Chowringhee by Mani Sankar Mukherji

Author:Mani Sankar Mukherji
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atlantic Books

‘You here, sir?’

With a start, I found two waiters from Shahjahan looking at me.

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

‘This is where we sleep, there’s no space in the kitchen – the cook’s mates don’t let anybody get in there.’

There was plenty of space in the hotel lounge – a few people could easily sleep on the carpet if they allowed it. But that would mar the beauty of the hotel. The portico was also out of bounds – if employees were found lying there it would lower the hotel’s prestige. So there was no choice but to seek shelter at the feet of Sir Ashutosh and Victoria House.

‘Have you had dinner?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I have a permanent arrangement with Little Shahjahan – fourteen paise per meal; only Mayadhar hasn’t eaten.’

‘Why haven’t you eaten, Mayadhar?’

Mayadhar had flopped down on the grass by then, clutching his legs in agony. The other bearer said, ‘The pain in his leg has worsened, his veins are hurting badly today.’

Kneeling, I saw by the light provided by the Calcutta Electric Supply Corporation that the veins in his leg had swollen up like knotted cords, as though several blue snakes had entwined themselves around his legs. Bose-da had told me that these were varicose veins.

‘We feel like cutting our legs off at the end of the day, sir. That’s how we all end up. After years of standing the veins start swelling up. We have to hide them from the boss, sir, if the steward gets to know he’ll throw us out immediately.’

‘Don’t you ever go to the doctor?’

‘It costs a lot, sir. And the doctors say, give your feet some rest. How can you work in a hotel and still give your feet some rest, sir?’

‘Haven’t you been to a doctor yet?’ I asked Mayadhar.

‘Bose sahib has given me a letter for a doctor he knows,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t been to him – I’m saving money. It’s expensive. But now I have to go, or else I’ll become like Bharat. After this there will be sores all over the legs, and they’ll burst and bleed, I won’t be able to stand any more. I’ll lose my job, my children will starve to death, sir.’

‘It’s very late, you’d better go to sleep,’ I said and started walking away.

Where could I go? I had no idea. Tramping through the darkness, I entered Curzon Park. There were a lot of people sleeping there, too. Who knows, some of my colleagues from Shahjahan may have been among them. The paved area at the feet of Sir Hariram Goenka was tempting, but it had already been taken by a few lucky souls. The street light filtered through the railings on the west and bathed his feet. The inmates of ‘Hariram Inn’ had devised a clever way of shielding themselves from its glare. The light distributed free of cost by the Corporation had been stopped in its tracks by dried leaves that they’d placed over their eyes. There was darkness beneath.

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