The Guest of Honour
The Pavilion was clean and dry. The weather was cool and breezy. No insect was seen or felt. And as Khanna Mam entered Sarpa with the Chief Guest and the reporters, the place was lit with the deep red light of the setting sun. Everything was perfect for the National School of Hyderabad’s Annual Day Show.
The show was held as always at Sarpa aka the Sarabhai Pavilion, the best-known feature of the National School. A magnificent open-air theatre, Sarpa was set in the wooded part of campus, near the wall that separated the school from Lingaraj Reddy National Park. Starting out on both sides of the stage, trees encircled the seating area to form a dense green curtain that shut out the rest of the world. They put people in the mood for theatrics of any sort, and brought about a natural amphitheater effect that enriched the experience.
We waited backstage, a gathering of students segregated by Class and act. Through painstaking rehearsal we had come to this point, ready to prove Gita Mam’s worth as Program Director. Other teachers had come up with the ideas and cast for the show, but it was Gita Mam who supervised us during rehearsals. Having promised Khanna Mam “Nothing but the best” as she constantly reminded us, Gita Mam had been quite distressed when we failed to meet her perfectionism.
“Stay in line!!” she snapped at three members of the Hindi choir when they sang. “Watch your posture!!” she yelled to the Class 12 Hamlet as he debated whether to be or not. And the violence that broke out amongst us Partition-displaced refugees – most of Class 7 – paled in comparison with what she inflicted on Sridhar and Hussain. “Stand straight. Arms out. Show some energy. And DON’T LOOK TO THE FLOOR YOU IDIOTS” she screamed, frothy white flecks appearing when she opened her mouth, “WHAT DID I PROMISE THE PRINCIPAL?”
The sound of people milling about in search of their seats, barely audible at first, grew to a deep throb and then died down. The voice of Deepika Chittur requested the Hon. Chief Guest to accompany Principal Khanna and light the inaugural lamp. Applause followed. As it died down, Deepika began introducing the first act of the evening.
“All right” Gita Mam said “Sneha and Supraja are up. Agastya, you and your group be ready”
The two hurried to the stage door, their anklets jingling as they moved. They entered the stage as Deepika announced the duo of Sneha and Supraja performing a Bharatanatyam dance for us. The “thaa-thaiy-tha-tha-thaiy” rhythm began on the speakers, and the jhing-chink of the metal anklets followed. A Carnatic piece commenced. Gita Mam watched the stage as the girls danced. The jingle grew louder. As if in accompaniment, a rustle emerged from the trees near the stage.
Geeta Mam was frowning as the dance concluded. The rustling sound, gentle at first, seemed to become louder as the music died. It seemed to come from a single tree, one very close to us.
The piece ended with a “Tha…Ki…Ta….JHEM!!” and applause followed, drowning out all other sound. The jingle of their steps began once more as Sneha and Supraj exited the stage. They had only taken a couple of steps however when the rustling started again. Only it now seemed sharper, shorter and synchronized with the sound of the anklets. With each jhink-chink of their steps, I heard a sssh-crrk from a tree.
“Aiyy” hissed Gita Mam, glaring at the stage. She signaled furiously at them.
Sneha reached the exit first. Gita Mam caught her ear and pulled her in. Supraja followed.
“Agastya, head out” she said to the troupe of Class 5 students who were up next. Still holding Sneha by the ear, she dragged her further inside.
“What did you think you were doing?” she said “You were not supposed to stop when leaving”
“But Mam, there was something there” Sneha said, wincing in her grip “The tree…”
“Nonsense. After all this practice you…”
“Mam, I saw something” Supraja piped up “The big tree on the left. Something black…”
Gita Mam caught her too by the ear.
“If I hear anything else from you two now, I’ll thrash you. Get changed” she snapped, turning back to the stage exit.
Tears were now rolling down Sneha’s cheeks. One of the girls took her arm and led her away. Supraja followed, now looking scared.
“The tree” she said “It followed our anklets”
“What are you all doing?” Gita Mam said “Where are the Bowler Hat players?”
“We’re here Mam” called Chetan, the Class 8 troupe leader.
“Didn’t I tell you to be ready?” she said “Get here. And the rest of you be quiet”
The assorted troupe took their positions by the stage door. Aggie’s group of singers had sung about a third of the song by then.
“Humm Ko Mann Ki SHA-A-A-A-A-KTI Dena…” went the chorus, when we heard the creak of a branch bending. There was a loud rustle and a crash, as though something had landed on a tree. A tree a little further away from the stage.
There was good stuff in the Class 5 students. Despite the disturbance, no one broke rhythm. They continued to request strength of mind, if a little louder than before. Geeta Mam continued to watch them. The third chorus had been completed when I noticed the Bowler Hat Players huddling together.
“What happened?” I asked Chetan, approaching the huddle.
“Can’t you hear it?” he said.
I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of Aggie’s group. I shook my head.
“Wait” Chetan said.
I listened as the group reached the final chorus. It was on a pause before the last “Mann ki Shakti” that I heard it.
“The sawing sound right?” I said to Chetan “Like…”
“What are you doing here?” hissed Gita Mam, grabbing my ear. Talking to Chetan, I didn’t notice her approach. “Are you in the Bowler Hat play?” she said, twisting my ear. Her fingers dug into my skin like an eagle’s claws.
I was struggling in her grip when the applause for the Class 5 students began. Seeing Agastya come in through the stage door, Gita Mam released me. I rubbed my ear, surprised to feel no blood coming from it. The rest of his group entered, as Deepika began describing the Bowler Hat play. Agastya was scared.
“Mam” he began “the tree…”
He was interrupted by a caw, louder and shriller than any bird we’d heard. It now emerged from further away from the stage. It broke Deepika’s address for an instant, although she resumed immediately. A series of sharp cracks followed, as though something were moving through one of the trees. The murmurs from the audience grew louder.
Aggie looked in the direction of the sound before facing Gita Mam. Her jaws were pressed tight together.
“Chetan” she said “Be ready to go on stage”
“Mam” Aggie said again, but she cut him off.
“There’s nothing” she said “Go get changed”
“Ma…” he said.
“I said go get CHANGED” she said, “Chetan, don’t miss Deepika’s cue. The rest of you get away from the stage door. If anyone…” she glared at me as she spoke “comes here out of turn, he is going to get it from me. Get back, all of you”
“But the…” Chetan said.
“NOTHING” she said again “Go on stage and whatever the reason, if any of you misses a line or fail to make eye contact…”
Chetan nodded.
Gita Mam came into the backstage room, shooing us away from the stage door. “Nothing there, don’t listen” she said. She headed to the building exit where an assistant sat. “Find Suleiman” she told her. The assistant went out, returning shortly with the Sarpa caretaker. The three began to talk outside.
I heard people move about setting the stage for Chetan’s play. Deepika in the meantime hoped everyone would be thrilled and amused by the Bowler Hat Play. On cue, Chetan and his group headed out to stage.
“Good luck” I said as he left.
“Shhh” said Nikhil, who was sitting by the exit door. He was peering out, trying to catch the conversation outside. It was hard to hear from inside, despite Gita Mam’s raised voice. He frowned as he listened.
The conversation ended with a “Gah” from Suleiman.
“Dekhke baat karo” Gita Mam said in response “Jaakar dekh lena”
She walked into backstage and made straight for the stage door. The assistant followed.
“Are you sure, Gita?” she said.
“No question about stopping. No break-wake nothing” Gita Mam said, now focusing on Chetan’s group.
“But Suleiman…” she said.
“Chahthh” said Gita Mam “That slug? You believe what he says? Look, get there and supervise the men. It’ll go away quickly. I’ll take care here”
The assistant headed out on her task. Gita Mam resumed her vigilance over the stage. I looked at Nikhil. He looked worried. Two of the Class 12 students were already tiptoeing over to him. I followed suit, making sure Gita Mam was first well and truly occupied with Chetan’s group. We quietly gathered by him.
“What was going on?” asked the Lala from a Hindi comedy.
“She was telling Suleiman to get poles to drive it away” Nikhil said.
“A monkey” someone said “That should take care of it”
“Suleiman says it isn’t” Nikhil said.
“Then what is it?” came the question.
“That’s the problem. He doesn’t know” Nikhil said.
“He doesn’t know?” I asked.
“He said it’s been in the trees since Friday evening. It makes those noises when anyone comes near the Sarpa. He wanted to tell Khanna Mam about it” he said.
“But what is it?” asked the Hamlet from Class 12.
“He said he saw it for a flash and it was…” Nikhil froze.
“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING FOR?” Flecks of spit flew out as Gita Mam screamed. Her hand rose and fell on us as we scrambled about. In an instant, Nikhil was left alone to face her gaze.
“What were you talking about?” she said, grabbing his ear.
As if in reply there was a growl, this time from behind the seating area. It reminded me of the leopard sounds recorded on Multipedia. Gita Mam gave a visible start. She looked toward the stage as the growl sounded yet again. Her face hardened. Turning to Nikhil, she pulled him by the ear to his feet and led him to a corner.
“Kneel” she said, pressing down.
When he had done so, she slapped him hard on his cheek. “I don’t care what your act was. If you move from here I will KILL you” she said.
“Everyone sit down” She pressed people to the ground as she spoke. “Find a place to … sit here” she yelled “There is nothing for you to concern yourself with. Wait here till it’s your turn to go on stage. And I don’t want to hear a sound from here on. PIN DROP SILENCE” She returned to the stage door, still eyeing us balefully.
Chetan had in the meantime resumed the play onstage. There was a long pause after he spoke his lines, accentuated by the silence backstage.
“David!!” Gita Mam hissed out. There was an audible “I, er, ah” before David Raj said his lines.
Gita Mam glowered through the stage door. The play ended to somewhat subdued applause. As the group entered backstage, Gita Mam promptly collared David, shaking him by the ear till it seemed either it or his head must come off.
“What happened, you little…” her eyes fell on a long baton one of the cast members was carrying. Seizing it, she proceeded to cane David, striking legs and back in equal measure.
“What happened to rehearsal?” she said, as she brought the stick down “What happened, eh? What happened? What happened?”
David flailed about, trying to avoid the cane.
“Mam” he said “Please… I’m sorry… That sound… I…”
“Don’t-Give-Nonsense-EXCUSES” she said as she caned him, speaking from between gritted teeth. She continued to beat him as the stage was being cleared, stopping when she heard Deepika announce the Kuchipudi Yakshagana.
“Where are the Kuchipudi dancers?” she yelled “You little…”
The group was by the door instantly.
“Get going. And don’t make any mistakes” she said. The dancers hurried on.
“Chetan get him out of here” she pointed at David, who had collapsed on the ground “Get changed, all of you”
Chetan helped David to his feet. As the two shuffled to the changing booth I saw red welts on his arms and legs. Despite being in Class 8, David sobbed as he walked.
“And stop that noise!!” Gita Mam said from the stage door “Bloody baby!!”
The sawing sound began five minutes into the dance. It was followed by a squawk and the crack of wood striking wood.
“Ha!!” said Gita Mam from the door “Finally”.
The Kuchipudi dancers maintained their rhythm, continuing the Yakshagana piece.
The sounds grew louder and mingled. More squawks followed, and caws and whistles. The thing kept moving. It cawed from far behind the audience, facing centre stage, and then it screeched from the near right of the stage, so it seemed miraculous no one saw it. Before each call came the rustles and crashes of movement through the trees, and after each came the cracks and thuds and shouts of Suleiman and his people. Oddly enough, we failed to hear the sound of chairs being moved or people queuing. Through love for their children or some Gita Mam-esque determination, the audience remained, silently taking in the proceedings on and off stage.
Things were under control, the noises notwithstanding. The Kuchipudi Yakshagana went off without a hitch. Hamlet did a good job of asking if not answering whether to be or not. The Hindi comedy troupe was ready and waiting when he was done and they drew laughs without pausing. The Western dance performance by Class 12 (“Ever So Slightly” was the song) drew fantastic applause – Nisha Jhunjhunwala in a frilly blouse and skirt more than compensated for the disturbances.
Those backstage remained dead silent, Gita Mam throwing occasional glares in our direction. Though he could not walk for the next week, Nikhil remained kneeling for the rest of the evening without a stir.
It was finally time for the Gandhi biographical. This was not only the highlight of the evening but also the finale, to be followed by the Chief Guest’s speech and vote of thanks. Enacting Gandhiji’s crusade to free India would in turn free us from the joint clutches of Gita Mam and a tree-dwelling thing that growled, snarled, cackled and screeched.
We assembled by the stage door as the last notes of “Ever So Slightly” played out. A group of fellow refugees left for the wings on the right. In the order of our appearance, we were to go to one of the wing partitions to enter. As the curtain fell, the Western dancers left the stage and Gandhi and Kasturba stood in the centre partition. I waited by the door, eyeing Nisha Jhunjunwala as she passed by. Her face was damp from the dance, and her hair streamed behind her as she walked. “Ever So Slightly” also described how deep her V-neck plunged and how above-the-knee her hemline rose. She was taller than me, so my head was level to her shoulder and I looked straight towards her chest. Turning back, she suddenly noticed me.
“Oh hi …” she said, addressing me by my name “Good luck with your play”
I mumbled out a “Thanks” and smiled weakly. It was amazing that she knew my name.
“Pay attention!!” Gita Mam said, clipping me with the baton she was still carrying “What are you staring at?”
I stayed silent. She frowned at me for an instant.
“You!!” she said, seizing my ear again.
“Are you one of the refugees?” she said.
“Yes Mam…” I said, up on tiptoe.
“Do you have dialogue?” she said.
“No Mam” I said.
“Good” she said “You’ve made a lot of trouble this evening”
“Sorry Mam I…” I said before she cut me off.
“Shut up” she said “You’ve made a lot of problems till now. If you make any trouble on stage now, I will report you to Khanna Mam. Do you understand?”
“Yes Mam” I said, my teeth gritted from the pain.
She let go of me, and turned to the stage. Deepika announced the setting early in Gandhiji’s life, and the curtain rose.
We waited by the entrance as other characters entered Gandhiji’s life – Gopal Krishna Gokhale, Jawaharlal Nehru, Vallabhai Patel and Mohammed Ali Jinnah. We moved as others returned – the farmers of Kheda and Champaran, the victims of Jallianwala, the Non-Cooperators and the arsonists of Chauri-Chaura. It wasn’t until the Civil Disobedience Movement began that we reached the wings, biding our time through the Salt Satyagraha and World War II. As the Cabinet Mission prepared its announcements, we braced ourselves for imminent tragedy. The tragedy that ensued however was of a different sort.
The thing had been quiet for a while, what with the poles off stage and I suppose Nisha on stage. Moving from tree to tree, it had now settled in a tree to the right of the stage. Suleiman and his men continued to tap and prod at the tree, drawing a squeak or two while Gopal Krishna Gokhale mentored Gandhiji onstage. The British Cabinet Mission Plan however stoked its passions as well. As Gandhiji and Nehru tried to entreat Jinnah after his demand for Pakistan there was a crack and a muffled thump – Suleiman had hit something soft – followed by a wail that seemed to jump across the clearing, ceasing from somewhere close by the left of stage. So fast was it that nobody knew afterwards what, if anything, they saw.
Nachiket, the lead refugee on the Indian (left) side had started upon the cry of the thing. He craned his neck out of the wings, peering to the left with a frown. Rahul and Farooq followed suit. I stayed back, remembering Gita Mam’s tendency to appear magically with every disturbance. Noticing movement amidst the Pakistani refugees, I looked across the stage to see what they were up to.
Gita Mam stood still amidst them, her face so tight it looked like pale grey rubber stretched across her skull. Her glare now matched that of the stage lights. Guessing from the resumed dialogues that she wanted the others back in the wings, I prodded at Farooq, looking toward Gita Mam when he turned to me. We were all quickly in hiding again.
The Quaid-e-Azam had in the meantime resumed his demands for a Muslim homeland – his strength of character was after all legendary. Nehru and Gandhi too continued to remonstrate, albeit so feebly that Pakistan seemed inevitable even sans Direct Action Day. They maintained some semblance of continuity amidst the clamor in the audience. With Suleiman doing his bit by whacking away at the trees to the left, it seemed the show would go on. Hopes were dashed however by a loud splintering crunch, followed by a panicked oath from Suleiman. There was a whizzing in the air and something long and hard struck Jinnah in the stomach, ending his demands for Pakistan in a way Gandhiji regrettably could not.
I suppose it would have produced a satirical twist if Gandhiji and Nehru had begun to rejoice at the sight of the Quaid-e-Azam collapsed and doubled over in pain. At the moment however there seemed no way to salvage the play, both staring nonplussed first at Jinnah, then at the bitten-off pole end that had hit him and finally at the audience, which had gone from fright to a panicked frenzy. In a manner befitting his legend, Gandhiji finally laid a kindly hand on Jinnah’s shoulder and helped him to his feet. Beholding the chaos that for once was not on his account, Jinnah decided to call it a day. Accompanied by Gandhi and Nehru – the two propping him up – the founder of Pakistan left the stage, his demands unmet.
The uproar offstage however precluded any thought towards historical continuity. People were crowding at the ends of the rows, pushing chairs and other people in their attempt to get out of the seating area. There was already a rapid flow of people out of the Pavilion from the far back. Those with some sense kept their seats in the centre waiting for the panic to die down. The Hon. Chief Guest was making an exit, having been seated in the front row. Khanna Mam was holding on to his arm, pleading with him either to stay or not leave her behind. Indeed, it seemed the chaos of Partition had simply been transferred to the audience.
A sudden “Maaro!! Maaro!!” brought me back to the stage. The Pakistani refugees had emerged from the wings with their weapons raised, preempting us to the violence. Gita Mam was behind them, frantically signaling Nachiket from the edge of the right wing. There was a feverish gleam in her eye.
“Come out you idiots!!” she screamed.
We needed no further impetus. Shouting “Maaro!! Maaro” from our end, we emerged onto stage whirling our weapons, ready to show the Pakistanis. We had met midway on stage when the thing called out yet again, from the same tree it had started out in. It caused everyone to freeze, even those who were otherwise rushing in a panic. With a crackle, a large bough fell off the tree near Suleiman, who promptly fled. In the shadowed gap that opened up amidst its branches, I saw two points that glowed fiery red. They blinked, and another call followed, now a roar as loud as a tiger’s.
We looked at each other, somewhat disillusioned of our violent drives. The absurdity of continued ethno-religious conflict was now clear to us as it had never been to our historical counterparts. What was the point of killing each other? It would neither bring back our homelands nor hold the audience in place. Symbolically, Nachiket dropped his staff.
“WHY ARE YOU STOPPPPING?” screamed Gita Mam, rushing on stage. I heard the whistle of the baton as it came down, seeking anyone in range. Raghav collapsed after a blow to the ear, and didn’t get up for the rest of the evening. Jayant and Peter broke their knuckles when they brought their hands up over their head. Surjit broke his nose when she swung down on it. And Varun was struck so hard on the eye that he had to wear a patch from then on.
“What did I promise? What was to be on tonight?” Gita Mam said. Her face had cracked and her hair itself seemed to bristle in rage. There were tears on her eyes and each swing of the baton was punctuated by a sob. “What did I promise Mrs. Khanna? What was the show to be? What was the show to BEEE?” She seemed quite overcome with grief, screaming and hitting us, when another roar sounded, this time from the stage itself.
It had taken centre stage, slitted eyes gleaming fiery red even amidst the lights. It looked at her with amusement, a creature the size of a leopard though built like a monkey. Its mouth was drawn in a grin that revealed enormous fangs. It held its long tail in the air, twitching it repeatedly. And it moved towards her with clicking steps made on four legs with monkey-like palms that ended with sharp hooked claws. Stopping in front of her, it grinned wider, displaying more teeth and locked eyes with her for a moment.
Gita Mam stared at it for a moment, before raising the baton and swinging it down towards its head. Before she could make contact the creature sprang on her, knocking her backwards. Its claws scratched and clicked the wooden floor as it straddled Gita Mam. She resumed her wailing while also trying to hit it with her baton. The two rolled on the floor, its claws clicking and scratching on the wood. Coming up on top, the creature paused for a moment, and leapt upwards, carrying her with it.
My jaw dropped as I looked at the spectacle of Gita Mam, still on her back, rising to the heavens. I suddenly became aware of the silence around us. Everyone, whether on stage or off, was drinking in this spectacle as the two monsters rose. Gita Mam had become curiously silent and the sight of her levitating in the limbs of another, limbs spread out, seemed strangely romantic. The sight seemed to go on forever, though the two had hardly reached the stage overhead beam when there was a loud tearing sound and they were sundered apart. The creature disappeared altogether into the night, while Gita Mam descended, her descent faster, louder and somewhat less graceful than her ascent. With a scream and a crack of bone on wood, she hit the stage floor.
We approached her slowly. The audience was still, nobody speaking or moving. Under our collective gaze, Gita Mam stirred. Raising her head, she looked into the void that the creature had disappeared into.
“Nothing… but… the best” were her last words, and the rest was silence.
THE END
It Happened In The Cafeteria
Vijay
The Observer
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