mindscapes textbook class 11 Karma

Sir Mohan Lal looked at himself in the mirror of a first class waiting room at

the railway station. The mirror was obviously made in India. The red oxide

at its back had come off at several places and long lines of translucent glass cut

across its surface. Sir Mohan smiled at the mirror with an air of pity and patronage.

"You are so very much like everything else in this country, inefficient, dirty,

indifferent," he murmured.

The mirror smiled back at Sir Mohan.

"You are a bit of all right, old chap," it said. “Distinguished, efficient-even

handsome. That neatly-trimmed moustache-the suit from Saville Row with

the carnation in the buttonhole -- the aroma of eau de cologne, talcum powder

and scented soap all about you! Yes, old fellow, you are a bit of all right."

Sir Mohan threw out his chest, smoothed his Balliol tie for the umpteenth

time and waved a goodbye to the mirror.

He glanced at his watch. There was still time for a quick one.

"Koi Hai!"

Abearer in white livery appeared through a wire gauze door.

"Ek Chota," ordered Sir Mohan, and sank into a large cane chair to drink

and ruminate. Outside the waiting room, Sir Mohan Lal's luggage lay piled

MINDSCAPES CLASS XI

along the wall. On a small grey steel trunk, Lachmi, Lady Mohan Lal, sat

chewing a betel leaf and fanning herself with a newspaper.

She was short and fat and in her middle forties. She wore a dirty white sari

with a red border. On one side of her nose glistened a diamond nose-ring, and

she had several gold bangles on her arms. She had been talking to the bearer

until Sir Mohan had summoned him inside. As soon as he had gone, she haileda

passing railway coolie.

"Where does the zenana stop?"

"Right at the end of the platform."

The coolie flattened his turban to make a cushion, hoisted the steel trunk on

his head, and moved down the platform. Lady Lal picked up her brass tiffin.

carrier and ambled along behind him. On the way she stopped by a hawker's

stall to replenish her silver betel leaf case, and then joined the coolie. She sat

down on her steel trunk (which the cooliehad put down) and started talking to him

"Are the trains very crowded on these lines?"

"These days all trains are crowded, but you'll find room in the zenana."

"Then I might as well get over the bother of eating.

Lady Lal opened the brass carrier and took out abundle of cramped chapattis

and some mango pickle. While sheate, the coolie sat opposite her on his haunches,

drawing lines in the gravel with his finger.

"Are you travelling alone, sister?"

"No, I am with my master, brother. He is in the waiting room. He travels

first class. He is a vizier and a barrister, and meets so many officers and

Englishmen in the trains-and I am only a native woman. I can't understand

English and don't know their ways, so I keep to my zenana inter-class."

Lachmi chatted away merrily. She was fond of a little gossip and had no

one to talk to at home. Her husband never had any time to spare for her. She

lived in the upper storey of the house and he on the ground floor. He did not like

her poor illiterate relatives hanging around his bungalow, so they never came

He came up to her once in a while at night and stayed for a few minutes. He just

ordered her about in anglicised Hindustani, and she obeyed passively. These

nocturnal visits had, however, borne no fruit.

KARMA

The signal came down and the clanging of the bell announced the

approaching train. Lady Lal hurriedly finished off her meal. She got up, still

licking the stone of the pickled mango. She emitted a long, loud belch as she

went to the public tap to rinse her mouth and wash her hands. After washing she

dried her mouth and hands with the loose end of her sari, and walked back to

her steel trunk, belching and thanking the gods for the favour of a filling meal.

The train steamed in. Lachmi found herself facing an almost empty inter-

class zenana compartment next to the guard's van, at the tail end of the train.

The rest of the train was packed. She heaved her squat, bulky frame through the

door and found a seat by the window. She produced a two-anna bit from a knot

in her sari and dismissed the coolie. She then opened her betel case and made

herself two betel leaves charged with a red and white paste, minced betel nuts

and cardamoms. These she thrust into her mouth till her cheeks bulged on both

sides. Then she rested her chin on her hands and sat gazing idly at the jostling

crowd on the platform.

The arrival of the train did not disturb Sir Mohan Lal's sang-froid. He continued

tosip his scotch and ordered the bearer to tell him when he had moved the luggage

to a first-class compartment. Excitement, bustle and hurry were exhibitions of bad

breeding and Sir Mohan was eminently well-bred. He wanted everything tickety-

boo' and orderly. In his five years abroad, Sir Mohan had acquired the manners

and attitudes of the upper classes. He rarely spoke Hindustani. When he did, it

was like an Englishman's-only the very necessary words and properly anglicised.

But he fancied his English, finished and refined at no less a place than the University

of Oxford. He was fond of conversation, and like a cultured Englishman, he could

talk on almost any subject-books, politics, people. How frequently had he heard

English people say that he spoke like an Englishman!

Sir Mohan wondered ifhe would be travelling alone. It was a Cantonment

and some English officers might be on the train. His heart warmed at the prospect

of an impressive conversation. He never showed any sign ofeagemess to talk to

the English as most

Indians did. Nor was he loud, aggressive and opinionated

like them. He went about his business with an expressionless matter-of-factness.

ile would retire to his comer by the window and getouta copy of The Times. He

MINDSCAPES CLASS XI

would fold it in a way in which the name of the paper was visible to others while

he did the crossword puzzle. The Times always attracted attention. Someone

would like to borrow it when he putitaside with a gesture signifying "I've finished

with it." Perhaps someone would recognise his Balliol tie which he always wore

while travelling. That would opena vista leading to a fairy-land of Oxford colleges,

masters, dons, tutors, boat-races and rugger matches. If both The Times and the

tie failed, Sir Mohan would Koi Hai' his bearer to get the Scotch out. Whiskey

never failed with Englishmen. Then followed Sir Mohan's handsome gold

cigarette case filled with English cigarettes English cigarettes in India? How on

earth did he get them? Sure he didn't mind? And Sir Mohan's understanding

smile-of course he didn't. 

But could he use the Englishman as a medium to

commune with his dear old England? Those five years of grey bags and gowns,

of sports blazers and mixed doubles, of dinners at the inns of Court and nights at

Piccadilly. Five years of a crowded glorious life. Worth far more than the forty-

five in India with his dirty, vulgar countrymen, with sordid details of the road to

success, of nocturnal visits to the upper storey and obese old Lachmi, smelling of

sweat and raw onions.

Sir Mohan's thoughts were disturbed by the bearer announcing the

installation of the Sahib's luggage in a first-class coupe next to the engine. Sir

Mohan walked to his coupe with a studied gait. He was dismayed. The

compartment was empty. With a sigh he sat down in a corner and opened the

copy of The Times he had read several times before.

Sir Mohan looked out of the window down the crowded platform. His face

lit up as he saw two English soldiers trudging along, looking in all the

compartments for room.

They had their haversacks slung behind their backs

and walked unsteadily. Sir Mohan decided to welcome them, even though they

were entitled to travel only second class. He would speak to the guard. One of

the soldiers came up to the last compartment and stuck his face through the

window. He surveyed the compartment and noticed the unoccupied berth.

"Ere, Bill," he shouted,"one'ere."

His companion came up, also looked in, and looked at Sir Mohan.

KARMA

"Get the nigger out," he muttered to his companion

Mohan.

They opened the door, and turned to the half-smiling, half-protesting Sir

"Reserved!" yelled Bill.

"Janta-Reserved. Army-Fauj" exclaimed Jim, pointing to his khaki shirt.

"Ek Dum jao-get out!"

"I say, I say, surely," protested Sir Mohan in his Oxford accent. The soldiers

paused. It almost sounded like English, but they knew better than to trust their

inebriated ears. The engine whistled and the guard waved his green flag.

They picked up Sir Mohan's suitcase and flung it on to the platform. Then

followed his thermos flask, briefcase, bedding and The Times. Sir Mohan was

livid with rage.

"Preposterous, preposterous," he shouted, hoarse with anger. "I'll have you

arrested-guard, guard!"

Bill and Jim paused again. It did sound like English, but it was too much of

the King's for them.

"Keep yer ruddy mouth shut!" And Jim struck Sir Mohan flat on the face.

The engine gave another short whistle and the train began to move. The

soldiers caught Sir Mohan by the arms and flung him out of the train. He reeled

backwards, tripped on his bedding, and landed on the suitcase.

"Toodle oo!"

Sir Mohan's feet were glued to the earth and he lost his speech. He stared at

the lighted windows of the train going past him in quickening tempo. The tail-

end of the train appeared with a red light and the guard standing in the open

doorway with the flags in his hands. In the inter-class zenana compartment was

Lachmi, fair and fat, on whose nose the diamond nose-ring glistened against the

station lights. Her mothth was haated

with birtel saliva which she had

been storing

up to spit as soon as the

train had cleared the station. As the train sped past the

lighted part of the platform, Lady Lal spat and sent a jet of red dribble flying

across like a dart.

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