Rusty and the Leopard Read online

  But sleep evaded me. Suddenly, I remembered that little black notebook which belonged to Sudheer. It was still in my pocket. I took it out and opened it only to realize that it was a diary—Sudheer’s diary. I flipped through the notebook, which was crammed with all sorts of details, until I came to the last entry. For a second I held myself back thinking about how impolite it was to read someone else’s diary. But curiosity urged me on, and soon I was engrossed in it.

  It read:

  Today, I woke Hastini in the middle of her afternoon siesta by tickling her under the chin with a feather.

  ‘And who were you with last night, little brother?’ she asked, running her fingers through my thick brown hair. ‘You are smelling of some horrible perfume.’

  ‘You know I do not spend my nights with anyone,’ I said. ‘The perfume is from yesterday.’

  ‘Someone new?’

  ‘No, my butterfly. I have known her for a week.’

  ‘Too long a time,’ said Hastini petulantly. ‘A dangerously long time. How much have you spent on her?’

  ‘Nothing so far. But that is not why I came to see you. Have you got twenty rupees?’

  ‘Villain!’ she cried. ‘Why do you always borrow from me when you want to entertain some stupid young thing? Are you so heartless?’

  ‘My little lotus flower!’ I protested, pinching her rosy cheeks. ‘I am not borrowing for any such reason. A friend of mine has to leave Dehra urgently, and I must get the money for his train fare. I owe it to him.’

  ‘Since when do you have a friend?’

  ‘Never mind that. I have one. And I come to you for help because I love you more than anyone else. Would you prefer that I borrow the money from Mrinalini?’

  ‘You dare not,’ said Hastini. ‘I will kill you if you do.’

  This healthy rivalry for my affections between these two girls is something I can always count on if I need a favour from them. Perhaps it is the great difference in their proportions that animates the rivalry. Mrinalini envies the luxuriousness of Hastini’s soft body, while Hastini envies Mrinalini’s delicacy, poise, slenderness of foot, and graceful walk. Mrinalini is the colour of milk and honey, she has the daintiness of a deer, while Hastini possesses the elegance of an elephant. Hastini can twang the sitar, dance (though with a heavy tread) and has various other accomplishments. Mrinalini is also dear to me—she is sweet, but dominated by her mother who also keeps most of the money Mrinalini makes.

  ‘So where is the money?’ I asked.

  ‘You are so impatient! Sit down, sit down. I have it here beneath the mattress.’

  I put my hand beneath the mattress and probed about in search of the money.

  ‘Ah, here it is! You have a fortune stacked away here. Yes, ten rupees, fifteen, twenty—and one for luck . . . Now give me a kiss!’

  About an hour later I was in the street again. I turned off at a little alley, throwing my half-eaten apple at a stray dog. Then I climbed a flight of stairs—wooden stairs that were loose and rickety, liable to collapse at any moment . . .

  Mrinalini’s half-deaf mother was squatting on the kitchen floor, making a fire in an earthen brazier. I poked my face round the door and shouted: ‘Good morning, Mother, hope you are making me some tea. You look fine today!’ And then, in a lower tone, so that she could not hear: ‘You look like a dried-up mango.’

  ‘So it’s you again,’ grumbled the old woman. ‘What do you want now?’

  ‘Your most respectable daughter is what I want,’ I said.

  ‘What’s that?’ She cupped her hand to her ear and leaned forward.

  ‘Where’s Mrinalini?’ I shouted.

  ‘Don’t shout like that! She is not here.’

  ‘That’s all I wanted to know.’ I walked through the kitchen, through the living-room, and on to the veranda balcony, where I found Mrinalini sitting in the sun, combing out her long silken hair.

  ‘Let me do it for you,’ I said, and I took the comb from her hand and ran it through the silky black hair. ‘For one so little, so much hair. You could conceal yourself in it and not be seen, except for your dainty little feet.’

  ‘What are you after, Sudheer? You are so full of compliments today. And watch out for Mother—if she sees you combing my hair, she will have a fit!’

  ‘And I hope it kills her.’

  ‘Sudheer!’

  ‘Don’t be so sentimental about your mother. You are her little gold mine, and she treats you as such—soon I will be having to fill in application forms before I can see you! It is time you kept your earnings for yourself.’

  ‘So that it will be easier for you to help yourself?’

  ‘Well, it would be more convenient. By the way, I have come to you for twenty rupees.’

  Mrinalini laughed delightedly and took the comb from me. ‘What were you saying about my little feet?’ she asked slyly.

  ‘I said they were the feet of a princess, and I would be very happy to kiss them.’

  ‘Kiss them, then.’

  She held one delicate golden foot in the air, and I took it in my hands (which were as large as her feet) and kissed her ankle.

  ‘That will be twenty rupees,’ I said.

  She pushed me away with her foot. ‘But Sudheer, I gave you fifteen rupees only three days ago. What have you done with it?’

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea. I only know that I must have more. It is most urgent, you can be sure of that. But if you cannot help me, I must try elsewhere.’

  ‘Do that, Sudheer. And may I ask, whom do you propose to try?’

  ‘Well, I was thinking of Hastini.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know, Hastini, the girl with the wonderful figure . . .’

  ‘I should think I do! Sudheer, if you dare to take so much as a rupee from her, I’ll never speak to you again!’

  ‘Well then, what shall I do?’

  Mrinalini beat the arms of the chair with her little fists and cursed me under her breath. Then she got up and went into the kitchen. A great deal of shouting went on in there before Mrinalini came back with flushed cheeks and fifteen rupees.

  ‘You don’t know the trouble I had getting it,’ she said. ‘Now don’t come asking for more until at least a week has passed.’

  ‘After a week, I will be able to supply you with funds. I am engaged tonight on a mission of some importance. In a few days I will place golden bangles on your golden feet.’

  ‘What mission?’ asked Mrinalini, looking at me with an anxious frown. ‘If it is anything to do with the seth, please leave it alone. You know what happened to Satish Dayal. He was smuggling opium for the seth, and now he is sitting in jail, while the seth continues as always.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I can deal with the seth.’

  ‘Then be off! I have to entertain a foreign delegation this evening. You can come tomorrow morning if you are free.’

  ‘I may come. Meanwhile, goodbye!’

  I felt a little embarrassed at having pried into Sudheer’s personal life in this manner without even his knowledge. Anyway, I had now found out how Sudheer had got funds to give Devinder that day. But his encounters with Hastini and Mrinalini, though interesting, had managed to make me feel drowsy. Soon I was fast asleep.

  Rishikesh comes to life at an early hour. The priests, sanyasis and their disciples rise at three, as soon as there is a little light in the sky, and begin their ablutions and meditation. From about five o’clock, pilgrims start coming down to the river to bathe. Saffron-robed sadhus and wandering mendicants walk along the steps of the river, whilst the older and senior men sit on small edifices beneath shady trees, where they receive money and gifts from pilgrims, and dispense blessings in return.

  I had bathed early, leaving Sudheer and Ganpat asleep in the dharamsala. These two revellers had come in at two o’clock in the morning, disturbing others in the shelter. They did not get up until the sun had risen. Then Ganpat crossed the river in a ferry boat in order to visit the temples on the ot
her side, to propitiate the gods with offerings of his own. Sudheer made his way outside to try and acquire a suitable disguise, as he had to visit Dehra for a few days. Dressed as he was, he would soon be spotted by the seth’s informers. Later, he met me at the bus stand.

  ‘I will be back tomorrow,’ said Sudheer. ‘I can’t take you with me because in Dehra my company would be dangerous for you.’

  ‘Why must you be going to Dehra, then?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, there are one or two people who owe me money,’ he said. ‘And though, as you know, we have plenty to go on with, these people are not loved by me, so why should they keep my money? And another thing. I must return the money I borrowed from Hastini and Mrinalini.’

  After the bus moved off I strolled through the bazaar, going from one sweet shop to another, assessing the quality of their different wares. Eventually I bought eight annas worth of hot, fresh, golden jalebis, and carrying them in a large plate made of banana leaves, went down to the river.

  At the river-side grew a banyan tree, and I sat in its shade and ate my sweets. The tree was full of birds—parrots and bulbuls and rosy pastors—feeding on the ripe red figs of the banyan. It was nice and peaceful to just lean back against the trunk of the tree, listen to the chatter of the birds and study their plumage.

  When the sweets were finished, I wandered along the banks of the river. On a stretch of sand two boys were wrestling. They were on their knees, arms interlocked, pressing forward like mad bulls, each striving to throw the other. The taller boy had the advantage at first; the smaller boy, who was dark and pockmarked, appeared to be yielding. But then there was a sudden flurry of arms and legs, and the small boy sat victorious across his opponent’s chest.

  When they saw me watching them, the boys asked me if I too would like to wrestle. But I declined the invitation. I had eaten too many jalebis and felt sick.

  I walked until the sickness had passed. Soon I was hungry again and returning to the bazaar, I feasted on puris and a well-spiced vegetable curry.

  Well stuffed with puris, I returned to the banyan tree and slept right through the afternoon and the night.

  It was a wonderful morning in Rishikesh. There was a hint of spring in the air. Birds flashed across the water, and monkeys chased each other over the rooftops. I lay on a stretch of sand, drinking in the crisp morning air, letting the sun sink into my body.

  I had risen early and had gone down to the river to bathe. The touch of the water brought memories of my own secret pool that lay in the forest behind the church. Perhaps Devinder would be there now; and Goonga would be sitting on a buffalo.

  I sat on the sand, nostalgically thinking of my friends. Though there was another pull now from the house in the hills, I felt fairly certain that I ought to go back to Dehra. I decided to leave Rishikesh as soon as the Lafunga returned. After all, Sudheer was experienced in the ways of the world, and was never lacking in friends. Devinder and Kishen were of my age. They probably needed companionship, and I wasn’t too happy being on my own either.

  I lay on the white sand until the voices of distant bathers reached me, and the sun came hurrying over the hills. Slipping on my shirt and trousers, I went to the bazaar, where I found a little tea shop. And there I drank a glass of hot, sweet milky tea, and ate six eggs, much to the amazement of the shopkeeper.

  After that, I went down to the bus-stand to see if Sudheer had returned. The second bus from Dehra had arrived, but Sudheer was not to be seen anywhere. I was about to go back when, turning, I found myself looking into the eyes of a distinguished-looking young sadhu, who had three vermilion stripes across his forehead, an orange robe wound about his thighs and shoulders, and an extremely unsaintly grin on his face. The disguise might have deceived me, but not the grin.

  ‘So now you have become a sadhu,’ I said. ‘And for whose benefit is this?’

  ‘It was for business in Dehra,’ said Sudheer. ‘I did not wish to be seen by the seth or his servants. Let us find a quiet place where we can talk. And let us get some fruit, I am hungry.’

  I bought six apples from a stall and took Sudheer to the banyan tree. We sat on the ground, talking and munching apples.

  ‘Did you see your friends?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, I went to them first. The bus ride had made me tired and angry, and there is no one like Hastini for soothing and refreshing one. Then at midnight, I paid a clandestine visit to Mrinalini. Knowing that I would have to stay away for some time, I wished to see her just once again, in order to make her a gift and a promise of my fidelity.

  ‘It took me a few seconds to climb the treacherous flight of stairs that leads to Mrinalini’s rooms. Every time I climb those stairs, they sway and plunge about more heavily.

  ‘Mrinalini was preparing herself for a visitor, I think; she was sitting in front of that cracked, discoloured mirror which distorts her fine features into hideous dimensions. She had once told me that whenever she looked into the distorting mirror and saw the bloated face, the crooked eyes, the smear of paint, she always felt that one day she would look like that. By contrast she had said that my reflection whenever it appeared beside hers in the mirror, reminded her of a horse—a horse with a rather long and silly face. And seeing it yesterday there, she laughed.

  ‘“What are you laughing at?” I asked.

  ‘“At you, of course! You look so stupid in the mirror!”

  ‘“I did not know that,” I said, my vanity a little hurt. “Hastini does not think so.”

  ‘“Hastini is a fool. She likes you because she thinks you are handsome. I like you because you have a face like a horse.”

  ‘“Well, your horse is going to be away from Dehra for some time. I hope you will not miss him.”

  ‘“You are always coming and going, but never staying,” she said a little sulkily.

  ‘“That’s life.”

  ‘“Doesn’t it make you lonely?” she asked, moving away from the mirror, and going to the bed. She made herself comfortable against a pillow . . . she looked so beautiful that I felt miserable at the thought of staying away from her.

  ‘“When I am lonely, I do something,” I said, trying to keep a hold over my emotions. “I go out and do something foolish or dangerous. When I am not doing things, I am lonely. But I was not made for loneliness.”

  ‘“I am lonely sometimes.”

  ‘“You! With your mother? She never leaves you alone. And you have visitors nearly every day, and many new faces.”

  ‘“Yes. The more people I see, the lonelier I get. You must have some companion, someone to talk to and quarrel with, if you are not to be lonely. You can find such a companion, Sudheer. But who can I find? My mother is old and deaf and heartless,” she said, sounding really unhappy.

  ‘“One day I will come and take you away from here. I have some money now, Mrinalini. As soon as I have started a business in another town, I will call you there. Meanwhile, why not stay with Hastini?”

  ‘“I hate her.”

  ‘“You do not know her yet. When you know her, you will love her!”

  ‘“You love her.”

  ‘“I love her because she is so comfortable to be with. I love you because you are so sweet. Can I help it if I love you both?” I spoke truthfully Rusty, for a change. I seldom got to speak so openly with Mrinalini, and last night I just didn’t want her to harbour any false illusions about me.

  ‘“You are strange,” said Mrinalini with one of her rare smiles. “Go now. Someone will be coming.”

  ‘“Then keep this for me,” I said.

  ‘I took the thin gold ring which was on my finger, and slipped it on to the third finger of her right hand.

  ‘“Keep it for me till I return,” I said. “And if I do not return, then keep it for ever. Sell it only if you are in need. All right?”

  ‘She stared at the ring for some time, turning it about on her finger so that the light fell on it in different places. Then she slipped it off her finger and hid it in her blouse.


  ‘“If I keep it on my hand, my mother will be sure to take it.”

  ‘I was exasperated by the never-ending control her old mother had over this girl. Quietly I said, “If only you would allow me, I’d finish off your mother for you.”

  ‘“Don’t talk like that! She has not long to live . . .”

  ‘“She is doing her best to outlive all of us . . . But don’t worry, I will not even touch her, I promise you. I will simply frighten her to death. I could pounce on her from a dark alley, let off a firecracker . . .”

  ‘“Sudheer!” cried Mrinalini. “How can you be so cruel?”

  ‘“It would be a kindness,” I said laughingly.

  ‘“Go now! Stay away from Dehra as long as you can.”

  ‘So you see, Rusty, Mrinalini is still waiting for her mother to die. In life, people do nothing but wait for other people to die. Do I look all right?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘You look as handsome as ever.’

  ‘I know that. But do I look like a sadhu?’ Obviously Sudheer had some new plans up his sleeve.

  ‘Yes, a very handsome sadhu.’

  ‘All the better. Come, let us go.’

  ‘Where do we go?’ I asked.

  ‘To look for disciples, of course. A sadhu such as I must have disciples and they should be rich disciples. There must be many fat, rich men in the world who are unhappy about their consciences. Come, we will be their consciences! We will be respectable, Rusty.

  There is more money to be made that way. Yes, we will be respectable—what an adventure that will be!’

  We began walking towards the bazaar.

  ‘Wait!’ I said. ‘I cannot come with you, Sudheer!’

  Sudheer came to an abrupt halt. He turned and faced me, a puzzled and disturbed expression on his face.

  ‘What do you mean, you cannot come with me?’

  ‘Sudheer, I must return to Dehra. I may come this way again, if I want to live with my aunt.’