After the rainfall, the sky had cleared up a bit. The clouds lay scattered about and a soft moonlight was shining. It was a night to rouse the imagination.
It was nearly 9 p.m. The lawyer, Harshvadan, reclined sideways on a swing, making it swing back and forth with light kicks of his foot. Across, on an armchair, sat his wife, Vijayagauri. On the floor, on a mat, his son of five or six years, Prasannvadan, was writing something with a blunt pencil in the pages of a notebook. From the street below, a horse carriage driver’s harsh cries of ‘Haiyo-oh-haiyo’ and ‘Hey, Black Cap’ could be heard. On the verandah across the street, women sat talking. But the barking of the dogs drowned out their voices.
Suddenly, Harshvadan said, ‘Come, come, Prasannvadan. Let me tell you a fine story.’
The boy immediately threw the blunt pencil away and, wiping his nose, stood up.
‘What’s the story about?’ he asked as he came to sit by his father on the swing.
‘See.’
From below, the house help yelled, ‘Baisaheb! Where should I put the wheat flour?’
‘In the cupboard.’
Harshvadan continued, ‘See…’
Downstairs, the door rattled: ‘Vakil saheb!’
‘Who is it?’ Harshvadan said and craned his neck. Two-three people had come to meet him. ‘Who is it? Doctor saheb! Welcome, welcome. I was just waiting for you.’
Prasannvadan pulled his father’s dhoti. ‘Then what happened?’
‘Prasannvadan!’ Vijayagauri called as she went inside: ‘I will tell you the rest.’
Prasannvadan pulled his father’s hand. He wanted to hear more.
The poor father, faced with the town’s various current and past affairs, did not have the time to recall a five-thousand-year-old story. He patted the child’s head with affection and said, ‘See … the rest, later. I’ll tell you later, okay?’
‘But tell me a little bit.’
‘All right then, on the banks of the Sarayu River – ’
As if a terrible calamity was upon them, Prasannvadan looked in the direction of the stairs. Having climbed the stairs, Doctor Anantprasad’s figure – tall, fat, shapeless, wearing an odd, wide pair of trousers and half-coat – stood in the drawing room. Behind him were two lean, stick-like men. This alliance of very fat and very thin men was the kind that could provide some amusement.
‘Prasannvadan!’ Vijayagauri called out.
He ran inside.
As soon as the child left the scene, the men sat to discuss everything – from Ahmedabad’s municipality to the latest vegetables becoming available – in its entirety.
Prasann ran in and leaned against his mother’s back, draping his arms around her neck. Vijayagauri was counting her bodices and blouses.
‘Hey, hey, what are you doing? Leave it be. Look, my silk bodice is getting creased.’
But Prasannvadan did not loosen his grip.
‘Vijayaben, tell me, what happened to the Sarayu River, then?’
‘I will tell you that tomorrow. Now go to bed. Come on.’
‘Where is Sarayu River?’
‘For now, go to bed. Go on.’
‘Vijuben! Are there crocodiles in that river? Do steamboats go on it? Who lives there?’
‘Come on. Are you going to bed now or should I call your father?’
Prasannvadan went to lie in his bed quietly. But his tiny mind was caught up in the flights of his imagination. He fantasized that a cool, sweet river, large as an ocean, was flowing. A bridge like Ellis Bridge crossed above it. Below, in the river, a steamboat was chugging. On the river’s banks was a big city. In it, there was a king. He had a queen. And they did not have a child … and … and then what else did they not have?
From what existed to what did not exist – his child’s heart sped along on this theme. ‘There will be no school there, no master, no tests. Also, there will be no mathematics … and there will only be playing about in the river! Truly, Sarayu River is so beautiful.’
He recalled that first phrase: ‘On the banks of the Sarayu River.’ What was to follow?
He could not solve the puzzle and fell in a dream-filled sleep. He dreamt he was wandering alone about a riverbank … of the Sarayu. At the edge of the river was a forest. From that forest, a lion – like the one he had seen at the circus – fixed his yellow eyes on Prasannvadan … and he shouted out: ‘Oh, Papa!’
Opening the door, Harshvadan came inside. The visitors had left. Only after all the important conversations are done is a man free to turn his attention to his most precious asset, his child.
‘Prasannvadan!’ Vakil saheb, having heard the boy’s cry, shook him. But the boy had turned on his side and fallen back to sleep.
When the child woke up in the morning, the first question he asked was: ‘Papa! On the banks of the Sarayu River…’
Harshvadan laughed with fondness. ‘Arrey, silly. “On the banks of the Sarayu River” – have you been memorizing that all night?’
Sipping the cup of tea in her hand, Vijayagauri said: ‘The Master will come now. Have you done your sums?’
Like a flower wilting, Prasannvadan’s face fell. Just then, the sound of shoes was heard from outside and the pale, middle-aged master, wearing a white khadi cap and a white shirt, entered.
Smiling, Harshvadan greeted him with a namaskaar and said, ‘Be quick. See, master saheb has arrived. What, master saheb! Prasann must be doing good work now?’
Outside, there was the noise of a car arriving and two-three shouts of Vakilsaheb’s name. The master, having opened his mouth to speak, bit his upper lip to stop himself as Harshvadan’s attention was drawn elsewhere.
Prasannvadan’s ‘On the banks of the Sarayu River’ riddle remained unfinished. He went along with the teacher to study, but his first question was about the Sarayu. ‘Master saheb! What is on the banks of the Sarayu?’
‘On the banks of the Sarayu? On the banks of the Sarayu is a beautiful city.’
‘What is it called?’
At that moment, Vijayagauri entered: ‘Master saheb, Prasann has totally forgotten his sums. Look, you ask and see.’
‘Tell me, seventeen times nine?’
‘Sarayu River,’ Prasann blurted out but he corrected himself immediately, ‘Seventeen times nine … seventeen times nine – ’
Vijayagauri looked at him sternly: ‘Prasannvadan!’
And, forgetting Sarayu River for a while, he battled with his sums.
Now, every evening, when Prasannvadan was let out from school, he daydreamed about Sarayu River during the walk back home. Then, one day, due to a public lecture at Premabhai Hall, the second day due to a municipality meeting, the third day due to a useful case, the fourth day since he was tired, the fifth day because Vijayagauri had to go out, for some reason or the other, Prasannvadan was left without the beautiful Ayodhya on the banks of the Sarayu. The little child fell asleep imagining, and he dreamt as he slept, but he never got to actually hear the magnificent story pertaining to the Sarayu.
Then came test time. During such days, test questions occupy all of one’s attention. So Prasann was focused on his test and, for a while, it seemed as if he would no longer remember the Sarayu. But some names and some stories became dear to children for no apparent reason and they are never forgotten.
Once the tests were over, Prasannvadan had a severe attack of a strong fever. In time, after the bout abated and feeling somewhat rested, he sat on his verandah. In that moment, the sweet morning heat seemed gold-coloured to him. The dust from the street seemed more fascinating than usual. He gazed happily at the cows roaming about the pol. Seeing the dogs frolic after each other, he sensed the sweetness of life. He observed everything with great absorption. Then he saw a trickle of water run out from the house … and, with an incomprehensible quickness, he recalled Sa…r…yu River. And the joy of childhood began to flow again in his life.
After that, he began going to the pol to play. Even though he was not actually able to play, he observed closely and enjoyed watching others play and chat.
One day, he was standing at the edge of the pol while two-three boys were chatting excitedly. He stood and listened. They were all so engrossed in their discussion that, if there had been news of the entire world drowning, not one of them would have moved.
At that time, Vakil Harshvadan came walking from the other direction. He was stealthily headed home. But then, this sentence: ‘With one arrow from Arjun, Karna would be blown to dust’, by one of the boys, caught his attention. The boy added to the theatricality, thundering, ‘Arjun is so strong! Oh-ho-ho!’
Vakil Harshvadan saw his weak, lean, pale son standing there, looking on with a steady gaze and an intense yearning – a thirsty soul standing to catch precious drops from the holy sea of nectar.
Walking up to him, the father asked dotingly: ‘Son, Prasann. What are you listening to?’
The tests, master, and the river, these three had easily slipped Prasann’s mind. Listening to such conversations was the opposite of what he was required to do for test-taking, that much he was aware of. So he trembled as he spoke: ‘Oh, it’s nothing, nothing; this Vinod is talking, but I’m not listening. I’ve still got to do my sums.’
As if someone had shot an arrow, piercing his heart, Harshvadan was distraught upon hearing this. But he said, lovingly, ‘What was the talk about?’
‘What? About? Eh, Master saheb has come.’ Prasann pointed ahead at the master coming through the pol.
Harshvadan turned to the teacher politely: ‘Master saheb, will you give Prasann a holiday today?’
A ripple of happiness swept across Prasann’s face.
The father took his son along by the hand. He seated Prasann beside him with tenderness. ‘What story were you listening to with such interest?’
‘About Arjun and Karna.’
From below, a voice called, ‘Vakil saheb!’
‘Who is it? Moti, just see who it is.’
The maid stuck her head out to see. Two-three people were standing outside.
‘What do you want?’ Moti asked.
‘Tomorrow, we have a meeting, so we wanted to see about that,’ came the reply.
The vakil gestured at Moti.
‘He’s not at home,’ Moti replied to them and went back to her work.
‘You know, you were saying the other day?’
‘About what?’
‘That Sarayu River, and so on?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you talk about that again today?’
Harshvadan let out a sigh. ‘Arrey re!’ He recalled a song someone had sung in Premabhai Hall:
You have been given to me by my god.
You are my true treasure.
Come and be immortal forever.
He bit his finger: ‘False, false, absolutely false. No one believes that. It’s just a song to be sung.’
From below, another cry came: ‘Vakil saheb! Harshvadan bhai!’
‘Moti, just see who it is.’
Moti glanced down: ‘Doctor saheb.’
‘Is he in? Is Harshvadan bhai in?’ The visitor asked a second time.
Per the Vakil’s indication, Moti answered: ‘No, he has gone out.’
‘When will he return?’
‘I don’t know.’ Moti went back to her work again.
‘Yes, Prasann. I will tell you that story today. So listen. On the banks of the Sarayu River – ’
‘Vakil saheb!’ A voice called from downstairs.
‘Moti, shut that door,’ Harshvadan said. ‘And tell anyone who comes that I am not at home today.’
Moti followed his orders and, staring at the father and son with wonder, went on slowly with her work.
‘Don’t you want to go today?’ So saying, Vijayagauri came out. ‘Why are you sitting? Do you not want to go?’
‘Where?’
‘Where, what? Have you forgotten? Today, it’s your turn to be the chairman of the caste-community meeting, no?’
‘Arrey! Yes, yes, I remember. Prasann! On the banks of the Sarayu River,’ Harshvadan said, as he stood and took his turban from the wall-peg.
‘On the banks of the Sarayu River, there was a beautiful city called Ayodhya. Dharmatma Dashrath Raja ruled there. The king had three queens.’
‘You will be late, see.’
‘Yes, I’m leaving.’
‘Then what? Then what?’
Harshvadan started down the stairs: ‘The king had three queens. But not one of them had a child.’
‘Ah ha … Then?’
‘Vakil saheb! Eh, Harshvadan bhai, are you coming?’ From below, some caste-brother called as he walked on by.
‘Coming, coming, Navnidhrai! Coming. Then, the king held a sacrificial rite.’ Harshvadan descended the first step. ‘Will you tell him the rest of the story?’
‘No, I have a women’s association lecture tomorrow. But I will tell you the story later, all right, Prasann?’ Vijayagauri responded.
Teary-eyed, Prasann looked on.
Slowly, Harshvadan went down. In the chowk, the sound of his shoes was drowned out by the song of the wandering women who were singing:
You have been given to me by my god.
You are my true treasure.
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