfully, she disappeared down the passage.
Nabadwip Babu's heartbeat seemed to suddenly stop, then start racing at double speed.
Visitors still crowded here and there. Broken-down trucks rumbled and clattered down the street. Ugh! What hideous noise. Why hadn't the nurse returned yet! She'd left ages ago. He looked at his watch—no! Only a minute had passed. Time seemed to stand there stubbornly like a bullheaded ox, face twisted, not moving an inch. Should he go forward and see? No. He felt strangely embarrassed somehow.
Everyone in the hospital seemed to be staring at him with their mouths open. Amazing! What was this rude way of staring? Was there perhaps some inconsistency showing in his behavior? Nabadwip Bose composed himself a little more. But what had happened to that nurse?
A house surgeon and a nurse were approaching, laughing. His whole body seemed to burst into flames. Unbearable! Everyone seemed to be mocking him. Was that the nurse? No! Someone else. No, no, that was her! Who knew what news she was bringing! His leg seemed to tremble with excitement. He felt as if his judge would pronounce sentence any moment. Either punishment or release. The exam results would be announced right now. Either pass or fail. He couldn't think of anything at all. All his thoughts seemed to be getting tangled up.
All the visitors wandered about with peaceful minds. None of them had any unrest in their hearts. Only in the mind of some Nabadwip Bose from Hayat Khan Lane was there tremendous chaos. The memorized sum had become tangled like incoherent delirium. The nurse seemed to be approaching from many leagues away at a gentle pace. She would cross seven seas and thirteen rivers. Like slow motion in cinema, a mythical horse seemed to float forward through light clouds. On its back sat a prince like Kartik. Sunbeams came and sparkled on the tip of the prince's crown. And from there seven colors scattered across all horizons. That prince with his horse was approaching, taking on massive form, toward the tiny worm-eaten dark room in Hayat Khan Lane. But such a huge moving figure couldn't possibly fit in there.
The lime-flaked, salt-stained walls were crumbling with crashes. The room's beams and rafters fell to the floor with enormous thuds. Nabadwip Babu's whole body broke out in sweat. The veins at his temples began throbbing. Suddenly everything around began to grow dark. Nabadwip Babu sat down exhausted on the hospital veranda, trembling.