My dear friend had long since taken a wife. According to him, women play the most important role in civilized society. Suddenly one day he dragged me to a sweet shop. Sitting there, I polished off about eight pieces. When I asked the reason for this sugary celebration, he began to speak with a beaming, proud face in formal Bengali: "A beautiful daughter has been born in my household this very afternoon." Understanding his hint, I said, "Brother, you've had a daughter and instead of mourning, you're celebrating! Direct bribery, I mean—have you thought about dowry money? There's no escape without marrying her off!"
Before I could finish speaking, my friend roared, "You're nothing but a complete savage in this civilized world." Stunned, I lowered my head and began studying the shape of the teacup in front of me. I didn't see my friend after that. I was a bit surprised, because as the savage, I should have been the one to leave this civilized environment, yet he was the one who left.
I don't have much of a notion about civilization and savagery, but I'd heard from my friend that New Market supposedly has some traces of civilization. So I wandered absent-mindedly in that direction. I thought I'd go see what the difference was between a savage like me and this civilization! After walking a bit, I pulled out a cigarette. I had no matches, and right next to me I saw a middle-sized gentleman—a small bag in hand, handsome face, wearing a beautifully tailored shirt and thick cloth trousers.
I said, "Excuse me, brother, do you have a match?" The words hadn't even left my mouth when this gentleman glared at me fiercely and, raising his nose high, said in a muffled voice, "Idiot!" The cigarette fell from my hand. Standing face to face, hearing those tinted lips and that voice, I realized that the gentleman in front of me was actually not a man at all, but a sixteen-year-old young woman.
Now I got a little taste of what civilization was!
Until then I'd been a 'savage,' now I started walking as an idiot. Near Gate Number One, I saw three young men with their heads together, lighting cigarettes from the same match. Seeing this, I thought, what kind of civilization is this!
I moved forward. I saw them whispering something, when one friend pointed at a young woman and said, "Here she comes." I understood nothing. I looked at the young woman. I saw a pair of four-inch high heels on the girl's feet. From her back to halfway down her torso, there wasn't a trace of clothing. In rhythm with the high heels, the fleshy area of her body swayed nicely. Through the gossamer-thin fabric, the fire of beauty blazed!
As soon as she came near the young men, one of them, pretending absent-mindedness, gave this young woman a slight push. Unable to keep her balance, the young woman stumbled a bit but then stood up again.
The other two of the three came forward with false sympathy to help the girl. Their eyes and faces bore meaningful smiles. Only I, the idiot and savage, remained silent from the sidelines. When the one who had pushed her tried to apologize with feigned remorse, the young woman shouted at him, "Idiot! Savage!" Then my heart filled with joy; I thought I could befriend this fellow, since we were both now savages and idiots. Moreover, from my friend, that woman in men's clothing, and this young woman, I learned that to be civilized, one must call people savage and idiot.
The next moment, one of those three young men said, "Ah, madam, why are you angry? You know Newton's third law. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. So if my friend pushed you, then surely you also gave him an equal push in reaction. Due to your high heels, you couldn't steady yourself in this action-reaction, but my friend could, because he's wearing relatively low shoes. Now tell me, whose fault is it—my friend's or your high heels'?"
At this, the young woman nearly laughed. She said, "Well, what's done is done. But don't ever behave with girls like this again. Understand!" Good grief, what kind of talk was this! I could see a rapport developing between them! Then my mood soured; I realized that friendship with the one I'd wanted to befriend was also impossible. Because he was a 'civilized savage,' and I needed an 'uncivilized savage.' Seeing such a strange specimen of civilization, my hope of becoming civilized was buried alive.
A few days later, I went to visit that friend's house. Above their bed was a beautiful shelf for keeping various cosmetic items. The rope that tied it to the bed had grown old. As was my habit, I sat leaning against that rope. My friend sat nearby; six of us were chatting. Just then my friend's eldest daughter came and started saying, "Hello, hello!" I understood nothing. My friend said, "What is it, Beauty dear, what do you want to say?" The girl opened her mouth like a boal fish and said something. From what I gathered, she said, "I won't call you Baba anymore." My friend asked, "Why?" She replied, "When I say Baba, my lipstick gets ruined, but when I say Daddy, it doesn't smudge. So from today I'll call you Daddy." My friend said proudly, "All right, dear, all right."
Now I understood why the girl had been speaking with her mouth agape at first. But hearing all this, my body slumped, and I felt as if the sky had crashed down on my head. When my friend helped me up, I saw that it wasn't the sky above my head, but that shelf—civilization's living symbol complete with cosmetics—had fallen on me when the rope snapped. The rope had gotten a bit old, you see!
After that I said to my friend, "Oh dear! Under civilization's pressure you've become Daddy—who knows when you'll become a 'mace' and fall on someone's head, so I'm leaving."