To just know about things is not enough. To correlate your experience with your knowledge is more important. Nothing is worthless in this creation, there is a reason behind every aspect of existence. As a result, the woof and the warp, the why and the how become the subject of man’s eternal quest.
Outside Mrs Tomalin’s house, next to the gate a boulder of immense size lay embedded in the earth. Grass grew around it; in fact, the rock was covered partly by moss. How had that rock come there? The curiosity that some things around us arouse in us can itself become an exciting mental adventure.
When Robin arrived at Mrs Alice Tomalin’s house first thing in the morning and knocked on her door, her dog Cindy’s bark in response echoed throughout the place. Robin announced himself and Mrs Tomalin, in a dark yellow frock with small red flowers, opened the door and said, ‘You’ve been here long? And you’ve only thought of me today! I had begun to wonder whether Dennis had even spoken of me to you. Who knows, Dennis may have thought that old Alice may be dead and gone.’ But before Robin could offer explanations, she had taken hold of his head and was kissing it. Cindy meanwhile went round and round encircling Robin. Mrs Tomalin scolded Cindy playfully, ‘Don’t be silly,’ and Robin said, ‘Don’t scold her, she is merely acquainting herself with me.’
Mrs Tomalin said, ‘Just give me two minutes, I’ll make you a cup of tea while you are playing with her.’ But Robin followed Mrs Tomalin to the kitchen and said fondly, ‘Today I’ll make the tea. Believe me I can make reasonably good tea.’ And Mrs Tomalin affectionately answered, ‘Robin, you have offered to make the tea, that is enough for me, just think that I have drunk it. I am not yet so useless that I can’t make my Robin some tea, or prepare him a meal with my own hands. Yes, when I become a total invalid, you will be most welcome to do these things for me. But then, you know Robin, I will be regarded as a burden and you may very well remark, ‘God knows until when I will have to feed this fat old woman!’ She laughed so much that her belly began to shake. Robin felt that the whole universe was contained in that womb. There was something so timeless, like the mother earth, about Mrs Tomalin. While she was straining the tea, Robin looked at the forest of trees that was visible from the kitchen window. The scene was picture perfect and Robin continued to look on.
And then, there was Cindy who was in a quandary. Her expression was one of curiosity. After all, who was this creature who had followed her mistress to the kitchen? No one was allowed beyond the drawing room. In fact, neither the vegetable vendor nor the milkman was permitted beyond the verandah; and this man had crossed the threshold inside the very house, above all the sanctum sanctorum, namely the kitchen. As Robin seemingly admired the woods, Mrs Tomalin understood that Robin was lost in the natural beauty of the place and she broke his reverie saying, ‘I am quite fed up of this forest. Even yesterday a pair of dhamins entered the house through the kitchen drain.’ Robin was surprised. ‘What are dhamins?’ Mrs Tomalin paused a little. There was a touch of excitement in her voice and manner, as if she were about to embark on some magical adventure. Robin pressed her, ‘Tell me, tell me,’ and Mrs Tomalin explained, ‘Dhamins are what are known as rat snakes in English. They are about seven to eight feet in length and usually move in pairs—the male and the female. But should they feel threatened, they can entwine themselves around the legs of animals or even human beings so tightly that the resulting squeeze can be very painful. Then they hit with the tail. One day unknown to me, a pair of dhamins had entered through the kitchen drain as usual, and lo and behold, Cindy had probably caught sight of them. She tried to attack them with her paws, but one of them wound itself round her and whipped her hard with its tail. Cindy cried out in anguish, but by the time I came, they had slithered away the way they had entered. I just managed a glimpse of the pair through the kitchen window while Cindy was yelping in pain.’
It was fortunate that Mr Mendez, the good Samaritan that he was, always ready to help, managed a taxi for Mrs Tomalin and Cindy to be taken to Ranchi. That was the closest where one could find a vet. It had so happened that some tourists had arrived in McCluskieganj that day and as the taxi was going back empty, Mr Mendez fixed it up for Mrs Tomalin. The veterinary doctor administered an injection and prescribed some ointments to Cindy, telling Mrs Tomalin that there was no danger or threat to the dog’s life. That day Mrs Tomalin had prayed to Jesus fervently, to restore Cindy, her only companion in life. She said that Mr Mendez had appeared then as the emissary of Christ. So saying, she made the sign of the cross.
On the drawing room wall, there were some old, framed photographs. Robin noticed that there was one of Mr and Mrs Tomalin. Mrs Tomalin was quite young then and very attractive too. She had long golden hair. Robin found that strange, because most Anglo-Indian women wore their hair short. That was the fashion back then, and Robin knew that the ladies of this community were very trend conscious. At a time when Indian ladies hardly wore any make-up, the Anglo-Indian ladies always used lipstick, rouge, eyeliners and foundation.
‘You must be wondering about the drastic change in me,’ said Alice Tomalin. Her voice was soft now and the photos on the drawing room wall all shared that softness. Robin asked, ‘Why is it that unlike other Anglo-Indian women, you wore your hair long?’Mrs Tomalin answered, ‘My husband liked long hair, like our Indian counterparts. He liked me to make buns, wear gold jewellery and saris. He used to think that such things enhanced a woman’s looks. However, the Anglo-Indian ladies did not agree; they preferred dresses and accessories. But after my husband passed away, Robin, I lost interest in my person. All I look forward to is my disappearance into the earth of
McCluskieganj. However, one concern remains and that is Cindy. What will happen to her after me? My only son Keith, who did his schooling and college in Calcutta left for New Zealand so many years ago. He used to ask me to go live with him after his father’s death, but he stopped asking after I refused to be forthcoming. He came only once after his father’s death, and actually why should he? Keith has no attachments to
McCluskieganj. He never connected with this place. Still he does write occasionally.’ Robin reflected on Mrs Tomalin’s condition. Cut off from her son, with hardly any relatives, she was now literally living for Cindy. It occurred to him that perhaps there could really be a connection between Mrs Tomalin and the huge rock outside. Mrs Tomalin interrupted Robin just then, ‘You know, Robin, old age means that time has stopped, all you have are memories of the past. Every morning I get up and look at the mirror and see that my wrinkles have increased. And what are these wrinkles? They are the lines of memories etched on our faces.’
Robin changed the topic saying, ‘Cindy has got very bored with our humourless conversation.’ ‘Yes,’ answered Mrs Tomalin, ‘Cindy wants me all to herself, that I should be running after her alone.’ ‘She is thoroughly spoiled by your love,’ said Robin, patting Cindy. ‘Cindy has got me quite chained to her. I cannot leave her and go anywhere else. Son, this is the great chain that ties us to life. Love, the need to love and to be loved or perhaps, the need to be needed,’ said Mrs Tomalin as Robin rose to take his leave.
Outside, Robin once again saw the huge rock next to the gate. The wild flowers around it needed it as much as it needed the flowers. Mrs Tomalin’s words encircled his thoughts over and over again as he walked back to Queen’s Cottage.