In the years since he had become principal, Govinda’s father had won the affection of the teachers, students and parents at his school, and he was frequently presented with sweets, flowers and wedding invitations. When he walked with his father along the lane, Govinda saw that people were pleased to receive the headmaster’s attention. He was often seen on the road patrolling the area, seeing what needed fixing. When he walked, he gathered a crowd. Everyone made a big hullabaloo of the amazing Sunil Seth. In traditional Indian courtesy and respect for the teacher, local men and women bowed down and touched his feet. They said he represented Saraswati, the goddess of learning, and he was helping the children of Serpent Lane to get ahead and seek out a better life. This would embarrass the headmaster.
‘People touch my feet. Yet what have I done? They think I can change things but I can’t change anything,’ his father said.
Govinda could not understand how his father might resemble a beautiful goddess with four arms, wearing a spotless white saree, seated on a white lotus. His father’s shoes and trousers were filthy and worn.
Govinda attempted to be good and important too. He wanted to emulate his father and be interesting and worthy of regard. When his father went out Govinda insisted on going with him.
One Thursday night Ashok drove Sunil Seth to Park Street. There he would visit the Freemason’s Grand Lodge of Bengal. Ever since the headmaster had joined the Freemasons, he had worked hard and rarely saw his son.
‘Can I come and buy sweets from Flurys?’ Govinda asked.
‘Only if you sit in the car with Ashok and wait. I have an important meeting to attend at my lodge,’ he said.
‘Then you will take me?’
‘Then I will take you.’
Ashok parked outside an imposing, wrought-iron gate. There was an emblem on the gate but Govinda was not sure what the emblem stood for. He tried looking in through the gate but the building in the compound could not be seen from outside because of large trees that blocked prying eyes. The grand entrance nonetheless seemed quiet and out of place. A watchman sat beside the gate. Before they got out of the car his father gave Ashok money and said, ‘You take him to Flurys for pastries.’
Govinda and Ashok walked across Park Street under a pink sky. It was nearing twilight. Govinda looked back to see his father enter the gate, walk past the watchman and up the windy drive.
Flurys was in full swing. Prosperous locals were buying exotic cakes, creamy pastries, rich puddings and Swiss chocolates. Ashok asked Govinda to choose whatever he wanted. Govinda chose rum balls, shortbread, raisin bread, fudge and a hot chocolate, but he was distracted secretly by his concern about what his father was doing. They walked back with their box of pastries to the car.
‘What is this compound?’ Govinda pointed to a sign beside the gate that read, ‘The Freemason’s Trust Association. Freemason’s Hall 19 Park Street. District Grand Lodge of Bengal’.
‘Your father attends meetings there,’ said Ashok. ‘I bring him every Thursday.’
‘What happens in there?’
‘They are a top-secret organisation. I heard it is a place where important men meet. They wear funny hats and have hush-hush handshakes. King Solomon is said to have built their first temple. I think the library inside contains secret maps of the ancient city of Jerusalem. The Calcutta branch is very old, but I’m not certain what it is they actually do in there.’
The watchman left the gate. He walked to a tobacconist and bought a cigarette. He lit it and then, instead of coming back to the gate, he walked further into the crowd.
‘I’m going to have a look,’ said Govinda. Without waiting for a response, he opened the car door and ran toward the lodge. Ashok adjusted his glasses and hauled himself out of the car. Recently he had been experiencing shortness of breath. He pulled his pants up, as far as he could, just under his protruding belly, and followed but Govinda ran to the gate and peered in. No one was around so he ran up the twisted drive. As he approached he saw a red carpet that went down an alley towards the building. He heard voices and turned and saw the watchman stop Ashok at the gate. He ran deeper into the lodge.
Through a window he saw a large, opulent banquet hall. On the walls were old books and paintings. He saw a blazing yellow star with the letter G in the centre. He stood very still as he heard chanting. Prominent men who looked vaguely familiar appeared to be reciting or singing a prayer in another language that Govinda didn’t recognise. He saw his father amongst other men. The men wore robes, ornaments and hats. Some wore thick necklaces. Govinda felt alarmed. He recognised some of the men inside. He had seen them talking to his father before. The men inside seemed important and they appeared to be very sincere in what they were doing yet he knew that he was not supposed to be seeing them like this. They were involved in a ritual that they did not want others to be a part of. Instinctively he turned and ran down the drive, where the watchman had returned to his post. ‘What are you doing? You are not invited here,’ the watchman said.
‘I was telling the boy exactly this,’ said Ashok, who remained near the gate, breathing heavily. ‘His father, Sunil Seth, is inside so he is not listening to me.’
‘Why can’t I go in?’ asked Govinda.
‘You are not old enough,’ Ashok replied.
The chauffeur grabbed Govinda and pushed him away from the entrance. ‘Can’t you leave your father alone? He is trying to do what is best.’
‘I don’t like this place. I never get to spend time with him,’ complained Govinda.
‘The trouble is men don’t get to do what they should and that is to be men. Sometimes a man’s family can make him sick if he cannot express himself.’ Ashok, short of breath, grabbed at his chest in irritation.
That’s not fair, thought Govinda, but he remained quiet. Reluctantly he waited in the car for his father. When Sunil Seth returned, Govinda was not sure if he was more troubled by his meeting at the lodge or by his son’s behaviour. Govinda wished he had never left the car. No one spoke.
At home Govinda was ordered to go straight to bed, where he lay awake. He could barely hear his parents, but occasionally he picked out phrases.
‘He embarrassed me.’
‘He is your son.’
‘It is nothing more than a fraternity of men.’
‘This freemasonry is far too shadowy.’
Their voices grew louder and more animated. His father announced he had a big plan, ‘I have two options: let’s move to Australia or to England.’
Gitanjali responded, ‘What do you think? I don’t like either option.’
‘The lodge has offered me a scholarship to study in England. They have awarded me the scholarship because they want me to work for them when I come back. I’m not planning to accept it,’ Sunil Seth said. ‘They cannot provide accommodation for you and Govinda. But the Australian option might work. I can’t live here with nine hundred million people and three billion mutts.’
‘Ha!’ Govinda imagined his mother smiling her deep, secret smile. ‘Forget this brotherhood of man. Without me, you are nothing!’
‘With three billion mutts I’m nothing. I can’t breathe.’
‘Can we be washed away in Australia?’ Govinda asked loudly. His parents could hear him. ‘Does nothing bad happen over there?’
The boy sat up in his bed and thought that this was a way to escape the hijra’s curse. He had lost interest in what his father was saying. He knew when he wasn’t sleepy and did not want to go to bed. He had his own convictions. He was about to get out of bed when his father poked his head into his bedroom and said, ‘Get to sleep.’ Despite this Govinda got out of bed and followed his father into the living room. Sunil Seth grabbed Govinda and scolded him for not being in bed. ‘Did you brush your teeth?’ he asked. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a face towel and berated his son, even though it was clear Govinda was no longer paying attention to him.
‘What are you doing, Govinda?’
‘Leave him,’ said Gitanjali in a raised voice. Her face went red. ‘He wants to be involved…Why Australia?’
‘Nothing bad happens in Australia?’ asked Govinda.
‘Nothing like this happens in Australia,’ said Sunil Seth. ‘Australia is one of the most gorgeous places in the world. There are beaches with golden sand. Islands fringed with palm trees. Oceans full of whales and dolphins. Snow-covered mountains against tranquil green valleys.’
‘You live in a fantasy,’ said Gitanjali anxiously.
‘This is not a fantasy.’ Sunil Seth did everything to show his family that his spirits were high. Yet just as quickly he would explode, saying he was frustrated and tired of ‘corruption and pervasive negativity’ and ‘a lack of leadership’.
He noticed Govinda again. ‘What are you doing? And why aren’t you in bed?’
‘I don’t want to go to Australia. I want to stay here,’ said Govinda. ‘Would you leave my mother behind?’