The Man-Eater of Malgudi by Narayan R. K

Author:Narayan, R. K. [Narayan, R. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Classics, Humour
ISBN: 9781101662212
Amazon: B00HFXK3SO
Goodreads: 24365833
Publisher: Penguin Classics
Published: 1961-02-28T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The poet was in a grand exalted mood. He had completed the portion of his poem where Krishna meets his future wife Radha, and their marriage is to be celebrated. He had written several hundred lines of crystal-clear monosyllables; he had evolved his own prosody and had succeeded. His manuscript was ready, several little exercise books stitched by himself and wrapped in brown paper, closely filled with writing in green ink. He had written till late on the previous night. His eyes were red with sleeplessness, but his face glowed with triumph. With the marriage, the book would make about ninety-six pages. Sastri had printed the book at the rate of four pages a month over a space of countless months and it had now assumed the shape of a volume. Sastri himself was excited at the completion of the volume with the marriage episode. He brought in the proofs of some pages, and hesitated for a moment. When Sastri stood thus I always knew he had something to say, and I hoped that if I did not turn round and meet his eyes he would be gone. As I bent over my paper, I was aware of his shadow behind me. ‘What is it, Sastri?’ I asked sharply. He looked at the poet and both of them smiled. So I knew it was a good piece of news, and felt relieved. ‘When a poet has arrived at the stage of the marriage of a god, it would be auspicious to celebrate the occasion.’ He went on to explain how the celebration was to be conducted. I was fond of the poet and anything that was going to give him a place in our society was welcome to me.

Enormous preparations began. Once again, my normal work of composing and printing was pushed to the background. The fruit-juice man had prospered more than ever and wanted four thousand more of the three-colour labels, but I was not prepared to give him his labels yet. I had only time to print the first basic grey. I put it away to dry and said so every time the messenger came from Fruit Juice. Let him try and print it elsewhere and I should not object. But where would he get the magenta, that thirst-creating shade which drew people in a rush to wherever his bottles were displayed? The sixth time when I turned back the boy, K.J. himself came thundering in, and shouted at Sastri beyond the curtain. He did not know I was also there, helping Sastri to compose an appeal for our celebrations, for which we needed funds. We were also in conference with an astrologer in the composing room. We did not want to be disturbed. There now hung a thickly-woven bamboo mat which screened us off from whatever might be on the other side of the grille. Vasu might have all the dead animals in creation on the other side, but it was not going to affect us.

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