Visitors to the house, p.1
Visitors to the House, page 1
For Madhu, my mother
And Punit, my brother
Contents
BOOK 1: VURF
As told by Aum
BOOK 2: MIRA
As told by Mira
BOOK 3: KADU
As told by Mini-Mum
BOOK 4: EHET
As told by Theresa
BOOK 5: BABY
As told by Papa
Acknowledgements
About the Book
About the Author
About the Illustrator
Copyright
BOOK 1: VURF
As told by Aum
Vurf: 0
Aum: 6
When Ammu, as I called my grandmother, turned seventy she put all her money together and bought a small house with a large enough garden in a hill town named Didoli. She told my father – my mother had died a few days after I was born – that she was taking me with her because he no longer had the time for the two of us. The real reason was she wanted to live in her dream-home where the noise of birds arose with the morning and the mountains were bluer than the veins on her legs. This is how I came to live with Ammu a couple of months to my sixth birthday.
In the beginning Papa visited us every Sunday. Then his letters and parcels, wrapped in white butter paper, started dropping in every week. Those were the days of the postman, who was like a king on a bicycle because he carried news and money from people who had gone away to chase work in the city. Ammu and I would wait for him near the gate and on days we saw three mynahs chattering together, we knew he had a letter for us.
It was a Thursday, I remember. It was raining, and Ammu and I were standing under our umbrella in the middle of the road. I hadn’t changed out of my school dress. Ammu had a large canvas bag slung over her shoulder like she was expecting a bigger parcel.
‘Aum,’ Ammu said, looking at me, ‘was that your tummy?’
‘What, Ammu?’
‘I thought I heard a sound.’
I thought I heard a sound coming from her tummy but I said nothing. We stood that way, glancing suspiciously at each other until the postman rode up to us and sailed away, waving from under his green plastic cover. Although we had not seen a single mynah all day and should not have expected a letter, I was sullen.
‘Will you walk me to Rhododendron and back,’ Ammu said after a sigh. ‘I think the lobia beans we ate last night have sprouted in my stomach. Here, bring your ear closer and listen to the rascals stretching their arms and legs as if it is their papa’s property.’
The rain had become noisier, so I touched my ear to her pillow-like belly. Ammu smelt of heeng, the paste she put on her bellybutton on days she complained of ghosts inside her. They are like gas, she would say, these spirits, and they come from what we eat. She would make all sorts of funny faces and pace around the furniture until the ghosts of the beans or whatever she had eaten left her.
‘Ammu, I can hear one,’ I now said, looking up at her.
‘What does it sound like? What’s it saying?’
I imitated the whine of a door.
‘Oh my,’ she said, bringing a hand to her lips, ‘it is the most dangerous of the lot. Let’s walk.’
The umbrella dripped around us. Ammu held her sari high above her calves and her slippers clapped against her heels with every step. Leaves and twigs stuck to her legs, but she strode on. I ran to keep up, weighed down by my tall rain boots. They were red, the colour of the postman’s bicycle. The sounds coming from Ammu’s tummy were getting louder and longer.
Rhododendron was just a name we had for the bus stop, a small, open shed where goats took shelter. It was empty and we plopped down on the stone bench. Behind us the hills rose, covered in mist.
‘What’s the bag for?’ I asked Ammu.
‘It’s for you.’ She stood awkwardly, washing her calves and ankle in the trickle from the roof. ‘Open it, if you are not afraid.’
I slid the zip halfway down and waited. Ammu’s stomach was whimpering in short bursts, which was odd.
‘You are not being very brave. Go on, put your hands inside. It won’t bite you.’ She had her faded yellow plastic camera to her eye.
I did not do anything of the sort. I did not trust Ammu in such matters. Whenever she said ‘be brave, go on’ I got hurt. She told me to stand under a beehive for a picture and I got stung. She told me to sit on the milkman’s hobbling mule for a picture and I landed in the dust on my bum. Now she was holding up her camera and telling me to put my hands in danger. I looked away towards the hills. The mist had climbed all the way up the slope and was pouring headlong into our shelter. The stunted rhododendron tree was all leaves and no flowers that time of the year. A mountain crow sat upon it with its head bowed low, watching us.
‘Aum,’ Ammu called.
I turned to see her balancing two lemon tarts with lit candles in one hand and a large brown potato in the other. The potato opened its eyes and yawned, showing its purple tongue. I squealed.
‘A dog, Ammu?’
‘He’s yours. Happy birthday to you. Happy happy happy birthday to you,’ she sang out of tune and the drenched greedy crow on the branch joined in, hopeful of leftovers.
I jumped and hugged Ammu because she liked that. The pup slid into my hands and came on to my shoulder.
‘He’s mine? What should I call him? Is he going to be a big dog, Ammu? I think he will be the most dangerous dog. Was he in the bag? I knew it wasn’t your tummy making noises. I just knew it. Where did he come from?’
‘Your Papa. He’ll be here tomorrow. Let’s blow the candles and eat.’
A ferocious dog had to have a fearsome name, we decided. Ammu suggested Wolf. She had already thought of it, I could tell. I liked the sound of it.
‘Vurf,’ I said aloud.
‘Wolf,’ Ammu repeated slowly.
I again said, ‘Vurf.’
I had just turned six and there were some words that would take me some time to get around. So Ammu straightened up and told the crow hopping near the crumbs we’d dropped, ‘This dog’s name is Vurf, do you hear? And you will now go and tell the whole wide world. So shoo.’
The messenger grabbed two quick bites and flew off sideways into the rain with a deliberately loud squaaawk.
‘You must remember this, Aum.’ Ammu smiled, holding me at arm’s length. ‘Vurf and you will share a birthday all your life. Right? You will care for each other. We are celebrating out here and not at home so we remember this day. Right?’
I nodded twice.
‘And one more thing. He’s your baby today, but he’ll be your grandfather one day.’
‘You’ll marry him, Ammu?’ I must have looked stupid saying that for Ammu laughed so loud the rafters shook. Vurf yelped. She dried her eyes and heaved a huge sigh.
She said, ‘While we grow older by one year each year, dogs grow seven years at a time. Next year you will be seven and so will Vurf. What is seven times ten?’
I didn’t know my tables that well.
‘Hmmm.’ She shook her head. ‘In ten more years, you will be six-plus-ten, which is sixteen. And Vurf will be seven-into-ten, which is seventy.’ Seeing my blank look, she added, ‘You’ll understand as we go along.’
So Vurf came to stay. He licked too much icing and fell sick the very first night. Papa said old grandmothers, little boys and baby dogs must have their plates taken away if they don’t know when to stop. He had got us lots of gifts from someone called Mini, so we had to remain under his spell and not answer back, even when we knew how a paste of heeng rubbed into the bellybutton could calm the most gaseous ghost.
Vurf: 7
Aum: 7
Vurf came up to my belt pretty quick. I had been told he was a mongrel, which to my mind was a very thorough breed from the remotest mountains of Mongolia. It was a dog that didn’t merely herd sheep like ordinary mutts, it had the strength to chase and corner wild horses for ruthless tribes. Ammu had added this bit of detail to my story. All sorts of people walking past the house stopped to pat him out of respect, I imagined.
My school books started showing a lot of ‘can do better’ in red ink. This bothered Ammu and she rationed my time with Vurf to two hours in the evening and one hour before school, only if I woke up early. There were three televisions in Didoli in 1979 and doing mindless things with your dog was the best wastage of precious time.
Vurf and I had a time restriction but Ammu never laid down territorial bounds. If we could run to the other end of the world and return in two hours she was least bothered. She talked to us like we were twins. She would sit in her wicker chair on the porch and we would be crouched at her feet. She went on with peeling potatoes or darning an old pullover while we listened to every word of her jumbled storytelling. Sometimes she looked up and asked a question to which Vurf always replied with an intelligent woof and she would say ‘good boy’. I usually got my answers wrong and a slight whack of her stick. Of the brothers, quite clearly, Vurf was smarter. When I tried licking Ammu’s toes the way he did, I got whacked again. Once out of the house I was boss.
We had gone skipping stones in Didoli Lake after lunch on a Sunday in March. The idea was no longer only the number of skims you did; we had become experts in hitting targets as well. So the stones went bouncing on the water and struck a buoy or a rowing boat full of tourists. The fun was when the boatmen yelled at us and we stuck out our tongues and yelped like puppies. The sport had become so popular that more boys joined us and lazy people gathered under the weeping willows a nd watched. The trip always ended with us running for our lives and into the waiting folds of Ammu’s sari.
‘Go bathe and get dressed, we’re going for a wedding,’ Ammu told us on this Sunday in the March of 1979. ‘It’s at the temple. Not too many people so stop making that face.’
I must say I was surprised to see Papa there. He was with the most beautiful girl in the world, who shook my hand and said she had waited a lifetime to meet me.
‘And Vurf?’
‘And Vurf, of course!’ She laughed.
I liked her instantly. Vurf danced about her, barking like he had never been in decent company. She clung to us until the ceremony began. Ammu pulled me into her lap and laid a hand on Vurf’s neck. ‘Her name is Mini,’ she whispered into my ear, not without a knowing nod.
Mini was the bride and she was marrying Papa. They had been staying at a hotel to surprise me. I must say I was quite quiet during the whole thing of circling the fire and getting pictures taken by the dozen. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. Mini knelt down beside me.
‘Well, what do you think?’ She smiled.
‘Are you going to be my mummy?’
She pulled me close and kissed my ear. ‘How can I be your mummy? No one in the world can be your mummy. She was so beautiful. I can be your girlfriend if you want.’
‘And Vurf’s?’
‘And Vurf’s, of course!’ she said, pulling both of us tighter for a picture that Papa took. He looked happy too. Ammu was asleep in the sun with her mouth open. She wasn’t very well-behaved when she was around people. Papa had let her eat two large ice cream cones with chocolate syrup. I’m ashamed to say my own grandmother could be fairly awkward and greedy on such family occasions. Vurf and I were a far second.
Mini and Papa stayed on in Didoli for a week. They were at the hotel simply because we had two rooms and sharing, as Ammu quipped with a grin, was not in our blood. They laughed, I remember, like it was good to be selfish. I would have shared the room with Mini, not Papa. His snores could upset Vurf.
Twice they picked me up from school. They waited at the gate and Mini ran to grab me. I didn’t mind it that much because the boys were more interested in Papa’s car. I could see respect for me rising by the minute. One evening, I came home to find Mini, Papa and Ammu talking on the porch. They saw me and stopped and I knew it was all about me. My maths marks were dismal.
‘Come and sit with me.’ Mini smiled, patting a little space on her chair. Like always, she had a gift on her lap. Going by the mood I knew I wasn’t getting it, but I was wrong. She thrust the blue box into my hands and pulled me on to her knees. She smelt of lemons. She always smelt of lemons.
‘Now Aum,’ Papa cleared his throat and began, ‘we have a question for you. You have to answer truthfully, okay?’
I was not sure what they had found out. I looked at Vurf and he seemed clueless. Vurf, I must say, had a habit of leaving my side when Ammu glared at me so very often. He had his head on Ammu’s slippers and groaned. Mini rested her chin on my head and rocked gently, meaning she was on my side.
Papa said, ‘What would you say to coming with us to Delhi and living with us, Aum?’
All eyes were upon me. I could hear the clock in Ammu’s room. Mini rubbed my tummy with her knuckles. I had to go to the bathroom.
‘What do you think? Will you come and live with us?’ she asked in a singsong voice.
‘And Vurf?’ I asked.
Ammu turned her head away to look at a geranium in a pot hanging close to her head.
‘And Vurf, of course,’ Mini said.
‘We will then have to ask Vurf.’
All eyes now turned upon Vurf. He stared back for a while and raised his head like he hadn’t heard us.
‘Vurf,’ I said, ‘you want to stay here in Didoli or go to Delhi?’
Vurf barked a double-woof.
‘He wants to stay here,’ I translated.
After supper Ammu gave the two of us ice cream and didn’t have any herself.
Vurf: 14
Aum: 8
Going by Ammu’s logic Vurf was now a teenager and I had barely scraped through to fourth grade. This was unfair. He could do as he pleased and my homework kept me indoors. In winter he slept on the gravel in the sun while I slogged in my cold dark room, clogged up to my ears in woollens. My teachers called Ammu to tell her I was making progress and her effort with my homework was clearly showing. Actually the only homework Ammu helped with was Vurf’s – eat, sleep and bark at the wind.
Mini sent a letter a week and when I replied she sent it back with another letter and corrections. She used a green pen and not a red one so that wasn’t bad. And once a month a parcel arrived with books for the three of us. I had to read out Vurf’s gift to him. He was older so his stories were more about science and great men, no fun. This is the punishment you get when you laze all day and don’t go to school. Sometimes we got toys made of wood because, Mini said, too much plastic wasn’t good for Vurf’s teeth. I didn’t snitch about what all filth he got his muzzle into.
His fur, which had been brown till a year ago, now bore clumps of white on the tail and at the throat. He was, when we measured at the door, two feet and seven inches tall if you pulled his ears straight up. The left ear had a scar that you saw only when you really looked. We never knew what he had been up to and we never asked.
‘He’s a teenager,’ Ammu had reminded me, ‘you nag and he’ll make you get mad. My guess is he’s been in a fight with a big cat, a leopard perhaps. I hope the enemy is alive. They are becoming rare, these spotted animals. I’ll try and talk to him, okay? You stay out of it.’
The news of the encounter spread fairly fast. Mini wrote back asking about the hero’s wound. I told her it was nothing and that we boys knew how to take care of ourselves. A red dog collar arrived in the mail.
‘This is not to tie him down,’ she wrote in green, ‘this is so you can keep a hold on him when he wants to get into a fight. I’m glad at least you are more responsible.’
I was responsible for a month until the day both of us ran away from home. The reason was none other than Ammu. She wanted Vurf to have a second bath in a week. He had walked into an open sewer and six inches of his legs came out, I must admit, looking like he had boots on. He smelt terrible too. But that doesn’t mean you need a complete bath. Vurf ran as fast as he could when the brush and soap appeared in Ammu’s hand, and I followed him right out of the gate and down the slope and through the stinging nettles that made you itch like a thousand ants in the night. I had to keep my eyes on the red collar crashing through the bushes.
At last he turned and waited for me to catch up. He had his tongue out, and he was laughing.
‘You know we can’t go back now,’ I told him firmly. ‘We have to stay in the forest for the rest of our lives.’ I didn’t tell him I was happy he was there by my side, the leopard-killer. We found the stream we had only heard from the house and followed it. Vurf barked at everything that moved and made me jump. Actually, he was barking the entire time because the stream wouldn’t stop moving. And then he went and did something that made me hang my head in shame.
He attacked the running water and almost drowned. I went in after him and we managed to pull ourselves out. Two things happened at once: we were shivering and we were hungry. Vurf’s whining and wet fur made him more of a slimy cat than the big-cat-slayer of my stories. I looked back at the way we had come and decided to continue downwards. The sun had gone behind the trees and the shivering had become a sort of trembling. Suddenly Vurf barked an excited woof and raced ahead. I thought I heard the blare of a bus and followed at full pelt like school had ended. The rest is a bit of a blur.
The bus dropped us at the gate and didn’t move till we were well inside the house. Vurf barked and I told him to shut up. He had forgotten the morning incident and ran from this room to that looking for Ammu. I too crept in. Through a chink in the door I saw her lying on the bed. Vurf barked his hollow head off. I went and stood beside her. She didn’t stir. In the bus I had thought of what to say.
‘I took Vurf for a bath, Ammu, and brought him back.’
She said nothing so I bent closer and repeated myself. Ammu’s eyes remained shut and strangely, her tongue lolled out between her lips like they show in gangster movies. I jumped on to the bed and started shaking her and howling as in gangster movies. I lifted her hand and it dropped on the bed just like it happened in gangster movies. I threw myself upon her and began bawling. Vurf watched me in silence with his head tilted. The fool had no idea what a dead body looked like. A thumb and forefinger held my ear.
