A Long Day's Night Read online

'I am from the university,' Virendra said politely. He placed his last card first; he knew, the people in the city, rightly or not, had both awe and affection for the university. 'We have a small milling job to be done urgently. None of our machinists was available today, so we thought we would approach you – I understand that you have a precision milling machine.'

  Virendra noticed how, as he continued with the introduction, some of the unfriendly lines on the man's face gradually softened. The expression changed from a vague suspicion to one of genuine and benevolent inquiry. It was doubtful that he would be bowled over by Virendra's predicament, but it seemed that he was going to give it a serious consideration. 'What exactly is the job?' he plainly asked, and motioned Virendra, with a gesture of his hand, to sit down.

  Virendra sat down, took out the piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it in front of the man and explained the job. The man quietly studied the paper for a while, then without raising his head asked, 'When do you need it?'

  'Right now,' Virendra replied, and immediately but without haste added, 'an engineer from abroad and his associate are visiting us at the university; if we do not provide them with the parts today, they will go away and our machine may lie inoperational again for a year or two,' the last part Virendra said in a tone of helplessness.

  It was clearly an impossibly stringent order for anybody and anywhere, and Virendra knew it. From the man's face Virendra could read that to anybody else he would have shown the door, Virendra he honoured by not making any such gesture. But he was not positive either. He said, 'You have to wait. Our milling machinist has just gone out. He has several jobs pending. Only he can say whether it can be done or not. You make it further difficult by making the material stainless.'

  Virendra had little choice. He said, 'I will wait.'

  'Fine. He should be back soon,' the man commented. Then he took the drawing and put it under a gear that was lying on the table using it as a paperweight, and turned to the paperwork he was doing before Virendra had appeared.

  Virendra remained seated like that for about ten minutes, then felt bored, got up from his chair and walked towards the door of the small room. The man said without emotion from behind, 'Do sit down, he will be coming soon.'

  'That's all right. I am waiting. I am just walking around a bit,' Virendra responded.

  Virendra walked to the door of the small room and stood there for a while generally looking around the interior of the shop, and then got out of the room, ambled to the right to reach the main door of the garage. He stopped when he reached the garage door and looked at the lane in front of him and the passing traffic. Despite the heat it was an endless stream from both directions, dodging and colliding along, somehow finding the way. They were mostly pedestrians, bicycles, and rickshaws, and once in a rare while, a car. The lane, full of potholes, was not wide enough for two cars, and the situation became bad when one tried to get through the narrow interstices. Towards the right through a vertical gap between two buildings a part of the main road was visible; the pattern of traffic was similar, but additionally there were lorries, handcarts and bullock carts. Heat and dust completed the scene. Although Virendra was standing in a shade, he was sweating, and from time to time was wiping away the sweat on his forehead. Heat, dust, sweat, noise – there was no part of the scene that he liked, a feeling that always came to him whenever he visited the city; and regretted the decision of first joining and then staying on all these years with the university. Whenever he had these thoughts he remembered with amusement how once he resolved that he would never return to this city. Now he had already spent two decades here. Probably he would die here as well. Ironically, the only thing he felt pleased about was dying in this city. Not the process of death itself, but the process that followed. Although he had gone to the city's cremation ground—Bhairon Ghat—only a few times, every time he liked it. There was a certain overall neatness associated with it which was a class above anything else in the city. In his young days in Calcutta he had been in crematoria a few times; he did not like them at all. There were arrays of shallow pits used for cremation; to get around one had to walk along the space between the pits. In some, there would be bodies in the process of cremation with piles of wood, and the entire ground was black from charred wood. In contrast, here the entire area was brick-layered. Ganga flowed on one side and a huge banyan tree stood at the entrance to the compound. There were raised platforms at the sides which had tin roofs for pyres to be protected from any rain – a couple of them meant for some special sects of Hindus. When Ganga water receded, by the side of the steps the river bed would emerge. It was here when once he was attending a cremation and was sitting for a long time near the pyre, that one attendant helping the cremation imparted to him the knowledge that in a man the last thing the fire consumed was the middle part of the chest bones, the sternum, and in a woman it was the middle part of the pelvic bones, the ilium. The attendants' was quite a profession of deliverance – the counterpart of bringing somebody into this world.

  Virendra liked this way of final disintegration of the body, although he was unable to say how far it was from association of his own religion which practised it. He felt something fundamentally pure about letting the fire consume the matter, destroying the germs of all physical and mental illness, releasing the energy that was contained within, and dispersing the matter and the energy all over and returning it to where it came from. He would feel suffocated if he were to be buried at the transition; he did not like the constraint of confinement. He could not think of deriving any satisfaction from the process of birds consuming his flesh and picking the bones clean either.

  He accepted that he liked rituals. He would be gratified to have a simple funeral – cremation in a neat place. The electric crematorium had speeded up the process, but in big cities it was a gruesome sight to see twenty bodies lying in a queue to get into the furnace. But Virendra had matured, he was reconciled to the view that no one could be sure of what eventually would happen – he might not get a funeral at all, he might not have done sufficient good to be even the food for vultures. His mind roamed around with thoughts quite unrelated to the living scene in front of him which had become transparent.

  'Please let me go in,' a voice very near to Virendra jolted him out of his distant thoughts. Virendra saw a lean man of medium height in machine-shop clothes looking at him and making the request – Virendra was blocking the entrance. Virendra instinctively moved aside, and it took him a few seconds to guess that this could very well be the machinist he was waiting for. By that time the man had gone in and just disappeared into the small room. Virendra decided to follow him.

  When he entered the small room, the owner had already started a conversation. He looked towards Virendra at the door and then addressing the other man said, 'This gentleman has come from the university. He has an urgent precision milling job which he needs to be done right away – today the job cannot be done at the university. Could you please see whether we can do it?'

  The machinist did not look at Virendra which he probably had done when he stopped at the garage gate. There was a slight frown between his eyebrows while he had his eyes on the drawing table. 'How can it be done? We have already three jobs pending, and I was going to start one of them,' he commented.

  Virendra felt that this was the proper moment when he could emphasise the plea. He politely interjected, 'It would be greatly appreciated if we could have your help. We need these parts for a machine which an overseas engineer has to fix. If we do not have these, our work will get behind by a year at the least. And in this city only in this place do you have a good milling machine and a competent machinist for precision work.' The last part he deliberately added to please the man.

  The machinist seemed apparently unmoved. The owner did not wish to press it; it was obvious that much of his work output depended not only on the competence of this man but his whims as well. He waited silently. So it was for Virendra to try, and somehow he felt that the man could
be swayed, because otherwise his response would have been quite different, such as a firm and ultimate 'no'. But except his repeated bowing down, Virendra did not know of any other submission that he could make which would be accepted. Virendra said in an appealing tone, 'We shall be grateful if you can do it; if you will just consider the distance I have travelled in this midday heat; we are really desperately in need of the job. I would not have pleaded with you like this and would have waited for our machinist if we could; I request you ardently because only with your help can we make a last attempt to repair the machine.'

  'Has it got to be stainless?' the machinist asked.

  Virendra felt relieved at receiving this sign of softening. 'Yes,' he replied. 'All the parts of the machine it will go into are of non-magnetic stainless.'

  'I cannot guarantee you anything, but I will try. And I am not sure it could be done in one and a half hour. But I will give it a try for your sake because you have come from such a long distance. Come with me,' the machinist said. He picked up the drawing from the table, and walked towards the inner door. When the machinist turned his back towards the room, Virendra looked at the owner. The owner had a perceptible but tight smile on his face, and he nodded a couple of times to indicate that he was pleased. Virendra responded with a sincere but equally tight smile and followed the machinist.

  The machinist went through a couple of similar looking rooms and entered a relatively larger room where a vertical milling machine was standing. The machine was clearly very old, but through care it had been kept in decent working shape. There was a small metal table on which the machinist placed the drawing. There was a wooden stool next to it. The machinist said to Virendra, 'Sit down.'

  'That's all right,' Virendra said but did not make any move from the point he was standing.

  'I am asking you to sit down so that you can answer a few questions about the job. Then I will ask you to go; I do not want anybody around while I work,' the machinist sternly asserted.

  Virendra sat down on the stool without any further word or ceremony, and looked at the drawing. The machinist approached the table, looked at the drawing carefully, then put a series of questions about the various dimensions of the parts, and when he was satisfied, he said, 'Now you can go, and come back after two hours.'

  'Yes. I would just like to wait a few minutes more until you get started,' Virendra said, and then added, 'and then leave.'

  It did not seem that the machinist particularly liked Virendra's statement, but since it would be for a short time, it appeared that he decided not to object expressly. He went to one corner of the room where there was a wooden shelf with many pigeonholes, stood in front of it examining small pieces of metals from several adjacent boxes, then picked up a round rod of stainless steel about the dimension of the parts to be made. There were a pair of callipers on a nearby table, he measured with them the diameter of the rod, apparently found it all right, took both the callipers and the rod to another corner where a small lathe machine stood. The lathe did not have a chuck on it; he picked up a three-jaw chuck from a side table and put it on and tightened the mounting Allen screws. He inserted the key and turned it to open the jaws, put the stainless rod in, and tightened the jaws with the key. He set the rotation speed of the lathe; then he turned the machine on by pressing a push-button switch. The rod started rotating. The speed with which he was doing the operations impressed Virendra. He kept watching.

  The rod was rotating a bit off centre. The machinist noticed it and turned the machine off. Then he loosened the grip of the jaws slightly, turned the machine on again, took a wooden hammer and started tapping the rod lightly to correct its rotation. Soon it started rotating properly. He stopped the lathe, tightened the jaws, and went back to the side table looking for tools. He picked one up which he approved, went to the grinder to grind it to his liking, returned to the lathe and mounted the tool on the toolpost. He turned the machine on again to help position the tool, tightened the tool on the toolpost. Then he went to the side table again to look at the drawing, apparently to check the final diameter to which it was to be machined. He returned to the lathe, picked up the callipers and set them probably close to the desired dimension and put them down on the lathe bed itself.

  He then turned the machine on again, moved in the tool from the side, touched the job with the tip of the tool and pushed it in slightly, and translated the tool mount towards the tailstock. The rod got its first cut. He then repeated the process several times, thus reducing the diameter near to its final size. Virendra was getting increasingly impressed with his skill. The machinist was soon ready for the final cut. He measured the diameter with the callipers, set the final cutting depth, put the machine in the automatic mode, and pressed the engaging lever. The machine started cutting it with a polishing finish.

  Virendra was convinced about the high level of the machinist's skill. He felt like staying on but at the same time wondered about how long he could wait before causing annoyance to the machinist. He thought that it was as good a time as any to leave. While the machinist waited at the lathe to get the polishing cut completed, Virendra said, 'Perhaps I should go now.'

  The man looked towards Virendra, and perceived that the assessment Virendra was making was over. He was indifferent all along about what Virendra thought, but seemed to be pleased that Virendra was leaving. He responded by saying, 'Yes, you may go now. Your job will be done to your satisfaction.'

  Virendra had little choice of action on whether he agreed with the machinist's projections. He was reasonably convinced though that under the conditions this was the best gamble. He felt partly inclined and partly constrained to relent and let nature take its course. He was impressed with the machinist's skill and he guessed that the man just might be able to deliver two accurately machined parts. Virendra noticed that the man had quite a few gray hairs and guessed that he could not be extraordinarily well paid by the shop, but he still worked in so dedicated a manner – at his age most machinists in the university had for all practical purposes retired while formally remaining in service. Virendra made a gesture to move. But before he left he said, 'Yes, I have every expectation that the parts will come out accurately. You are competent.' But he did not want to compliment the machinist too much before the work was completed. He added, 'I am going. I shall be back in about two hours' time.'

  The machinist responded with only one word: 'Fine'. Virendra gave a last look at the job on the lathe, then turned towards the door, and walked out.

  He walked past the small room in which the owner was sitting. Virendra for a moment thought that he would ask him about what the cost would be; then decided not to. He was mentally prepared to pay whatever was asked, so it did not matter. Further, in case there were chances of disagreement, it was unwise to bring it to the fore at the moment – the work might get stuck. He just paused at his door; the owner looked up at the sound of his footsteps. When Virendra's eyes met his, Virendra said, 'He has started the work; he asked me to come back within two hours. I shall be back before that.'

  The owner responded with a nod and said, 'All right.'

  Virendra did not wait any further. He turned left and walked straight towards the main garage door.

  As he walked out into the hot sun again, he felt a flash of heat and at the same time realised that he had not thought about how to spend the intervening time. But the blazing sun hindered leisurely or cool thinking difficult. He decided that since he was already out of the shade he might as well walk through the lane and reach the main road, and then reaching some shelter take a decision. He felt hungry – all this time he was so tense and preoccupied that many normal sensations had disappeared. Perhaps he could go to a place to eat something and then come back here. But where to? He had no ready answer. He walked pensively to the main road. He worried about what was going on in the laboratory. There was no way to find out anything from here. He wondered about what was in store for them at the end of the day.

  He reached the intersectio
n of the lane with the main road. He had to take a decision about where to go. At the intersection he saw a building the ground floor of which was a shop making wrought iron grilles. The balcony on the second floor cast a shade below. He decided to take that shelter for a few minutes to make up his mind. He walked into the shade, wiped off the sweat from his forehead, put the handkerchief into his pocket, and tried to concentrate. The workers in the shop were pounding on some metal bars making a racket not conducive to concentration, but there was no choice.

  Where to go to get some food? The heat was so overpowering that his first thoughts were to get to a cool place. He immediately thought of a couple of air-conditioned restaurants. But he hesitated. They were expensive, and the food in those places was not particularly attractive. In most of the other restaurants he could think of the food cooked was greasy, and Virendra did not particularly feel like going for a full meal. But then the air-conditioned restaurants had one advantage. They did not mind if one continued sitting for a while beyond the bare eating time. This was some compensation for the high price. Oh! He could go to Ritz! They did not have air conditioners but they had desert coolers instead which were quite effective in this dry heat. Also, he was fond of a dish of beans they prepared. The atmosphere was informal and it was not a mere eating place. It was a small institution by itself. It was an old restaurant, it already existed when Virendra came to the university twenty years ago; the building was old, the front of the upper storey had colonnades – Virendra liked it. Until some time ago they also had a billiards room inside – it was there that he had shown his son the game the first time. Virendra felt pleased – the decision was made.

  He still waited. He needed a rickshaw. There was none passing by which was not occupied. This was also the meal time, the number of rickshaws on the road decreased at this time. He kept scanning the street. After a while Virendra spotted a rickshaw coming that way which did not have an occupant. He got out of the shade, walked to the edge of the street and called the rickshaw. The man was sweating in the heat. He asked him whether he would go and explained the location. The rickshaw-puller agreed, but asked for a fare which was high. Virendra pondered a few seconds, then agreed. It was quite a distance and it meant a roundabout way if the rickshaw went by the main road. The rickshaw-puller, however, decided to take a short-cut through the narrow by-lanes. It would ordinarily be a nuisance, but considering the heat Virendra did not object, because he would be out of the sun's rays – the sun never reached those lanes. The rickshaw travelled straight for a short distance, then took a right about turn over to the stream going in the opposite direction, went straight for a short distance and turned left into a by-lane.