Shastriji replied, ‘My task is accomplished. This is supernatural bliss, which can’t be gained by heaps of wealth. If you revere me even a little bit, then get me a second helping of the same amount of the same thing from the same shop.’
Translated from the Hindi by Sanjay Mukherjee
The Roaming Monkey1
Jeevan Das was a poor juggler. He earned his living through the acrobatics of his monkey, Mannu. Both he and his wife, Budhiya, loved him deeply. Since they were childless, Mannu alone was the object of their love. Both of them fed him with their own hands and put him to sleep in bed like a child. Nothing was dearer to them than Mannu.
Once, Jeevan Das brought a ball for him, which Mannu played with in the courtyard. There was an earthen bowl for his food, a sack cloth for sleeping and a blanket rag for covering his body. There was also a rope hanging from the roof for his jumps. Mannu deeply cherished these things. He wouldn’t eat until something was put in his bowl. His sack cloth and his blanket rag were dearer to him than a shawl or a mattress. He spent his days happily. Every morning, he ate his chapattis and went with Jeevan Das to perform his acrobatic feats. His skill at acting captivated the spectators. Grabbing a stick, he would walk like an old man, sit in a position of prayer, make the gesture of a tilak on his forehead and hold pages from the scriptures in his hand and pretend to read them. He would beat the drum and pretend to sing in such an endearing way that the spectators split their sides with laughter. When the spectacle got over, he saluted everyone and touched people’s feet to beg money from them. Mannu’s bowl would fill with coins. After this, if someone fed Mannu a guava, someone else threw a piece of sweet before him. Boys never got tired of watching him. They would run to their houses to fetch pieces of bread to feed him. Mannu was the main entertainer for the people of the mohalla. As long as he was in the house, someone or the other would come to play with him. The street vendors would give him something to eat. If any of them tried to go past him without giving him anything, he touched their feet and extracted his share from them, as he stayed in the house free, without being tied. The only creatures Mannu had a distaste for were dogs. No dog dared pass by his house. If any did, Mannu served him one or two tight slaps. This was another reason for his popularity. On some days, when Budhiya slept in the sun, Mannu would stand near her head and pick out lice from her hair. Sometimes Budhiya sang for him. Mannu followed her wherever she went. Surely even a mother and her son weren’t so attached to each other.2
One day, Mannu felt like eating some fruits. Now, there were fruits to eat, but the pleasure of climbing up trees and hanging from the branches, eating some and throwing away others was something else. Monkeys are usually entertaining. Mannu was a little more so. So far, he had never been caught or beaten. Climbing up trees and eating fruits came to him naturally. He didn’t know that even objects in nature belonged to someone or the other. Why, people exerted claims on even water, air and light, never mind orchards and gardens. When Jeevan Das returned at noon after the show, Mannu made his escape. He usually roamed around the mohalla, so no one suspected him of going anywhere else. He roamed the streets, jumped over the roofing tiles and finally reached an orchard. He saw that the trees there were laden with fruits. He was delighted to see gooseberries, jackfruits, litchis, mangoes and papayas hanging from the trees. It was as though the trees were beckoning him to come and feed on the fruits as much as he wanted. He leapt on a wall and then leapt up a tree. He ate some mangoes and then moved on to litchis and threw the stones around. Then he climbed up the highest branch of another tree and began to shake the branches. The ground filled up with ripe mangoes. The noise woke up the gardener from his siesta. The moment he sighted Mannu, he began to throw stones at him. These stones didn’t reach him, and the ones that did he escaped by ducking or manoeuvring his body cleverly. He even frightened the gardener by making faces at him and baring his teeth, threatening to bite him. The gardener backed off but came back again with a fresh supply of stones. The boys of the mohalla gathered around to see the fun and raised a racket:
Hey, monkey, loyelaaye,
We shall pull out your hairs toyetaaye,
Hey monkey, your face is red,
And your cheeks are shrunken.
His maternal grandmother is dead,
While the moustached-one has a broken leg.
Mannu was enjoying the fun and frolic. He ate half the fruits and threw the rest down, which the boys picked up promptly. They clapped their hands and sang:
Bandar Mamu, can you say,
Where do you stay?
When the gardener saw that the situation couldn’t be brought under control, he went and informed his master. This gentleman was an official in the police department. The moment he heard the news, he lost his temper. What audacity! How dare this monkey come to my orchard and raise such a racket. I pay the rent of the bungalow, not him. I have crushed many who have stepped in my way—even the newspaper people are scared of me! And I’m being challenged
