Love-in-the-Mist and the Devil-in-the-Bush
The morning air had changed, Robin noticed. The sky was heavy with low clouds, which were pushed by the wind that touched and stirred the treetops as well as the greenery below. Queen’s Cottage assumed an air of cheerful breeziness that sort of lifted Robin’s spirit. Jack entered the bedroom and warned Robin. ‘You had better shut the window because the rain will descend any moment and its gush will drench your room.’ Robin went to the window and looked out at the scene before closing it. He thought of what Balzac had said: ‘There are three memorable sights that please the eyes and senses: a boat on the water with its sails spread, a running horse and a dancing girl!’ Balzac ought to have added a fourth to his list, thought Robin—fast drifting clouds! Robin continued to wonder about the clouds that just moved on without bringing rain. He could easily go for a walk in the village to see the changing hues of the surroundings, as if viewing a kaleidoscope. And then, as if in answer, first pitter-patter and then with a gush, the shards of rain seem to cut through the trees, plants and leaves alike.
This new rain, the arrival of the pre-monsoons, soaked everything through and through. Strange how Robin had never experienced this in Hong Kong. The rain had torn through the trees and plants with such force that the garden outside was now covered with fallen leaves. The banana leaves flip-flopped, some were torn and hung loosely. Robin noticed the several shades of green that their leaves wore; the new leaves were bright green whereas the older ones were dark, and then, as if from nowhere, Robin’s thoughts turned to that girl in the green sari, whom he had seen on the bus to Ranchi. How would it be if she suddenly appeared and stood next to these trees? Shutting his eyes, he fantasized for a while.
‘Hot tea,’ said Jack putting down the cups on the old table in the verandah. ‘Really, Jack, you are a magician!’ said Robin, ‘however did you know that I was just longing for this cup?’ The answer being self-evident, Jack did not bother himself; instead, he jumped off to the kitchen. Tea, along with piping hot snacks are all part and parcel of relaxing at home on a terrific monsoon day, and Indians know that, mused Robin.
The rain had slowed down somewhat. The sun was partly visible from behind the clouds. Mr Miller too had come out into the verandah to enjoy his cup of tea. Then sitting down on his easy chair, he asked Robin, who had got up, ‘Why are you getting up already? There is plenty of time to get ready. The weather has changed for the better thanks to the rain.’ Robin answered, ‘Uncle, it’s more than three weeks since I spoke to Mummy and Papa. That’s why I thought of dashing off to Ranchi this morning. The weather too has become so pleasant.’ Mr Miller, as if he had not heard him, continued. ‘You sit down, Robin, and listen to me. How can you go to Ranchi today? There is a week-long call for Jharkhand bandh starting today. This is a joint call by the Jharkhand Freedom Front, the Jharkhand Student’s Union, and the Jharkhand People’s Party. It is a call for an economic blockade. For one whole week, nothing will function. There will be no transport available, so how can you go to Ranchi? Ask Jack.’ Jack confirmed the news. In fact, he went on to say, ‘There will be no supply of minerals, specially coal, outside Bihar. I had gone towards the station last evening. There was heavy police bundobust for patrolling the railway tracks so that demonstrators would not remove the fishplates or damage the tracks in any way. The government was afraid they might disrupt movement and damage public property. Don’t even think of going to Ranchi. Let things
cool down.’
Robin asked Mr Miller, ‘What is the meaning of Jharkhand?’ ‘A separate Adivasi state. For a long time, the native population of Bihar, Orissa, Madhya Pradesh and West Bengal have been clamouring for an independent state for themselves,’ said Mr Miller. Robin asked, ‘Aren’t the Adivasis of these four states happy with their local government?’ Mr Miller answered, ‘No, that is what it amounts to. The Adivasis never got their rights even after Independence. You see, their own representatives have cheated them on their promises, always compromised on issues by receiving bribes. They are clearly playing a game of duplicity with their own people. But then politics is a complex game.’
The rain had stopped completely. Mr Miller rose from his easy chair and made his way to the garden to tend to the plants that had been damaged. He asked Jack for stakes to straighten them with. Robin went and stood by his side and watched. He noticed that although Miss Bonner’s garden was beautiful,
Mr Miller’s was no less. He said, ‘Uncle, like Miss Bonner, you too have some extraordinary plants here.’ Mr Miller, as if for no reason, suddenly became despondent, ‘These are all that I have to live for. After all, with my wife gone and my only daughter Sophia married and away in England, I need some distraction. That is why I have turned to birdwatching and gardening.’ Robin had not seen Mr Miller as sentimental as this before. He tried to change the subject by asking the names of some of the plants. ‘What plant is this?’ Robin asked and Mr Miller answered, ‘This is the monkey flower, son. It is a bi-colour of dark red and bright crimson, a very beautiful flower. The monkey flower has another species, by the name of red emperor. I do not have it although I have asked several people for it’. Then Mr Miller drew Robin’s attention to a bush in a corner. ‘This one is called love-in-a-mist. It has small blue flowers, but funnily, here it is commonly known as devil-in-a-bush.’ ‘Love and wickedness are both present in humans. Well, it is a reflection on the duality in the human persona,’ Robin laughingly said.
Meanwhile Jack announced breakfast. Stepping on to the verandah, Robin asked Mr Miller, ‘Which way is it to Mrs Kitty’s house?’ ‘Kitty’s house is near the Kanka hills, but she will not be there at this hour. You will find her at the station now where she sells fruits along with other Adivasi men and women.’
The station was quite empty when Robin reached there. Majeed was not present at his tea stall, only the Adivasi boy was arranging the glasses and kettle on the counter. The station master too was working on some files. One or two passengers were sitting on the benches. Then he noticed some Adivasi men and women sitting with their baskets of fruits just as Mr Miller had told him. Robin wondered if Kitty too would be there. He turned towards their direction. The fruit sellers became conscious of his arrival. They rearranged their fruit for his benefit and Robin saw that none of their baskets were full. Someone said, ‘Take some, Babu. These mangoes will taste very good on ripening.’ But Robin didn’t seem to hear, so intent was he on locating Kitty. The Adivasi woman appeared crestfallen. Robin glanced at every face present. Which one would be Kitty’s, he wondered. Then his attention was drawn to a face that was different from the rest. She was a middle-aged woman, her clothes were clean though shabby. She was thin and had a longish face. Her hair too was a different colour, wheatish golden. She was about Robin’s father’s age. Plucking up courage, Robin asked, ‘Who among you is Kitty?’ A woman with a basket of guavas said, ‘There she is!’ Kitty, who was apparently all right until then, suddenly appeared as if she were disturbed, as if she felt threatened. The guava seller said, ‘This customer is searching for you.’ Just then Robin walked up to the woman in question. ‘Are you Mrs Kitty … Kitty Aunty?’ And Kitty, as if afraid, her blue eyes expanding in distress, said, ‘Who are you? I don’t know you.’ Robin tried to recall for her the names of his father and grandfather but spurning his efforts, she answered, ‘I don’t know any Dennis Vennis. Neither do I recall any Brian Wian.’ Robin found her dismissiveness unacceptable. ‘Don’t you recall these names, or are you just too angry to connect for some reason?’ Kitty’s annoyance was now visibly rising. She picked up her basket and balancing it on her side, shouted, ‘Yes, yes, I know all of them, Lord Curzon, George V, Queen Victoria, I know all of them. Tell me whose son are you?’ Robin said, ‘Listen to me at least.’ And Kitty continued, ‘Oh, I know, you are one of the cinema chaps. Come to make a film on the wretched condition of the Anglo-Indians, or do you plan to do a TV coverage? You want to be awarded. I know you chaps. You are out for awards, out to make money’. Kitty was now almost hysterical and was running away with her basket. Robin ran along with her and once again implored, ‘Do you really not remember Dennis, your childhood friend?’ Kitty, with her piercing blue eyes, shouted back, ‘I told you I don’t remember anything or anyone. If you want to know about me, go and ask George V, Lord Curzon and Queen Victoria. Nonsense!’ Robin realized at last the depth of Kitty’s despair. Muttering to herself, she left the station with Robin staring after her. What would he tell his father?