One Saturday in October, the weather started to change. It was early autumn and the season of festivals was beginning. By seven o’ clock, in the school, in the lane, in the nearby bazaar and in all the houses, rows and rows of burning lamps were being lit to celebrate, among other things, light overcoming darkness. In the school they were preparing for the party. Govinda lingered near the gatekeeper and watched the lane.
The people in the lane stood and looked on as men played drums. Worshippers brought bags of rice, milk and sweets for Krishna. A group of devotees burnt an effigy of the wicked, power-hungry demon Narakasura and the crowd cheered, danced, sang and clapped as evil went up in flames. Young girls with tinselled eyelashes paraded past the servants who strung garlands of multi-coloured streamers all over the school and on the walls out in the lane.
An effigy of a mischievously smiling Krishna, striking in a flute-playing pose, looked onto the scene. His eyes, painted last to infuse the statue with the spirit of the god, were still not dry. In the light of the fire crackers, Krishna’s eyes looked as if they blinked and shed tears. People walked past, stopped and stared in amazement.
The large temporary puja pandal, erected out of bamboo, string and bright red cloth, stood near the school gate. The blue god was held for a moment at the foot of the stage before he was carefully lifted up by local Brahmins as drums, trumpets and conch shells sounded. Firecrackers, jasmine incense and oil lamps were lit. Seven Brahmin priests dressed in orange and white robes deliberated over the proceedings. Girls used coloured powders to make Rangoli decorations on the ground nearby. The priests were beginning to say prayers as Govinda wandered into the school gate past a bearded monkey-man and the three monkeys that sat by his side.
Inside the school compound, parents and teachers ate biryani and drank whisky and smoked cigarettes. Atom-bomb firecrackers were set off; the sky lit up as they exploded.
Every detail in the lane and the school came into full view from the gate, and it seemed as if Govinda’s father was lit up too as he scolded Govinda for being in the lane and not wearing the formal shirt, tie and pants he had set aside for him. For a moment his father stood near him and together they wandered out once more and watched as Narakasura burned. Sunil Seth bought fireworks. Together they lit the crackers and watched as they shot into the air and made white and green fountains of light.
Krishna was in his rightful place. He stood with his flute, his eyes slightly glazed. The effigy of Narakasura was now nothing more than smoke, embers and ash. More fires and crackers were lit and the lane and the school came back into view. The servants were properly dressed, clad in spotless khaki uniforms. A clerk approached the headmaster with papers held together by a brown file in the familiar yet deferential manner common to all who worked or dealt with him, and the two men exchanged pleasantries. Dogs barked, roused and scared by the fireworks. Teachers, students, parents and servants took part in the ceremony, lighting rockets and catherine-wheels near the school gate. A group of younger children cowered in fright as the rockets shot out into the sky. Nearby a family held onto sparklers. Then there was darkness once more, albeit briefly. Fancy Ariel Shooters turned night into day. A band of trumpet players and percussionists with drums and cymbals arrived. They joined the crowd and played, chanted and danced.
Govinda ran inside and upstairs but could not find his mother. He stood at the open door of her bedroom and stared in. There were boxes filled with their clothes and linen. On top of the boxes it said: ‘To be given away’. He called her name several times but there was no answer. He made his way down to the servant quarters where the air smelt of damp earth. Tenzing was feeding his goat and smoking a chillum. Govinda wheeled at the strong smell of ganja. There was smoke everywhere and the goat was bleating, amidst the heat, explosions and bright lights. He watched as the gatekeeper smoked and, between puffs, sharpened his knife. Govinda flinched and his mouth went dry. He ran further, deeper, into the servant quarters, but they were deserted.
The school grounds were swarming with boys and girls. The busy prefects urged them to be quiet and stop their talking, but no one listened. Some boys lit fireworks as the prefects escorted the latecomers, parents and other special guests to seats in the middle of the compound facing the school building. Among the spectators were flocks of crows that sensed an opportunity and waited, croaking, for the right moment to swoop down. They could smell the rich mutton biryani in the cauldrons outside.
Krishna smiled. His benevolent eyes twinkled as people wandered past and into the school compound to greet Sunil Seth. A cow moseyed through the school gate. Ashok and Nitesh grabbed it by the horns and tried pushing it out. People watched the spectacle and laughed. Eventually the cow turned and ambled towards Krishna and stood beside him. This made people cheer. The drummers played harder and louder. A teacher straightened up her shawl and glared through her mascara-caked eyelashes. The voices of the crowd grew more animated as more fire crackers were lit. The moment had come.
The Anglican bishop, Das, a plump, grey-haired man with thick, black-rimmed glasses, began his speech amid the sound of the explosions. His speech was punctuated by more crackers, the cawing of chaotic crows and the rumble of trams, trucks and buses outside the school compound, beyond the lane, on the main road. The microphone hardly sounded over the tumult. Govinda looked around. His mother was nowhere to be seen. In front was the headmaster and behind were the students and their parents. On the flanks of the playground stood the prefects, the ground staff, sweepers, the driver, cleaners, and the gatekeeper who was standing to the side staring at Govinda, who saw a distinct expression flash across his bloodshot eyes. Tenzing scowled at him, spat a jet of red betel juice and then looked away and up to the sky. At that moment Govinda felt sorry for the gatekeeper and wished he could be near his beloved mountains.
Govinda wanted to go down to the servants’ quarters again. He feared for his mother when she disappeared like this. She was growing audacious and less concerned about what others thought. She was expressing herself more boldly. He stared towards an unlit constellation of clay lamps, then watched a girl run up and light them.
After the service there was a party in the Seths’ apartment. Popular Bollywood music played while men, women and children came and went like moths among the laughter, fireworks, whisky, drums and stars. All around in the lane and in the school, people celebrated. Amongst the throng Govinda spotted his father talking to a group of people. He went up to his father who ignored him as he talked busily to guests.
Men swayed past the watchful eyes of Krishna, carrying glasses of Black Dog and soda. Women sucked on mangoes and licked their lips, then left to wash their hands. Children ate popcorn, fairy floss and ice-cream. His father was busy attending to everyone. He served the men more Black Dog and soda, and rum with Thums Up.
A moth floated in from outside as the lights inside the house went out. ‘Load shedding!’ his father groaned. Everything became shadowy. A few minutes later, the sky was ablaze once again with red, yellow, blue and green fireworks.
As the night wore on, Govinda kept looking for his mother amongst the men who talked about trouble in the Punjab and the way Sikh militants could not simply dictate what they wanted in a country as diverse as India. He wandered through a group of women who exchanged gossip about their servants stealing from them. A few of the women stopped talking and asked him where his mother was but when he failed to answer they talked as though he was not there. They commented on the fact that Gitanjali had failed to appear at her own party. Late at night, his father tried to cover for her by saying she was sick and had to go and see a doctor. The firecrackers got louder outside. The crystal fountains sparked. Soon the generators would start up and the lights would come on again, making the lamps less bright. A clerk arrived at the door in the middle of the night, apologising that he had forgotten to deliver a letter marked important from Australia.