Read The Book
Written By: Smt.Sundri Uttamchandani
While sipping his tea from the saucer, Vimal saw the reflection of a bulb on the ceiling which was shaking and shining - as if the Moon had fallen into a pond and the lifeless pond got a soul. Eight days had passed since Vimal had encountered his âselfâ in a village and he felt that a living soul just like the Moon had descended into his lifeless body. The bliss of those pieces were still holding his entire body like fibers of cottonâ¦
On getting down from the train, Vimal had glanced at the darkness of the village which was trying unsuccessfully to hide the light of street lamps on the roads. He had taken a cold breath, lit a cigarette and once again glanced at the street lamps, and thought to himself, âWhat is the difference between these poor bulbs and me! Like me, the bulbs also understand that there is something similar to the Sun hidden inside them, which will drive out the darkness, but the darkness has surrounded them completely! The army of fog has arrived in order to help the darkness.â
A coolie appeared from nowhere on this small station. He asked, âShall I pick up the luggage sir?â
Vimal looked at the coolieâs face, âLuggage? Youâll pick up the luggage? There is just one bagâ¦Okay, but take me to a good hotelâ¦I shall pay you for showing me the way if not for the luggage.â
âHave you come for the first time?â
This question raised several doubts in Vimalâs mind, but thinking of the small amount kept in his bag, he laughed and said, âI have come for the first time that is why I donât know the roads. Actually one priest of mine stays hereâ¦â
âIn which temple?â
âBut I donât want to go to him.â
âWhy sir?â
âNow there is nothing to hide from you. The priest sometimes narrates such stories to the idols that those idols turn into stone.â
âHumankind is full of impurities who will pray to them! Sir?â
âYes, yes.â Vimal glanced at the coolie.The small bag on the red turban of the well built coolie made a strange shadow which, while passing under streetlight and mingling with the shape of Vimalâs body kept going on this topsy turvy village road.
Throwing the cigarette butt in the small bushes, Vimal irritatingly thought, âWhat a useless job a writer has got! Population! Chhaâ¦And such bad timing of the trainâ¦Phew!â
Arriving on a narrow road, the coolie said, âSir this is the best hotel in this area.â He brought down the bag from his head into his hand. Vimal took the bag and handed him some rupees. The coolie looked at his face. Vimal asked, âYou still need something more? The bag was not too heavy.â
âNo sir that is not the case. Shall I drop you to your room?â
âNo no, that is enough.â saying this Vimal began speaking to the manager. He saw that while leaving, the coolie looked at the money in his hand and kissed it.
âEnter your name.â The manager opened a book.
âVimalâ¦â
The tea cup of a young man sitting nearby fell to the ground and broke. Vimal looked in the direction of the young man who stood up, âVimalâ¦Writer?â
Vimal laughed and said, âThe writer must be some other Vimal but right now this person has come to your village to collect the population figures.â
âBut your name is Vimal. I am very happy!â The young man came forward and shook his hand. Vimal wanted to hug him. In such a strange village, at least there was somebody known, somebody was a Sindhi and âYour name is Vimal and I am very happy.â Vimal thought to himself, âI donât know what strange relationship he has with Vimal!â
âSit, letâs have tea.â
Vimal sat on a chair,
âVimal is my favorite writerâ¦Have you read his novels and stories?â
âMy favorite writer is also Vimal because he is my namesake.â
âReally?âThe stranger shook his hand,â How will you stay here? Come and stay at my house.â
âYour house?â
âYou donât have to be surprised. Rarely does a Sindhi come to this village and there are not many Sindhi houses here, you can count them on your fingers.â
So much talk went on during tea that Vimal himself took his bag and got ready to go with the stranger.
The house was exactly the opposite of a village house. There was everything required for an urban lifestyle - tiles and commode in the bathroom, a ceramic basin in the verandah, a mirror on the wall, a space for tooth brushes, a plastic jug for soap, the entire furniture covered with white shining Sunmica! A sofa set was in one room and an Iranian carpet on the floor. A mirrored cupboard on one side was filled with books. When Vimal began looking at the books, the stranger said, âLook, I have the full collection of Vimalâs books. You can see all his novels and poetry collections. If there is even a single story of Vimalâs in a magazine then that is surely with meâ
Lighting a cigarette, Vimal winked and said, âYou have loved like a lover. But do you know that in the city the critics pulled out all the feathers while analyzing his novels and stories?â
âOh!â the stranger took a cool breath.
âIf you go to see, Vimal has not written much.â
âAh! For me his one novel was enough! I was really impressed with his writing.â
âWhat is so special about this author that you like so much?â
âHow strange, even though you are his fan, you have not understood the magic of his writing?â
âI consider him an ordinary writer.â
Friend the world of love and understanding that this writer has shown me, no other writer has done that.â
Vimal felt love for this stranger. Laughingly he asked, âHow old do you think your writer would be?â
âHe must about thirty years or soâ¦â
Vimal let out warm puffs from within himself, âI wish there were not so many grey hair on my headâ¦â For a moment he thought of saying, âI am Vimalâ¦â But no, doing this would spoil the funâ¦A young image of a writer on a readerâs mind would be spoilt and the young image would suddenly become oldâ¦Controlling a deep passion in his heart, Vimal said, âFriend, you have never tried to meet the writer whom you are so devoted to?â
âI wish I could see him- I wish he acts in a film and shows that film free of cost to all the Sindhis hereâ¦â
Vimalâs mind and body were completely filled with some emotion. He laughed and asked, âWhat are you watching dear?â
The priest smiled and answered, âI am thinking that the writer who is blessed with such devoted readers and whose face is shining with qualities must be one of a kind! I have to come to your city.â
The ceiling bulb was still reflecting in the saucer filled with tea. I completed the collection of the population numbers in the village. Today, the priestâs loving memory is shining in the tea saucer!
- Translated by Arun Babani
