For now, I am meditating deep in the forest. I'm meditating with great focus. But I keep feeling like, what should I say! Something is tickling my nose, entering deep into my ear. Once, while swallowing my saliva, I even swallowed a bit of some insect. It tasted like fennel, but what a horrible smell! I could have vomited, but you can't vomit while meditating. I can't even shoo it away—because I’m now in a state of deep meditation—I have to remain completely still and unmoving.
I had sensed this would happen right from the start. I even told Habul about it. But at that time, he was thinking about attaining the rank of Indra and going to Kailash to meet Shiva, so he didn’t care. He said, "Oh, shut up! Don’t complain about trivial things. There are always insects in the forest, and they will definitely crawl into your nose and mouth. Just bear with it quietly; otherwise, how will you become a sage?"
True. But I’ve realized something—sages have tempers like a wasp’s nest. Why do they get so angry and curse people with such ease? Patience has its limits, after all! When insects are constantly pestering your nose and mouth, even someone as calm as Shatananda would lose their composure. I have no doubt about that anymore.
Well, I’ve gotten myself into a fine mess. To be honest, I’m Palaram Banerjee. I suffer from stomach trouble and drink bitter gourd juice. Why did I ever get involved in this complicated matter of sages? I live on Patoldanga Lane, where patol fish curry and rice are my daily meals. After eating a handful of puffed rice mixed with chickpeas, I can barely survive my stomach issues! And here I am—like an absolute fool, poor guy—trapped in this situation, six feet long and completely helpless!
In the grasp of Teni-da's large chest! And those who haven't experienced being in Teni-da’s grip—you have no idea what it’s like. From the gora (British officer) of Gorer Maidan to the cunning shopkeeper of the black market, everyone has been thoroughly trained by him. If he lifts his hand, you feel like he could knock you down with a single blow. If he bares his teeth, you worry he might just bite. Caught in the grasp of this terrifying person, I am now forced to sit and meditate like a sage.
What else could I do? I am just sitting here quietly. Deep in the forest, through a small hole, I can see poor Habul's nose sticking out. Covered in insect bites, I’m contemplating whether to give that nose a good punch, when suddenly Dadhimukh walks in whistling.
Dadhimukh said, "Master, there is a message." I replied, "Speak, child, I will surely listen." "I had an amazing dream." "I saw you, master, as though you had taken the form of a divine being, soaring through the cosmic sky, parting the Milky Way." Startled, I said tearfully, "Wak… Wak... Thoo!"
And what was it? An insect. Dadhimukh spat it out right onto me. Just look at this disciple's manners! I was furious—my body boiled with rage, my topknot stood on end, glowing with Brahmanic energy. But cursing a disciple would ruin everything. So I composed myself, smiled, and said, "There is indeed a deep mystery." "But your simple brain won't understand it easily." "Come closer, and I will whisper it in your ear."
Dadhimukh stared at me with his mouth wide open! He hadn’t heard what he expected from me—now he was unsure what to do. He glanced around helplessly.
"Come closer, bring your ear near my mouth." "Then you will hear the strange message." "Come closer, child." "Boy, come closer, come near..."
Dadhimukh was young—completely inexperienced. He hesitated for a moment, but as soon as he brought his ear close to my mouth, I gave him a solid slap. I opened my mouth wide, and...
A swarm of insects flew straight into my mouth. With a spitting noise, they immediately flew back, landing on Dadhimukh’s cheeks, nose, face, and forehead—my disciple received his guru’s loving blessings! Dadhimukh screamed, "Ahh! Ahh!" and immediately, the scene dropped with a thud. Bam! The bamboo prop hit my nose, and then fell straight down. Before the act was over, the second scene concluded.
Teni-da asked, "What was that? What does that mean, tell me?"
Teni-da gritted his teeth and yelled, "You messed up the whole play, you idiot! Why did you spit like that on Cabla? The scene was completely ruined! Did you see how the audience was laughing?"
I said, "But Cabla spat first!"
Teni-da said, "Hmph. I’ll knock both of your heads together like two heavy bell fruits. Whatever happened, happened. Now I’ll give the next scenes such a punch that they’ll send noses straight to the hospital!"
I replied, "It’s easy for you to say. But who’s going to sit on stage with their mouth open and digest all those insects?"
Teni-da roared, "You will. Absolutely, you have to do it. You’re in theater, but you can’t eat a few insects? If needed, you’ll eat mosquitoes, flies—"
Habul chimed in, "Rats, bats—"
Teni-da added, "Even mats, and eating a bed wouldn’t be surprising. Ha! That’s what theater is!"
"Do you really have to eat all that in theater?" I weakly protested.
"Yes, yes. What do you know? Have you heard of Dhanibabu? Dhanibabu? When he played the role of Sita, he used to eat a monument before coming down from the stage, did you know that?"
"He ate a monument?"
"Yes, yes, a monument! Stop whining. The scene is about to start. Go—memorize your lines!"
Like a scarecrow guarding a pot of eggplant, I sat down on the edge of the stage with a sour face. Eat a monument! What nonsense! Can a person ever eat a monument? But if I protested, I’d get slapped, so I had to swallow even this absurdity.
Just because we’re in theater, do we really have to eat insects! Why on earth do you think so! I am Palaram Banerjee, and my belly is full of bile. Yet here I am, dressed up as Dadhichi with a scratchy beard. Because of falling into this gang of cheats, my condition has become as bad as an old cooking pot.
I was sitting comfortably on the Chatterjees' veranda while they were rehearsing in the courtyard, flailing their arms and legs. But they couldn’t find anyone to play Dadhichi. Teni-da came over, rolling his eyes like a furnace, looked around, and grabbed my shoulder: "Aha! Found the one!"
I said, "Ah… ah…"
Teni-da growled like a tiger, "No ah-ahs, say yes-yes. You’ve got the perfect saintly look—like a peaceful goat! We’ll stick a goat-like beard on you. You’ll look just like that old man Keshob from the Roy family."
And this is the outcome now.
I have no lines, so I’m sitting quietly in a dark corner of the stage. I’ve taken off the fake beard and am swatting mosquitoes like crazy. This is unbearable. As soon as I get back on stage, I’ll have to meditate, and meditation means—more insects. And how vicious those insects are!
What can I do?
I’m seething with rage. I’m doing this part out of sheer pity, and on top of that, I get insulted. They scold me like I’m worthless. Threaten me that they’ll slap me so hard my nose will fly off. Just look at this nonsense! Sure, you’ve got a nose that stands tall like a pyramid, while my nose may be as flat as a Chinese man’s, but that doesn’t give you the right to insult noses! Just wait and watch. Watch what I do with this flattened nose of mine.
But what can I really do? Meanwhile, Teni-da is giving a grand speech on stage. He’s leaping around so much that it’s shaking the old furniture full of bedbugs.
Habul, sitting in the darkness next to me, asked, "Why are you sitting here in the dark?"
I replied, "Can’t I at least have a cup of tea? My throat is dry as wood."
Habul scrunched his nose and said, "Oh come on, you don’t need any more tea. With the part you’re playing, more tea isn’t necessary."
Adding insult to injury. I grinned in the dark and bared my teeth at Habul.
I made a face at Habul, but he didn’t see it. When he realizes later, he'll understand what fun really is. No, no. That won’t work. Tomorrow morning, who’s going to save me? I’ll have to sit tight after being flattened by one of Teni-da’s famous slaps, which would send me packing to the afterlife. No, no, none of that. I’ll deal with this in such a way that after getting hit, Teni-da will have to swallow it with a smile on his face. I’ll give him a new tooth to add to his set of thirty-two—an extra wisdom tooth. And I’ll make sure that stage-manager Mr. Habul Sen gets a taste of it too.
I prayed to God, “Oh Lord, give me light—show me the way in this darkness!” And the Lord gave me light.
I told Habul, “Brother, I’m just stepping out for five minutes, back in a bit.”
Habul asked, startled, “Why?”
“My stomach is feeling a bit off…”
Habul said, “Here we go. With all these people who have stomach problems, I’m sure this show will get ruined. Your part is coming up soon, you know.”
I replied, “No, no, I’ll be right back.”
But in my mind, I said, “We’ll see whose stomach has the real issue soon enough. You want me to perform after eating a monument—let’s see how much tougher things you can digest.”
In exactly five minutes, I returned. It didn’t take long to raid Doctor Chhotkaka’s medicine cabinet—I brought back just the right medicine. I calculated that my part wouldn’t come for another hour or so, enough time for the plan to work.
I went to where the tea kettle was boiling over the stove. No one was paying attention to the kettle, as everyone was leaning into the wings, watching the play. Teni-da was leaping around like Bhima, and the audience was clapping furiously. “Wait, wait—you’ll see how much clapping I can generate.”
Tenida came back and asked, “How was the scene, Habul?”
Habul, gratified, replied, “Fantastic, fantastic! Who else could do that part like you? They’re all saying ‘Well done, well done!’
I know why. They couldn’t even tell whether it was Bhima’s part or Vishwakarma’s part. “But the real part is yet to come…”
I said to myself.
Teni-da roared, shaking the stage, “Tea—hey, bring some tea!” Habul ran out, breathless. The curtain rose again. In the role of Dadhichi, I was sitting in meditation, eating insects. Disciple Dadhimukh was now standing at a distance—he hadn’t forgotten the last experience. Vishwakarma and Indra entered. Teni-da and Habul.
Habul said, “Master, I have come at Shiva’s command. With your bones, the thunderbolt will be made.”
Teni-da said, “I will show Vishwakarma’s glory. I will forge a weapon so powerful, its deafening roar will shake the entire cosmos, burning both the stationary and the moving with its blazing heat!”
Then he muttered to himself, “Ugh, my stomach is cramping badly!”
Habul whispered, “My stomach is also acting up!”
I glanced at them out of the corner of my eye. “You can digest a monument, let’s see how strong your digestion really is.”
I said, “Wait, wait—first, let me chant the holy name in meditation. Stay silent until my meditation breaks. Only then will I leave my body.”
I sat back into meditation. It wasn’t breaking easily. The insects were still pestering me—but let them. If I don’t suffer, how will Teni-da and Habul learn their lesson? Strong tea combined with a potent purgative—things are just starting.
Teni-da winced and said, “Hurry up and finish meditating! My stomach is killing me.”
I said, “Quiet. Don’t disturb my meditation, or else you’ll be cursed with Brahma’s wrath.”
Was I really meditating? Of course not. I was sneaking glances at Teni-da’s pale face. Habul was in no better condition. May God have mercy on them.
Teni-da groaned, “Oh Pala, I’m done for! I beg you, please finish meditating quickly—I’m at your feet, Pala!”
Habul added, “Oh no, I’m dying too…”
Meditation—leaving the body—these are not things to be taken lightly.
"Oh no, I’m done for!"—In a flash, Teni-da disappeared straight into the dark grove of mango trees, with Habul following right behind.
Are you still thinking about the theater ! What more is there to say after that!
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