The Barua household had been bustling with activity for the last seven days. Sri Gopal Barua, the head clerk of the Government Boys Secondary School, was having his school friend over for lunch on Sunday afternoon. His friend was none other than Sri Kundan Deka, an officer in the Indian Forest Service, who had just been posted to Tinsukia, Gopal’s town, as the Divisional Forest Officer. Both had left the village of Borpeta in Nalbari district some twenty years ago and now destiny had brought them together again. No one was happier than Gopal Babu, as he was popularly addressed, at this wonderful fortuity. He had kept track of Kundan’s career on his yearly visits home during Magh Bihu, and news of his friend’s gradual rise in his career had always filled him with pride. ‘In the class of fifty boys, the two of us were inseparable, you see, and our minds always clicked, you see…’ he would proclaim happily, spitting out an orangish red liquid missile as he chewed paan-tamul. The juniors in office shook their heads reverentially.
The day Gopal Babu had learnt from the daily vernacular newspaper that the incoming DFO was going to be his very own schoolmate; he had rushed into the kitchen. There in the whitewashed, cluttered kitchen his wife Minoti, of medium height and build, a pale complexion, hair tied in an austere bun at the nape of her neck and the ansol of her saari tucked primly around her waist, stood over a frying pan, vigorously stirring the brinjal and potato bhaji she was rustling up for lunch. Gopal Babu sneezed as she threw in a couple of dried red chilies in the hot oil in the saucepan on the burner, in order to season the daal, ‘Haa…choo! Haira, haira, I’ve some great news for you! Kundan Deka, Borpeta, Sudarshan Deka’s son, my schoolmate, he is the new DFO!’ And with that delighted declaration he broke into a wide smile. Minoti looked up from the bubbling yellow lentils and, with a brisk rotatory motion of the ladle, beamed back at her happy spouse. Hmmm…DFO, she thought. Our personal friend. The ladies at Grihaluxmi, the Women’s Co-operative, would like to hear that. Still smiling she snapped out of her mini reverie, ‘Oh! That is indeed good news. We must visit them and have them over too. But before we do that we must change the drawing room curtains and get the compound cleaned and you must let me buy six new china plates, our old ones are all yellow and chipped. And yes! I need to buy a good jug too, the old one is no longer table worthy with its broken handle.’ As she finished, a little out of breath by the rapidity as well as prolixity of her catalogue, Gopal Babu pushed his spectacles up and gulped. He wasn’t too sure anymore if Kundan’s transfer to Tinsukia was such wonderful news after all! Minoti stole a sly glance at the furrowed forehead of her tight-fisted life partner. This was a God sent chance to buy all that she has been hankering after, she knew that Gopal would never want to create a poor impression on his friend.
Even their sixteen-year-old daughter Sewali, who had just appeared for her matriculation examination and was awaiting her results, was infected by the visitor virus. She informed her mother that she would make the custard and fruit pudding that she had learnt from Sanjeev Kapoor’s popular cookery show, ‘Khana Khazana’, on Zee TV. They rarely had guests and the ones they did have were not likely to be served anything beyond doi and rosogullafor dessert. This was the ideal occasion to try out the mouth-watering sweet dish she had been craving for. Familiar with her father’s parsimonious nature, Sewali knew that he would object to it with his usual, ‘Cut your coat according to your cloth’, and Gopal Babu always had cloth just enough for a waistcoat. Sewali knew this was overcoat time!
That very morning Gopal Babu headed for a nearby PCO. He had refrained from using the phone in the school’s office because he wasn’t wholly sure about Kundan’s response. ‘I’m sure he’ll remember me, we used to exchange shirts during Durga Puja, you know. I would wear his new shirt and he would wear mine and we would have two new shirts each instead of one! But it’s been almost twenty years now…’ he had announced grandly in school the morning he had read about Kundan’s arrival. So Gopal Babu had to forgo the opportunity of calling from the school office with his colleagues as audience. With a niggling twinge of doubt he pushed open the PCO door. ‘Tring-Tring PCO’ was painted in dazzling white letters on the dark glass door.
‘Ahmmmm,’ Gopal Babu cleared his throat, ‘Can you please look up the DFO’s residence number for me?’ The teenager behind the counter was engrossed in a film magazine with Tabu pouting seductively on the cover. As soon as these words were out, Gopal Babu felt an overwhelming sense of confidence surge through him. He felt taller than his five feet five inches, and his eyes seemed to shine through his thick-lensed spectacles. He saw the boy look up from his pictorial fantasy and regard him with some vestige of interest. ‘Do sit down,’ the lad spoke up and, reaching for the dog-eared directory, thumbed through it. The call was made and Gopal Babu almost fled when Kundan had amnesia just for a split second. ‘Gopal who Gopal…ohhh Gopal!’ But ofcourse they must meet and Gopal and his family were asked over for a cup of tea the very next evening. ‘We are old friends, schoolmates, the DFO and I,’ Gopal Babu confided to the boy as he handed him a soiled and tattered five-rupee note. ‘Keep the change,’ he told the boy as he walked out, smiling from ear to ear.
The estranged friends were reunited and Gopal was happy to see that success had not spoiled Kundan. He was still as jovial as he used to be and they shared that warm laughter which only childhood memories can evoke. ‘Remember, Gopal, how you asked your mother for a bag because you had to get your prothom sreni results?’ ‘And in class five you came home yelling I’ve failed, I’ve failed, mad with joy, till a slap from khura got you to correct yourself to I’ve passed, Kundan?’ Gopal Babu smiled so much that his cheeks actually hurt, but his heart felt warm with the glow of happiness. As they rode home in the auto rickshaw that Gopal Babu had hired for the evening, there wasn’t a happier clerk anywhere in the world. Minoti thought Mrs. Deka was a little reserved, you know, she could have been warmer, she told her husband later, as she folded and put away the printed green pure silk sari she’d worn that evening. ‘And they invited us for tea, surely she should have made luchis at least, an army of servants and fancy serving singra and sweets from the market!’ she further ranted. However, the Dekas had promised to come for lunch the following Sunday. Their two sons were away in boarding school in Dehradun, so only Mr. and Mrs. Deka would be coming.
Frenetic activity commenced in the Barua abode. The twenty-five rupees per meter fabric, bought from the colourful stalls on the pavement, that served as the drawing room curtains were yanked down and relegated to the bedroom. Minoti purchased a delicate floral print in cream and brown that she had had her eyes on for a long time, at eighty rupees per meter. She stitched the curtains at home and couldn’t wait for Mrs. Roy, her neighbor, to drop in. She could just imagine her crinkling up her eyes and saying, ‘Aaah, new curtains!’ Gopal himself bought six new china plates, ‘La Opala,’ his daughter had written on a chit of paper, and as the salesman packed the plates, the merry clerk had quipped, ‘The DFO, the new one, Deka, is coming for lunch, you see, and wife demanded new plates. You know how women are!’ The new jug arrived too and a daily wage earner was hired to cut the grass, clean the windowpanes and sweep the front yard. Lunch meant daylight and Minoti wanted everything spic and span.
Early on Sunday morning Gopal Babu made his way to the market. The first shop was at the fish market where he purchased fish from the fresh river catch of the day, a whooping three kilos, gleaming metallic grey ari, a dozen gracefulpabdhas and a kilo of the silver spindle-shaped hilsa. Kundan ate only fish and so the menu was to have three fish preparations- chorchori, tenga and bhoja. As the fishmonger packed the neatly cut pieces in a green polythene packet, Gopal Babu chattered away. ‘It’s for the DFO, he’s coming for lunch, you know, so mind you give me the best!’ And a beaming Gopal Babu bought DFO vegetables, DFO fresh cream and DFO fruits. The whole market knew that the new DFO was going to be Gopal Babu’s guest for lunch that day. His colleagues in school had, ofcourse, known for a week now.
Minoti’s friends at Grihaluxmi knew as well, and Mrs. Roy and the other neighbours too. In her case, the transmission was more subtle. Minoti told the sales boy at the Co-operative to keep the freshly arrived bamboo shoot from the village for her, as she was expecting guests on Sunday.She made her request in a voice loud enough for everybody to hear and the ever inquisitive Alka promptly queried, ‘Who’s coming?’ So Minoti had to fill in the details. Mrs. Roy had seen Minoti washing all the china bowls she kept locked in a glass fronted wooden shelf in the dining room on Saturday afternoon and again the DFO…well, the cat got out of the bag.
The daughter had inherited her mother’s subtlety gene and circumstances aided the exercise of that faculty. Sewali’s classmates were going for a picnic but she apologetically backed out of the fun. ‘DFO Uncle, Deuta’s ooold friend, is coming for lunch and it will look bad if I go off on a picnic, so please don’t mind.’
The Baruas lived in a congested residential area. Two rows of houses faced each other, shoulder-to-shoulder and nose-to-nose, a narrow lane running between them. At 12:45 p.m. the DFO’s white ambassador, with its owner’s calling displayed on a small sign on the car’s bumper, arrived. Gopal Babu made sure that the driver parked the vehicle right in front of his house; he did not want any body to mistake the identity of the DFO’s host!
Curtains quivered ever so gently and eyes peeped ever so dexterously, James Bond could have picked up a few tips on the art of spying. But Minoti knew that Mrs. Das, Mrs. Roy, Mrs. Kalita and Mrs. Bora were watching. After all, wasn’t she, too, adroit at the art: the creak of a gate and dash for the window!
Everything went off like a dream. The meal Minoti served was delicious and Sewali’s pudding was a hit too, in spite of the custard being a little runny. The plastic lace tablecloth in a shade of buttery cream, the refulgent La Opala plates, everything was perfect. Minoti had even done a flower arrangement at the centre of the table; she didn’t want Mrs. Deka to think they were upstarts – they too had a good family background, after all.
A blissful sleep embraced the Baruas that night, Gopal Babu actually slept with a smile on his face. His vest rolled up to his chest and his pyjamas tied a wee bit looser in order to accommodate the bulge of his belly after a veritable feast. The three of them had really made a meal of it at dinner with the leftovers from lunch – Gopal and Minoti, especially, who had barely eaten any lunch because they had been too occupied serving their guests. ‘Excellent,’ Gopal Babu said, licking the creamy mustard sauce of the chorchori from his fingers. ‘No wonder Kundan had four pieces of the chorchori fish!’ Minoti just smiled.
The next morning Gopal Babu rose at six as usual, brushed his teeth and went to the kitchen looking for his cup of tea. Minoti, who rose an hour earlier than him had already bathed and was just putting on the kettle, so he went out to the verandah to check if the newspaper had arrived. It had, and lay in a neat roll on the front step. Stretching his arms upwards, Gopal Babu yawned and bent down to pick up the paper. As anotheryawn escaped his gaping mouth he ran his eyes over the headlines. ‘Clinton in Nayla’, ‘Pakistan lifts Sharjah Cup’, ‘CM to open college library’ and froze. On the right hand corner, in bold black letters it said ‘DFO Kundan Deka Suspended on Corruption Charges’. Gopal Babu felt faint. ‘Minoti, Minoti, haira, haira…’ he called out weakly and ran towards the kitchen.
