Mr. Sampath by R. K. Narayan

Author:R. K. Narayan [Narayan, R. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-345-80383-2
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2012-07-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

The next important event was the opening ceremony. A special bus ran from the city to the studio on the other bank of the river. The bus was painted ‘Sunrise Pictures’ along its whole body, and placards were hung out on its sides: ‘The Burning of Kama – Switching-on Ceremony’. It slowly perambulated along the Market Road, and anyone who carried an invitation to the function could stop it and get in.

The invitation was printed on gold-sprinkled cartridge sheets, on which was stamped a map of India, represented as a mother with a bashful maiden kneeling at her feet, offering a spring of flowers, entitled ‘Burning of Kama’. The maiden was presumably ‘Sunrise Pictures’.

‘Is this your idea?’ Srinivas asked Sampath, who worked without food and sleep for the sake of the function. Sampath was cautious in answering: ‘Why, is it not good?’ Srinivas hesitated for a moment whether he should be candid or just not answer the question. He decided against expressing an opinion and asked: ‘What do others say?’

‘Everybody says it is so good. Somu was in raptures when he saw it. Our boys did it, you know – something patriotic: we offer our very best to the country, or something like that.’

‘Your idea?’ Srinivas asked. Sampath was rather reluctant to be cross-questioned, and turned the subject to the task of printing: ‘What a trouble it was getting this through in time! They couldn’t fool me. I sat tight and got it through.’ Srinivas quietly gloated over this vision of Sampath harassed by printers. ‘I’ve not been home at all for three nights; I sat up at the Brown press and handled the machine myself. How I wish I’d my own press now!’ He sighed a little. ‘No need to worry; we are on the way to getting our big press.’ He seemed distressed at the memory of printing, and Srinivas obligingly changed the subject. ‘How many are you inviting?’

‘Over a thousand!’ Sampath said, brightening. ‘It is going to be the biggest function our city has seen.’

As the bus turned into Nallapa’s Grove, far off one saw the bunting flying in the air, made up of flags of all nations, including China, Scandinavia and the Netherlands. One could pick them out by referring to Pears’ Encyclopaedia. The bunting was an odd treasure belonging to the municipal council; no one could say how they had come to gather all this medley of ensigns; but they were very obliging and lent them for all functions, private and public, unstintingly. And no gathering was complete unless it was held under the arcade of these multi-coloured banners: there were even a few ships’ signals included among them.

The vast gathering was herded into studio number one, in which hundreds of wooden folding chairs were arrayed. The switching-on was fixed for 4.20, since at 4.30 an inauspicious period of the day was beginning. The district judge, who was to preside, was not to be seen. They fidgeted and waited for him and ran a dozen times to the gate.

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