Indian Beautiful Stories -Malgudi days- By R.K.Narayan

Sent by- Shruti Aggarwal -
R. K. Narayan (October 10, 1906 - May 13, 2001), born Rasipuram Krishnaswami Ayyar Narayanaswami, is among the best known and most widely read Indian novelists -writing in English.Most of Narayan's work, starting with his first novel Swami and Friends (1935), captures many Indian traits while retaining a unique identity of its own. He was sometimes compared to the American writer William Faulkner, whose novels were also grounded in a compassionate humanism and celebrated the humour and energy of ordinary life.Narayan lived till age of ninety-four, writing for more than fifty years, and publishing until he was eighty seven. He wrote fourteen novels, five volumes of short stories, a number of travelogues and collections of non-fiction, condensed versions of Indian epics in English, and the memoir My Days
His writing career began with Swami and Friends. At first, he could not get the novel published. Eventually, the draft was shown to Graham Greene by a mutual friend, Purna. Greene liked it so much that he arranged for its publication; Greene was to remain a close friend and admirer of his. After that, he published a continuous stream of novels, all set in Malgudi and each dealing with different characters in that fictional place.
Malgudi Days -
is a collection of short stories by R.K.Narayan that focused on the trial and tribulations of a small Indian town of Malgudi. According to R.K. Narayan, Malgudi is a town "habited by timeless characters who could be living anywhere in the world" and is located on the banks of river Sarayu and surrounded by the Mempi Hills.

Malgudi days

CHAPTER I
Monday Morning
It was Monday morning. Swaminathan was reluctant to open his eyes.
He considered Monday specially unpleasant in the calendar. After the
delicious freedom of Saturday and Sunday, it was difficult to get into the
Monday mood of work and discipline. He shuddered at the very thought of
school: that dismal yellow building; the fire-eyed Vedanayagam, his classteacher;
and the Head Master with his thin long cane. ...
By eight he was at his desk in his 'room', which was only a corner in
his father's dressing-room. He had a table on which all his things, his coat,
cap, slate, ink-bottle, and books, were thrown in a confused heap. He sat on
his stool and shut his eyes to recollect what work he had for the day : first of
course there was Arithmetic—those five puzzles in Profit and Loss; then
there was English—he had to copy down a page from his Eighth Lesson, and
write dictionary meanings of difficult words; and then there was Geography.
And only two hours before him to do all this heap of work and get
ready for the school!
Fire-eyed Vedanayagam was presiding over the class with his back to
the long window. Through its bars one saw a bit of the drill ground and a
corner of the veranda of the Infant Standards. There were huge windows on
the left showing vast open grounds bound at the other extreme by the
railway embankment.
To Swaminathan existence in the classroom was possible only
because he could watch the toddlers of the Infant Standards falling over one
another, and through the windows on the left see the 12.30 mail gliding over
the embankment, booming and rattling while passing over the Sarayu
Bridge. The first hour passed of quietly. The second they had Arithmetic.
Vedanayagam went out and returned in a few minutes in the role of an
Arithmetic teacher. He droned on monotonously. Swaminathan was terribly
bored. His teacher's voice was beginning to get on his nerves. He felt sleepy.
The teacher called for home exercises. Swaminathan left his seat,
jumped on the platform, and placed his note-book on the table. While the
teacher was scrutinizing the sums, Swaminathan was gazing on his face,
which seemed so tame at close quarters. His criticism of the teacher's face
was that his eyes were too near each other, that there was more hair on his
chin than one saw from the bench, and that he was very very bad-looking.
His reverie was disturbed. He felt a terrible pain in the soft flesh above his
left elbow. The teacher was pinching him with one hand, and with the other,
crossing out all the sums. He wrote 'Very Bad' at the bottom of the page,
flung the note-book in Swaminathan's face, and drove him back to his seat.
Next period they had History. The boys looked forward to it eagerly.
It was taken by D. Pillai, who had earned a name in the school for kindness
and good humour. He was reputed to have never frowned or sworn at the
boys at any time. His method of teaching History conformed to no canon of
education. He told the boys with a wealth of detail the private histories of
Vasco da Gama, Clive, Hastings, and others. When he described the various
fights in History, one heard the clash of arms and the groans of the slain. He
was the despair of the Head Master whenever the latter stole along the
corridor with noiseless steps on his rounds of inspection.
The Scripture period was the last in the morning. It was not such a
dull hour after all. There were moments in it that brought stirring pictures
before one: the Red Sea cleaving and making way for the Israelites; the
physical feats of Samson; Jesus rising from the grave; and so on. The only
trouble was that the Scripture master, Mr Ebenezar, was a fanatic.
'Oh, wretched idiots!' the teacher said, clenching his fists, Why do you
worship dirty, lifeless, wooden idols and stone images? Can they talk? No.
Can they see? No. Can they bless you? No. Can they take you to Heaven?
No. Why? Because they have no life. What did your Gods do when
Mohammed of Gazni smashed them to pieces, trod upon them, and
constructed out of them steps for his lavatory? If those idols and images had
life, why did they not parry Mohammed's onslaughts?'
He then turned to Christianity. 'Now see our Lord Jesus. He could
cure the sick, relieve the poor, and take us to Heaven. He was a real God.
Trust him and he will take you to Heaven; the kingdom of Heaven is within
us.' Tears rolled down Ebenezar's cheeks when he pictured Jesus before him.
Next moment his face became purple with rage as he thought of Sri Krishna:
"Did our Jesus go gadding about with dancing girls like your Krishna? Did
our Jesus go about stealing butter like that archscoundrel Krishna'?Did our
Jesus practise dark tricks on those around him?'
He paused for breath. The teacher was intolerable to-day.
Swaminathan's blood boiled. He got up and asked, 'If he did not, why was he
crucified?' The teacher told him that he might come to him at the end of the
period and learn it in private. Emboldened by this mild reply, Swaminathan
put to him another question, 'If he was a God, why did he eat flesh and fish
and drink wine?' As a brahmin boy it was inconceivable to him that a God
should be a non-vegetarian. In answer to this, Ebenezar left his seat,
advanced slowly towards Swaminathan, and tried to wrench his left ear off.
Next day Swaminathan was at school early. There was still half an
hour before the bell. He usually spent such an interval in running round the
school or in playing the Digging Game under the huge Tamarind tree. But
to-day he sat apart, sunk in thought. He had a thick letter in his pocket. He
felt guilty when he touched its edge with his fingers. He called himself an
utter idiot for having told his father about Ebenezar the night before during
the meal.
As soon as the bell rang, he walked into the Head Master's room and
handed him a letter. The Head Master's face became serious when he read:
-Sir,
'I beg to inform you that my son Swaminathan of the First Form, A
section, was assaulted by his Scripture Master yesterday in a fanatical rage. I
hear that he is always most insulting and provoking in his references to the
Hindu religion. It is bound to have a bad effect upon the boys. This is not the
place for me to dwell upon the necessity for toleration in these matters.
I am also informed that when my son got up to have a few doubts
cleared, he was roughly handled by the same teacher. His ears were still red
when he came home last evening.
The one conclusion that I can come to is that you do not want non-
Christian boys in your school. If it is so, you may kindly inform us as we are
quite willing to withdraw our boys and send them elsewhere. I may remind
you that Albert Mission School is not the only school that this town,
Malgudi, possesses. I hope you will be kind enough to inquire into the
matter and favour me with a reply. If not, I regret to inform you, I shall be
constrained to draw the attention of higher authorities to these Unchristian
practices.
I have the honour to be,
Sir,
Your most obedient servant,
W. T. Sreenivasan.'
When Swaminathan came out of the room, the whole school crowded
round him and hung on his lips. But he treated inquisitive questions with
haughty indifference. He honoured only four persons with his confidence.
Those were the four that he liked and admired most in his class. The first
was Somu, the Monitor, who carried himself with such an easy air. He set
about his business, whatever it was, with absolute confidence and calmness.
He was known to be chummy even with the teachers. No teacher ever put to
him a question in the class. It could not be said that he shone brilliantly as a
student. It was believed that only the Head Master could reprimand him. He
was more or less the uncle of the class.
Then there was Mani, the mighty Good-For-Nothing. He towered
above all the other boys of the class. He seldom brought any books to the
class, and never bothered about home-work. He came to the class,
monopolised the last bench, and slept bravely. No teacher ever tried to prod
him.
It was said that a new teacher who once tried it very nearly lost his
life. Mani bullied all strangers that came his way, be they big or small.
People usually slunk aside when he passed. Wearing his cap at an angle,
with a Tamil novel under his arm, he had been coming to the school ever
since the old school peon could remember. In most of the classes he stayed
longer than his friends did. Swaminathan was proud of his friendship. While
others crouched in awe, he -could address him as 'Mani' with gusto and pat
him on the back familiarly. Swaminathan admiringly asked whence Mani
derived his power. Mani replied that he had a pair of wooden clubs at home
with which he would break the backs of those that dared to tamper with him.
Then there was Sankar, the most brilliant boy of the class. He solved
any problem that was given to him in five minutes, and always managed to
border on 90 %. There was a belief among a section of the boys that if only
he started cross-examining the teachers the teachers would be nowhere.
Another section asserted that Sankar was a dud and that he learnt all the
problems and their solution in advance by his sycophancy. He was said to
receive his 90% as a result of washing clothes for his masters. He could
speak to the teachers in English in the open class. He knew all the rivers,
mountains, and countries in the world. He could repeat History in his sleep.
Grammar was child's play to him. His face was radiant with intelligence,
though his nose was almost always damp, and though he came to the class
with his hair braided and with flowers in it. Swaminathan looked on him as a
marvel. He was very happy when he made Mani see eye to eye with him and
admit Sankar to their company. Mani liked him in his own way and brought
down his heavy fist on Sankar's back whenever he felt inclined to
demonstrate his affection. He would scratch his head and ask where the
blithering fool of a scraggy youngster got all that brain from and why he
should not part with a little of it.
The fourth friend was Samuel known as the 'Pea' on account of his
size. There was nothing outstanding about him. He was just ordinary, no
outstanding virtue of muscle or intellect. He was as bad in Arithmetic as
Swaminathan was. He was as apprehensive, weak, and nervous, about things
as Swaminathan was. The bond between them was laughter. They were able
to see together the same absurdities and incongruities in things. The most
trivial and unnoticeable thing to others would tickle them to death.
When Swaminathan told them what action his father had taken in the
Scripture Master affair, there was a murmur of approval. Somu was the first
to express it, by bestowing on his admirer a broad grin. Sankar looked
serious and said,
'Whatever others might say, you did right in setting your father to the
job.' The mighty Mani half closed his eyes and grunted an approval of sorts.
He was only sorry that the matter should have been handled by elders. He
saw no sense in it. Things of this kind should not be allowed to go beyond
the four walls of the classroom. If he were Swaminathan, he would have
closed the whole incident at the beginning by hurling an ink bottle, if
nothing bigger was available, at the teacher. Well, there was no harm in
what Swaminathan had done; he would have done infinitely worse by
keeping quiet.
However, let the Scripture Master look out: Mani had decided to
wring his neck and break his back. Samuel the Pea, found himself in an
acutely embarrassing position. On the one hand, he felt constrained to utter
some remark. On the other, he was a Christian and saw nothing wrong in
Ebenezar's observations, which seemed to be only an amplification of one of
the Commandments. He felt that his right place was on Ebenezar's side. He
managed to escape by making scathing comments on Ebenezar's dress and
appearance and leaving it at that.
The class had got wind of the affair. When the Scripture period
arrived there was a general expectation of some dramatic denouement. But
nothing happened. Ebenezar went on as merrily as ever. He had taken the
trouble that day to plod through Baghavad Gita, and this generous piece of
writing lends itself to any interpretation. In Ebenezar's hand it served as a
weapon against Hinduism.
His tone was as vigorous as ever, but in his denunciation there was
more scholarship. He pulled Baghavad Gita to pieces, after raising Hinduism
on its base. Step by step he was reaching the sublime heights of rhetoric. The
class Bible lay uncared for on the table.
The Head Master glided in. Ebenezar halted, pushing back his chair,
and rose, greatly Hurried. He looked questioningly at the Head Master. The
Head Master grimly asked him to go on. Ebenezar had meanwhile
stealthily inserted a finger into the pages of the closed Bible. On the word of
command from the Head Master, he tried to look sweet and relaxed his
brow, which was knit in fury. He then opened his book where the finger
marked and began to read at random. It happened to be the Nativity of
Christ. The great event had occurred. There the divine occupant was in the
manger. The Wise Men of the East were faithfully following the Star.
The boys attended in their usual abstracted way. It made little
difference to them whether Ebenezar was making a study of Hinduism in the
light of Baghavad Gita or was merely describing the Nativity of Christ.
The Head Master listened for a while and, in an undertone, demanded
an explanation. They were nearing the terminal examination and Ebenezar
had still not gone beyond the Nativity. When would he reach the Crucifixion
and Resurrection, and begin to revise? Ebenezar was flabbergasted. He
could not think of anything to say. He made a bare escape by hinting that
that particular day of the week, he usually devoted to a rambling revision.
Oh, no! He was not as far behind as that. He was in the proximity of the Last
Supper. At the end of the day Swaminathan was summoned to the Head
Master's room. As soon as he received the note, he had an impulse to run
home. And when he expressed it, Mani took him in his hands, propelled him
through to the Head Master's room, and gave him a gentle push in.
Swaminathan staggered before the Head Master.
Ebenezar was sitting on a stool, looking sheepish. The Head Master
asked: 'What is the trouble, Swaminathan?'
Oh—nothing, sir,' Swaminathan replied.
'If it is nothing, why this letter?'
'Oh!' Swaminathan ejaculated uncertainly.
Ebenezar attempted to smile. Swaminathan wished to be well out of
the whole affair. He felt he would not mind if a hundred Ebenezars said a
thousand times worse things about the Gods.
You know why I am here?' asked the Head Master.
Swaminathan searched for an answer: the Head Master might be there
to receive letters from boys' parents; he might be there to flay Ebenezars
alive; he might be there to deliver six cuts with his cane every Monday at
twelve o'clock. And above all why this question?
'I don't know, sir,' Swaminathan replied innocently.
'I am here to look after you,' said the Head Master.
Swaminathan was relieved to find that the question had such a simple
answer.
'And so continued the Head Master, 'you must come to me if you want
any help, before you go to your father.'
Swaminathan furtively glanced at Ebenezar, who writhed in his chair.
'I am sorry,' said the Head Master, 'that you should have been so
foolish as to go to your father about this simple matter. I shall look into it.
Take this letter to your father.
Swaminathan took the letter and shot out of the room with great relief.

Malgudi days

CHAPTER II
Rajam and Mani

RIVER SARAYU was the pride of Malgudi. It was some ten minutes
walk from Ellaman Street, the last street of the town, chiefly occupied by
oilmongers. Its sand-banks were the evening resort of all the people of the
town. The Municipal President took any distinguished visitor to the top of
the Town Hall and proudly pointed to him Sarayu in moonlight, glistening
like a silver belt across the North.
The usual evening crowd was on the sand. Swaminathan and Mani sat
aloof on a river-step, with their legs dangling in water. The peepul branches
overhanging the river rustled pleasantly. A light breeze played about the
boughs and scattered stray leaves on the gliding stream below. Birds filled
the air with their cries. Far away, near Nallappa's Mango Grove, a little
downstream, a herd of cattle was crossing the river. And then a country cart
drawn by bullocks passed, the cart-man humming a low tune. It was some
fifteen minutes past sunset and there was a soft red in the West.
'The water runs very deep here, doesn't it?' Mani asked.
'Yes, why?'
'I am going to bring Rajam here, bundle him up, and throw him into
the river.'
Rajam was a fresh arrival in the First A. He had sauntered into the
class on the reopening day of the Second Term, walked up to the last bench,
sat beside Mani, and felt very comfortable indeed till Mani gave him a jab in
the ribs, which he returned. He had impressed the whole class on the very
first day. He was a new-comer; he dressed very well—he was the only boy
in the class who wore socks and shoes, fur cap and tie, and a wonderful coat
and knickers.
He came to the school in a car. As well as all this, he proved to be a
very good student too. There were vague rumours that he had come from
some English boys' school somewhere in Madras. He spoke very good
English, 'Exactly like a "European"'; which meant that few in the school
could make out what he said. Many of his class-mates could not trust
themselves to speak to him, their fund of broken English being small. Only
Sankar, the genius of the class, had the courage to face him, though his
English sounded halting and weak before that of Rajam.
This Rajam was a rival to Mani. In his manner to Mani he assumed a
certain nonchalance to which Mani was not accustomed. If Mani jabbed,
Rajam jabbed; if Mani clouted, he clouted; if Mani kicked, he kicked. If
Mani was the overlord of the class, Rajam seemed to be nothing less.
And add to all this the fact that Rajam was a regular seventy
percenter, second only to Sankar. There were sure indications that Rajam
was the new power in the class. Day by day as Mani looked on, it was
becoming increasingly clear that a new menace had appeared in his life.
All this lay behind his decision on the river-step to bundle up Rajam
and throw him into the river. Swaminathan expressed a slight fear: "You
forget that his father is the police superintendent.' Mani remained silent for a
while and said, What do I care? Some night I am going to crack his
shoulders with my clubs.'
'If I were you, I would keep out of the way of policemen. They are an
awful lot,' said Swaminathan.
'If you were me! Huh! But thank God I am not you, a milk-toothed
coward like you.'
Swaminathan bit his lips and sighed.
'And that reminds me,' said the other, 'you are in need of a little
warning. I find you hanging about that Rajam a bit too much. Well, have a
care for your limbs. That is all I can say.'
Swaminathan broke into loud protestations. Did Mani think that
Swaminathan could respect anyone but him, Mani the dear old friend and
guide? What made him think so? As far as Swaminathan could remember,
he had never been within three yards of Rajam. Oh, how he hated him!
That vile upstart! When had Mani seen him with Rajam? Oh, yes, it
must have been during the Drawing period on Monday. It was Rajam who
had come and talked to him in spite of the cold face that Swaminathan had
turned to him.
That ass had wanted a pencil sharpener, which he did not get, as he
was promptly directed to go to a shop and buy it if he needed it so urgently.
Oh, there was no comparison between Rajam and Mani.
This pleased Mani greatly. For the first time that evening he laughed,
and laughed heartily too. He shook Swaminathan and gave such an
affectionate twist to his ear that Swaminathan gave a long howl. And then he
suddenly asked, 'Did you bring the thing that I wanted?'
'Oh, Mani! I beg a hundred pardons of you. My mother was all the
time in the kitchen. I could not get it.' ('It' referred to lime pickles.)
'You are a nasty little coward— Oh, this riverbank and the fine
evening. How splendid it would have been! ...'
Swaminathan was to act as a cord of communication between Rajam
and Mani. They were sitting in the last bench with their backs against the
yellow wall. Swaminathan sat between Rajam and Mani. Their books were
before them on the desks; but their minds were busy.
Mani wrote on a piece of paper 'Are you a man?' and gave it to
Swaminathan, who pushed it across to Rajam, putting on as offensive a look
as possible. Rajam read it, crumpled it, and threw it away. At which Mani
wrote another note repeating the question, with the addition 'You are the son
of a dog if you don't answer this,' and pushed it across. Rajam hissed into
Swaminathan's face, 'You scoundrel, don't disturb me,' and crumpled the
letter.
Further progress was stopped.
'Swaminathan, stand up,' said the teacher. Swaminathan stood up
faithfully.
'What is Lisbon famous for?' asked the teacher.
Swaminathan hesitated and ventured, 'For being the capital of Spain.'
The teacher bit his moustache and fired a second question, 'What do
you know about the Indian climate?'
'It is hot in summer and cold in winter.'
'Stand up on the bench!' roared the teacher. And Swaminathan stood
up without a protest. He was glad that he was given this supposedly
degrading punishment instead of the cane.
The teacher resumed his lessons: Africa was a land of forests., Nile
was the most important river there. Did they understand? What did he say?
He selected someone from the first bench to answer this question. (Nile was
the most important river in Africa, the boy answered promptly, and the
teacher was satisfied.) What was Nile? (The most important river in Africa,
a boy answered with alacrity and was instantly snubbed for it, for he had to
learn not to answer before he was asked to.) Silence. Silence. Why was there
such a lot of noise in the class? Let them go on making & noise and they
would get a clean, big zero in the examination. He would see to that.
Swaminathan paid no attention to the rest of the lessons. His mind
began to wander. Standing on the bench, he stood well over the whole class.
He could see so many heads, and he classified them according to the caps:
there were four red caps, twenty-five Gandhi caps, ten fur caps, and so on.
When the work for the day was over, Swaminathan, Mani, and Rajam,
adjourned to a secluded spot to say what was in their minds. Swaminathan
stood between them and acted as the medium of communication. They were
so close that they could have heard each other even if they had spoken in
whispers. But it was a matter of form between enemies to communicate
through a medium. Mani faced Swaminathan steadily and asked, 'Are you a
man?'
Swaminathan turned to Rajam and repeated, 'Are you a man?'
Rajam flared up and shouted, 'Which dog doubts it?'
Swaminathan turned to Mani and said ferociously, 'Which dirty dog
doubts it?'
'Have you the courage to prove that you are a man?' asked Mani.
Swaminathan turned to Rajam and repeated it.
'How?'
'How?' repeated Swaminathan to Mani.
'Meet me at the river, near Nallappa's Grove, to-morrow evening.'
'Near Nallappa's Grove,' Swaminathan was pleased to echo.
'What for?' asked Rajam.
To see if you can break my head.'
'Oh, to pieces,' said Rajam.
Swaminathan's services were dispensed with. They gave him no time
to repeat their words. Rajam shouted in one ear, and Mani in the other.
'So we may expect you at the river to-morrow,' said Swaminathan.
'Yes,' Rajam assured them.
Mani wanted to know if the ether would come with guards. No, he
would not. And Mani voiced another doubt:
'If anything happens to you, will you promise to keep it out of your
father's knowledge?' Rajam promised, after repudiating the very suggestion
that he might act otherwise.
Nallappa's Grove stood a few yards before them. It was past six and
the traffic for the day between the banks was over. The usual evening crowd
was far behind them. Swaminathan and Mani were squatting on the sand.
They were silent. Mani was staring at the ground, with a small wooden club
under his arm. He was thinking: he was going to break Rajam's head in a
short while and throw his body into the river. But if it should be recovered?
But then how could they know that he had done it? But if Rajam should
come and trouble him at night as a spirit? Since his grandfather's death, he
was sleeping alone. What if Rajam should come and pull his hair at night?
After all it would be better not to kill him. He would content himself with
breaking his limbs and leaving him to his fate. If he should batter his head,
who was going to find it out? Unless of course— He cast a sly look at
Swaminathan, who was blinking innocently. . . .
Unless of course Swaminathan informed the police.
At the sound of the creaking of boots, they turned and found that
Rajam had come. He was dressed in khaki, and carried under his arm an airgun
that was given to him a couple of months ago on his birthday. He stood
very stiff and said: 'Here I am, ready.'
'You are late.'
'Yes.'
'We will start.'
Rajam shouldered his gun and fired a shot in the air. Mani was
startled. He stood still, his club down.
'You heard the shot?' asked Rajam. The next is going to be into your
body, if you are keen upon a fight.'
'But this is unfair. I have no gun while you have. ... It was to be a
hand-to-hand fight.'
Then, why have you brought your club? You never said anything
about it yesterday.'
Mani hung down his head.
'What have I done to offend you?' asked Rajam.
'You called me a sneak before someone.'
‘That is a lie.'
There was an awkward pause. 'If this is all the cause of your anger,
forget it. I won't mind being friends.'
'Nor I,' said Mani.
Swaminathan gasped with astonishment. In spite of his posing before
Mani, he admired Rajam intensely, and longed to be his friend. Now this
was the happiest conclusion to all the unwanted trouble. He danced with joy.
Rajam lowered his gun, and Mani dropped his club. To show his
goodwill, Rajam pulled out of his pocket half a dozen biscuits.
The river's mild rumble, the rustling of the peeyul leaves, the halflight
of the late evening, and the three friends eating, and glowing with new
friendship—Swaminathan felt at perfect peace with the world.

Malgudi days

CHAPTER III
Swami's Grandmother

IN THE ill-ventilated dark passage between the front hall and the
dining-room, Swaminathan's grandmother lived with all her belongings,
which consisted of an elaborate bed made of five carpets, three bed sheets,
and five pillows, a square box made of jute fibre, and a small wooden box
containing copper coins, cardamoms, cloves, and areca-nut.
After the night meal, with his head on his granny's lap, nestling close
to her, Swaminathan felt very snug and safe in the faint atmosphere of
cardamom and cloves.
'Oh, granny!' he cried ecstatically, 'you don't know what a great fellow
Rajam is.' He told her the story of the first enmity between Rajam and Mani
and the subsequent friendship.
'You know, he has a real police dress,' said Swaminathan.
'Is it? What does he want a police dress for?' asked granny.
'His father is the Police Superintendent. He is the master of every
policeman here.' Granny was impressed. She said that it must be a
tremendous office indeed. She then recounted the days when her husband,
Swaminathan's grandfather, was a powerful Sub-Magistrate, in which office
he made the police force tremble before him, and the fiercest dacoits of the
place flee. Swaminathan waited impatiently for her to finish the story. But
she went on, rambled, confused, mixed up various incidents that took place
at different times.
That will do, granny,' he said ungraciously. 'Let me tell you something
about Rajam. Do you know how many marks he gets in Arithmetic?'
'He gets all the marks, does he, child?' asked granny.
'No, silly. He gets ninety marks out of one hundred.'
'Good. But you must also try and get marks like him. . . You know,
Swami, your grandfather used to frighten the examiners with his answers
sometimes. When he answered a question, he did it in a tenth of the time that
others took to do it. And then, his answers would be so powerful that his
teachers would give him two hundred marks sometimes. .. . When he passed
his F.A. he got such a big medal!
I wore it as a pendant for years till—When did I remove it? Yes, when
your aunt was born. . . . No, it wasn't your aunt. ... It was when your father
was born. ... I remember on the tenth day of confinement. . . . No, no. I was
right.
It was when your aunt was born. Where is that medal now?
I gave it away to your aunt—and she melted it and made four bangles
out of it. The fool! And such flimsy bangles too! I have always maintained
that she is the worst fool in our family. ...'
'Oh, enough, granny! You go on bothering about old unnecessary
stories. Won't you listen to Rajam?'
‘Yes, dear, yes.'
'Granny, when Rajam was a small boy, he killed a tiger.' 'Indeed! The
brave little boy!'
You are saying it just to please me. You don't believe it.'
Swaminathan started the story enthusiastically: Rajam's father was
camping in a forest. He had his son with him. Two tigers came upon them
suddenly, one knocking down the father from behind. The other began
chasing Rajam, who took shelter behind a bush and shot. it dead with his
gun. 'Granny, are you asleep?' Swaminathan asked at the end of the story.
'No, dear, I am listening.'
'Let me see. How many tigers came upon how many?'
'About two tigers on Rajam,' said granny.
Swaminathan became indignant at his grandmother's inaccuracy.
'Here I am going hoarse telling you important things and you fall asleep and
imagine all sorts of nonsense.
I am not going to tell you anything more. I know why you are so
indifferent. You hate Rajam.'
'No, no, he is a lovely little boy,' granny said with conviction, though
she had never seen Rajam. Swaminathan was pleased. Next moment a new
doubt assailed him.
'Granny, probably you don't believe the tiger incident.'
'Oh, I believe every word of it,' granny said soothingly.
Swaminathan was pleased, but added as a warning: 'He would shoot
anyone that called him a liar.'
Granny expressed her approval of this attitude and then begged leave
to start the story of Harischandra, who, just to be true to his word, lost his
throne, wife, and child, and got them all back in the end. She was half-way
through it when Swaminathan's rhythmic snoring punctuated her narration,
and she lay down to sleep.
Saturday afternoon. Since Saturday and Sunday came so rarely, to
Swaminathan it seemed absurd to waste at home, gossiping with granny and
mother or doing sums. It was his father's definite orders that Swaminathan
should not start loafing in the afternoon and that he should stay at home and
do school work. But this order was seldom obeyed.
Swaminathan sat impatiently in his 'study', trying to wrest the
meaning out of a poem in his English Reader. His father stood before the
mirror, winding a turban round his head. He had put on his silk coat. Now
only his spectacles remained. Swaminathan watched his progress keenly.
Even the spectacles were on. All that now remained was the watch.
Swaminathan felt glad. This was the last item and after that father would
leave for the Court. Mother came in with a tumbler of water in one hand and
a plate of betel leaves and nuts in the other. Frank drank the water and held
out his hand. She gave him a little areca-nut and half a dozen neatly rolled
betel leaves. He put them all into his mouth, chewing them with great
contentment. Swaminathan read at the top of his voice the poem about a
woolly sheep. His father fussed about a little for his tiny silver snuff-box and
the spotted kerchief, which was the most unwashed thing in that house. He
hooked his umbrella on his arm. This was really the last signal for starting.
Swaminathan had almost closed the book and risen. His father had almost
gone out of the room. But—Swaminathan stamped his foot under the table.
Mother stopped father and said: 'By the way, I want some change. The tailor
is coming today. He has been pestering me for the last four days.'
'Ask him to come to-morrow,' father said. Mother was insistent.
Father returned to his bureau, searched for the keys, opened it, took out a
purse, and gave her the change.
'I don't know how I am going to manage things for the rest of the
month,' he said peering into the purse. He locked the bureau, and adjusted
his turban before the mirror. He took a heavy pinch of snuff, and wiping his
nose with his kerchief, walked out. Swaminathan heaved a sigh of relief.
'Bolt the door,' came father's voice from the street door.
Swaminathan heard the clicking of the bolts. He sat at the window,
watched his father turn the corner, and then left his post.
His mother was in the kitchen giving instructions to the cook about
the afternoon coffee. Granny was sitting up in her bed. 'Come here, boy,' she
cried as soon as she saw him.
'I can't. No time now.'
'Please. I will give you three pies,' she cried.
Swaminathan ignored the offer and dashed away.
'Where are you going?' mother asked.
'I have got to go,' Swaminathan said with a serious face.
'Are you going to loaf about in the sun?'
'Certainly not,' he replied curtly.
'Wander about recklessly and catch fever? ...'
'No, mother, I am not going to wander about.'
'Has your father not asked you to stay at home on holidays?'
'Yes, but my Drawing Master has asked me to see him. I suppose even
then I should not go.' He added bitterly: 'If I fail in the Drawing examination
I think you will be pleased.'
Swaminathan ran down Grove Street, turned to his right, threaded his
way through Abu Lane, stood before a low roofed, dingy house, and gave a
low whistle. He waited for a second and repeated it. The door chain clanked,
the door opened a little, and Mani's head appeared and said: 'Fool! My aunt
is here, don't come in. Go away and wait for me there.'
Swaminathan moved away and waited under a tree. The sun was
beating down fiercely. The street was almost deserted. A donkey was
standing near a gutter, patiently watching its sharp shadow. A cow was
munching a broad, green, plantain leaf. Presently Mani sneaked out of his
house.
Rajam's father lived in Lawley Extension (named after the mighty
engineer Sir Frederick Lawley, who was at one time the Superintending
Engineer for Malgudi Circle), which consisted of about fifty neat
bungalows, mostly occupied by government officials. The Trunk Road to
Trichinopoly passed a few yards in front of these houses.
Swaminathan and Mani were nervously walking up the short drive
leading to Rajam's house. A policeman in uniform cried to them to stop and
came running towards them.
Swaminathan felt like turning and fleeing. He appealed to Mani to
speak to the policeman. The policeman asked what they were doing there.
Mani said in a tone in which overdone carelessness was a trifle obvious: 'If
Rajam is in the house, we are here to see him. He asked us to come.' The
policeman at once became astonishingly amiable and took them along to
Rajam's room.
To Mani and Swaminathan the room looked large. There were chairs
in it, actually chairs, and a good big table with Rajam's books arranged
neatly on it. What impressed them most was a timepiece on the table. Such a
young follow to own a timepiece! His father seemed to be an extraordinary
man.
Presently Rajam entered. He had known that his friends were waiting
for him, but he liked to keep them waiting for a few minutes, because he had
seen his father doing it. So he stood for a few minutes in the adjoining room,
biting his nails. When he could keep away no longer, he burst in upon his
friends.
'Sit down, boys, sit down,' he cried when he saw them standing.
In a few minutes they were chatting about odds and ends, discussing
their teachers and school-mates, their parents, toys, and games.
Rajam took them to a cupboard and threw it open. They beheld
astounding things in it, miniature trains and motors, mechanical marvels, and
a magic-lantern with slides, a good many large picture-books, and a hundred
other things.
What interested Mani most was a grim air-gun that stood in a corner.
Rajam gave them permission to handle anything they pleased. In a short
while Swaminathan was running an engine all over the room. Mani was
shooting arrow after arrow from a bow, at the opposite wall. When he tired
of it, he took up the gun and devastated the furniture around with lead balls.
'Are you fellows, any of you, hungry?' Rajam asked.
'No,' they said half-heartedly.
'Hey,' Rajam cried. A policeman entered.
'Go and ask the cook to bring some coffee and tiffin for three.' The
ease and authority with which he addressed the policeman filled his friends
with wonder and admiration.
The cook entered with a big plateful of eatables. He set down the plate
on the table. Rajam felt that he must display his authority.
'Remove it from the table, you—' he roared at the cook.
The cook removed it and placed it on a chair.
'You dirty ass, take it away, don't put it there.'
'Where am I to put it, Raju?' asked the cook.
Rajam burst out: 'You rascal, you scoundrel, you talk back to me?'
The cook made a wry face and muttered something .
'Put it on the table/ Rajam commanded. The cook obeyed, mumbling:
'If you are rude, I am going to tell your mother.'
'Go and tell her, I don't care,' Rajam retorted.
He peered into a cup and cursed the cook for bringing it so dirty. The
cook looked up for a moment, quietly lifted the plate, and saying, 'Come and
eat in the kitchen if you want food,' went away with it.
This was a great disappointment to Swaminathan and Mani, who were
waiting with watering mouths. To Rajam it was a terrible moment. To be
outdone by his servant before his friends! He sat still for a few minutes and
then said with a forced laugh: 'The scoundrel, that cook is a buffoon .... Wait
a minute.' He went out.
After a while he returned, carrying the plate himself. His friends were
a bit astonished at this sign of defeat. Obviously he could not subdue the
cook. Swaminathan puzzled his head to find out why Rajam did not shoot
the cook dead, and Mani wanted to ask if he could be allowed to have his
own way with the cook for a few minutes. But Rajam set their minds at rest
by explaining to them: 'I had to bring this myself. I went in and gave the
cook such n. kick for his impertinence that he is lying unconscious in the
kitchen.'

Malgudi days

CHAPTER IV
What is a tail

THE Geography Master was absent, and the boys of the First A had
leisure between three and three-forty-five on Wednesday.
Somehow Swaminathan had missed his friends and found himself
alone. He wandered along the corridor of the Infant Standards. To
Swaminathan, who did not really stand over four feet, the children of the
Infant Standards seemed ridiculously tiny. He felt vastly superior and old.
He was filled with contempt when he saw them dabbling in wet clay, trying
to shape models. It seemed such a meaningless thing to do at school! Why,
they could as well do those things resembling elephants, mangoes, and
whatnots, in the backyards of their houses. Why did they come all the way to
a school to do this sort of thing? Schools were meant for more serious things
like Geography, Arithmetic, Bible, and English.
In one room he found all the children engaged in repeating
simultaneously the first two letters of the Tamil alphabet. He covered his
ears and wondered how the teacher was able to stand it. He passed on. In
another room he found an ill-clad, noisy crowd of children. The noise that
they made, sitting on their benches and swinging their legs, got on his
nerves. He wrinkled his brow and twisted his mouth in the hope of making
the teacher feel his resentment but unfortunately the teacher was sitting with
his back to Swaminathan.
He paused at the foot of the staircase leading to the senior classes the
Second and the Third Forms. He wanted to go up and inspect those classes
which he eagerly looked for ward to joining. He took two or three steps up,
and changed his mind. The Head Master might be up there, he always
handled those classes. The teachers too were formidable, not to speak of the
boys themselves, who were snobs and bullies. He heard the creak of sandals
far off and recognised the footsteps of the Head Master. He did not want to
be caught there—that would mean a lot of unsatisfactory explanations.
It was with pleasant surprise that he stumbled into his own set, which
he had thought was not at school. Except Rajam and Mani all the rest were
there. Under the huge tamarind tree they were playing some game.
Swaminathan joined them with a low, ecstatic cry. The response
disappointed him. They turned their faces to him with a faint smile, and
returned to their game. What surprised Swaminathan most was that even the
genial Somu was grim. Something seemed to be wrong somewhere.
Swaminathan assumed an easy tone and shouted: 'Boys, what about a little
place for me in the game?' Nobody answered this. Swaminathan paused and
announced that he was waiting for a place in the game.
'It is a pity, we can't take more,' Sankar said curtly.
There are people who can be very efficient as tails,' said the Pea. The
rest laughed at this.
‘You said Tail, didn't you?' asked Sankar. ‘What makes ' you talk of
Tail now?'
'It is just my pleasure. What do you care? It doesn't apply to you
anyway,' said the Pea.
'I am glad to hear it, but does it apply to anyone here?' asked Sankar.
'It may.'
‘What is a Tail?'
'A long thing that attaches itself to an ass or a dog.'
Swaminathan could comprehend very little except that the remark
contained some unpleasant references to himself. His cheeks grew hot. He
wanted to cry.
The bell rang and they ran to their class. Swaminathan slunk to his
seat with a red face.
It was the English period presided over by Vedanayagam. He was
reading the story of the old man who planted trees for posterity and was paid
ten rupees by a king. Not a word reached Swaminathan's brain, in which
there was only dull pain and vacuity. If he had been questioned he would
have blundered and would have had to spend the rest of the hour standing
on the bench. But his luck was good.
The period was over. He was walking home alone, rather slowly, with
a troubled heart. Somu was going a few yards in front of him. Swaminathan
cried out: 'Somu, Somu. . . . Somu, won't you stop?' Somu stopped till the
other came up. After a brief silence Swaminathan quavered: 'What is the
matter with you fellows?'
'Nothing very particular,' replied Somu. 'By the way, may I inform
you that you have earned a new name?—The Tail, Rajam's Tail, to be more
precise. We aren't good enough for you, I believe. But how can everyone be
a son of a Police Superintendent?' With that he was off.
This was probably Swaminathan's first shock in life. It paralysed all
his mental processes. When his mind started working again, he faintly
wondered if he had been dreaming. The staid Somu, the genial Somu, the
uncle Somu, was it the same Somu that had talked to him a few minutes
ago? What was wrong in liking and going about with
Rajam? Why did it make them so angry?
He went home, flung his coat and cap and books on the table, gulped
down the cold coffee that was waiting for him, and sat on the pyol, vacantly
gazing into the dark intricacies of the gutter that adorned Vinayaka Mudali
Street. A dark volume of water was rushing along. Odd pieces of paper,
leaves, and sticks, floated by. A small piece of tin was gently skimming
along. Swaminathan had an impulse to plunge his hand in and pick it up. But
he let it go. His mind was inert. He watched the shining bit float away. It
was now at the end of the compound wall; now it had passed under the tree.
Swaminathan was slightly irritated when a brick obstructed the progress of
the tin. He said that the brick must either move along or stand aside without
interfering with the traffic. The piece of tin released itself and dashed along
furiously, disappeared round a bend at the end of the street. Swaminathan
ran in, got a sheet of paper, and made a boat. He saw a small ant moving
about aimlessly. He carefully caught it, placed it in the boat, and lowered
the boat into the stream. He watched in rapture its quick motion. He held his
breath when the boat with its cargo neared a danger zone formed by stuck-up
bits of straw and other odds and ends. The boat made a beautiful swerve to
the right and avoided destruction. It went on and on. It neared a fatal spot
where the waters were swirling round and round in eddies. Swaminathan
was certain that his boat was nearing its last moment. He had no doubt that it
was going to be drawn right to the bottom of the circling eddies.
The boat whirled madly round, shaking and swaying and quivering.
But providentially a fresh supply of water from the kitchen in the
neighbour's house pushed it from behind out of danger. But it rushed on at a
fearful speed, and Swaminathan felt that it was going to turn turtle. Presently
it calmed, and resumed a normal speed. But when it passed under a
tree, a thick dry leaf fell down and upset it. Swaminathan ran frantically to
the spot to see if he could save at least the ant. He peered long into the water,
but there was no sign of the ant. The boat and its cargo were wrecked
beyond recovery. He took a pinch of earth, uttered a prayer for the soul of
the ant, and dropped it into the gutter. In a few days Swaminathan got
accustomed to his position as the enemy of Somu and company.
All the same now and then he had an irresistible desire to talk to his
old friends. When the Scripture Master pursed his lips and scratched his
nose, Swaminathan had a wild impulse to stamp on the Pea's leg and laugh,
for that was a joke that they had never failed to enjoy day after day for many
years past. But now Swaminathan smothered the impulse and chuckled at it
himself, alone. And again, when the boy with the red cap nodded in his seat
and woke up with a start every time his head sank down, Swaminathan
wanted to whisper into the Pea's ear: 'Look at that fellow, third on the first
bench, red cap—Now he is falling off again—' and giggle; but he merely bit
his lips and kept quiet.
Somu was looking in his direction. Swaminathan thought that there
was friendliness in his look. He felt a momentary ecstasy as he realised that
Somu was willing to be friendly again. They stared at each other for a while,
and just as Swaminathan was beginning to put on a sweet friendly look,
Somu's expression hardened and he turned away.
Swaminathan was loitering in the compound. He heard familiar voices
behind, turned round, and saw Somu, Sankar, and the Pea, following him.
Swaminathan wondered whether to stop and join them, or wait till they had
passed and then go in the opposite direction. For it was awkward to be
conscious of the stare of three pairs of hostile eyes behind one's ears. He
believed that every minute movement of his body was being watched and
commented on by the three followers. He felt that his gait was showing
unfavourably in their eyes. He felt they were laughing at the way in which
he carried his books. There was a slight itching on his nape, his hand almost
rose, but he checked it, feeling that the scratching would be studiously
watched by the six keen eyes.
He wanted to turn to his right and enter the school hall. But that would
be construed as cowardice; they would certainly think that he was doing it to
escape from them. He wanted to run away, but that would be no better. He
wanted to turn back and get away in the opposite direction, but that would
mean meeting them square in the face. So, his only recourse was to keep on
walking as best as he could, not showing that he was conscious of his
followers. The same fellows ten days ago, what they were! Now what
formidable creatures they had turned out to be! Swaminathan was wonder
struck at the change.
It was becoming unendurable. He felt that his legs were taking a
circular motion, and were twining round each other when he walked. It was
too late to turn and dash into the school hall. He had passed it. Now he had
only one way of escape. He must run. It was imperative. He tried a trick.
He paused suddenly, turned this way and that, as if looking for
something, and then cried aloud: -Oh, I have left my note-book somewhere,'
raised his hand and was off from the spot like a stag.

Malgudi days

CHAPTER V
Father’s Room

IT WAS Saturday and Rajam had promised to come in the afternoon.
Swaminathan was greatly excited. Where was he to entertain him? Probably
in his own 'room'; but his father often came in to dress and undress. No, he
would be at Court, Swaminathan reminded himself with relief. He cleaned
his table and arranged his books so neatly that his father was surprised and
had a good word to say about it.
Swaminathan went to his grandmother. 'Granny,' he said,
'I have talked to you about Rajam, haven't I?
‘Yes. That boy who is very strong but never passes his examination.'
'No. No. That is Mani.'
'Oh, now I remember, it is a boy who is called the Gram or something,
that witty little boy.'
Swaminathan made a gesture of despair. 'Look here granny, you are
again mistaking the Pea for him. I mean Rajam, who has killed tigers, whose
father is the Police Superintendent, and who is great.'
'Oh,' granny cried, 'that boy, is he coming here? I am so glad.'
'H'm. . . . But I have got to tell you—'
'Will you bring him to me? I want to see him.'
'Let us see,' Swaminathan said vaguely, 'I can't promise. But I have
got to tell you, when he is with me, you must not call me or come to my
room.'
'Why so?' asked granny.
'The fact is—you are, well you are too old,' said Swaminathan with
brutal candour. Granny accepted her lot cheerfully.
That he must give his friend something very nice to eat, haunted his
mind. He went to his mother, who was squatting before a cutter with a
bundle of plantain leaves beside her. He sat before her, nervously crushing a
piece of leaf this way and that, and tearing it to minute bits.
'Don't throw all those bits on the floor. I simply can't sweep the floor
any more,' she said.
'Mother, what are you preparing for the afternoon tiffin?'
'Time enough to think of it,' said mother.
'You had better prepare something very nice, something fine and
sweet. Rajam is coming this afternoon. Don't make the sort of coffee that
you usually give me. It must be very good and hot.' He remembered how in
Rajam's house everything was brought to the room by the cook. 'Mother,
would you mind if I don't come here for coffee and tiffin? Can you send it to
my room?' He turned to the cook and said: 'Look here you can't come to my
room in that dhoti. You will have to wear a clean, white dhoti and shirt.'
After a while he said: 'Mother, can you ask father to lend me his room for
just an hour or two?' She said that she could not as she was very busy. Why
could he himself not go and ask?
'Oh, he will give more readily if you ask,' said Swaminathan.
He went to his father and said: 'Father, I want to ask you something.'
Father looked up from the papers over which he was bent.
'Father, I want your room.'
'What for?'
'I have to receive a friend,' Swaminathan replied.
'You have your own room,' father said.
'I can't show it to Rajam.'
‘Who is this Rajam, such a big man?'
'He is the Police Superintendent's son. He is—he is not ordinary.'
'I see. Oh! Yes, you can have my room, but be sure not to mess up the
things on the table.'
'Oh, I will be very careful. You are a nice father, father.'
Father guffawed and said: 'Now run in, boy, and sit at your books.'
Rajam's visit went off much more smoothly that Swaminathan had
anticipated. Father had left his room open; mother had prepared some
marvel with wheat, plum, and sugar. Coffee was really good. Granny had
kept her promise and did not show her senile self to Rajam. Swaminathan
was only sorry that the cook did not change his dhoti.
Swaminathan seated Rajam in his father's revolving chair. It was
nearly three hours since he had come. They had talked out all subjects—
Mani, Ebenezar, trains, tiger-hunting, police, and ghosts.
Which is your room?' Rajam asked.
Swaminathan replied with a grave face: This is my room,why?'
Rajam took time to swallow this. 'Do you read such books?' he asked,
eyeing the big gilt-edged law books on the table. Swaminathan was
embarrassed.
Rajam made matters worse with another question.
'But where are your books?' There was just a flicker of a smile on his
lips.
'The fact is,' said Swaminathan, 'this table belongs to my father. When
I am out, he meets his clients in this room.'
'But where do you keep your books?'
Swaminathan made desperate attempts to change the topic: 'You have
seen my grandmother, Rajam?'
'No. Will you show her to me? I should love to see her’ replied Rajam.
'Wait a minute then,' said Swaminathan and ran out.
He had one last hope that his granny might be asleep. It was infinitely
safer to show one's friends a sleeping granny.
He saw her sitting on her bed complacently. He was disappointed. He
stood staring at her, lost in thought.
'What is it, boy?' granny asked, 'Do you want anything?'
'No. Aren't you asleep? Granny,' he said a few minutes later, 'I have
brought Rajam to see you.'
'Have you?' cried granny, 'Come nearer, Rajam. I can't see your face
well. You know I am old and blind.'
Swaminathan was furious and muttered under his breath that his
granny had no business to talk all this drivel to Rajam.
Rajam sat on her bed. Granny stroked his hair and said that he had
fine soft hair, though it was really short and prickly. Granny asked what his
mother's name was, and how many children she had. She then asked if she
had many jewels. Rajam replied that his mother had a black trunk filled with
jewels, and a green one containing gold and silver vessels. Rajam then
described to her Madras, its light house, its sea, its trams and buses, and its
cinemas. Every item made granny gasp with wonder.
When Swaminathan entered the class, a giggle went round the
benches. He walked to his seat hoping that he might not be the cause of the
giggling. But it continued. He looked about. His eyes travelled up to the
black-board. His face burnt red. On the board was written in huge letters
'TAIL'. Swaminathan walked to the black-board and rubbed it off with his
hands. He turned and saw Sankar's head bent over his note-book, and the
Pea was busy, unpacking his satchel. Without a word Swaminathan
approached the Pea and gave him a fierce slap on his cheek. The Pea burst
into tears and swore that he did not do it. He cast a sly look at Sankar, who
was absorbed in some work. Swaminathan turned to him and slapped his
face also.
Soon there was pandemonium, Sankar, Swaminathan, and the Pea,
rolling over, tearing, scratching, and kicking one another. The bell rang.
Rajam, Somu, and Mani entered. The teacher came in and stood aghast. He
could do little more than look on and ejaculate. He was the old Tamil Pundit,
the most helpless teacher in the school.
Somu and Mani parted the fighters. The teacher ascended the platform
and took his seat. The class settled down. Somu got up and said: 'Sir, please
let us go out. We do not want to disturb the class.' The teacher demurred; but
already Mani had gone out, pushing Swaminathan and the Pea before him.
Somu followed him with Sankar.
They came to a lonely spot in the field adjoining the school. There
was tense silence for a while, and Mani broke it: "What is wrong with you,
you little rogues?' Three started to speak at once. Swaminathan's voice was
the loud- protest: 'He—the Pea— wrote TAIL—Big Tail—on the Blackboard—
big—'
'No—I didn't, you—' screamed the Pea.
The other two wrote it,' cried Swaminathan pointing at Sankar.
'Rascal! Did you see me?' howled Sankar.
Mani covered their mouths with his hands. 'What is a tail, anyway?' he
asked, not having been told anything about it till then.
'They call me Rajam's tail,' sobbed Swaminathan.
A frozen expression came over Mani's face, and he asked,
'And who dares to talk of Rajam here?'
'Oh, dare!' repeated Somu.
'If any of you fellows have done it—' growled Mani, looking at the
trembling Sankar and the Pea.
'If they have, what can you do?' asked Somu with a contemptuous
smile.
'What do you mean, Somu, what do you mean?'
'Look here, Mani,' Somu cried, 'for a long time I have been waiting to
tell you this: you think too much of yourself and your powers.' Mani swung
his hand and brought it down on Somu's nape. Somu pushed it away with a
heavy blow. Mani aimed a kick at Somu, which would send him rolling.
Somu stepped aside and delivered one himself, which nearly bent the other.
The three youngsters could hardly believe their eyes. Somu and Mani
fighting! They lost their heads. They thought that Somu and Mani were
killing each other. They looked accusingly at one another, and then ran
towards the school.
They burst in upon the Head Master, who gathered from them with
difficulty that in the adjacent field two murders were being committed at that
very moment. He was disposed to laugh at first. But the excitement and
seriousness on the boy's faces made him check his laughter and scratch his
chin. He called a peon and with him set off to the field.
The fighters, rolling and rolling, were everywhere in the field. The
Head Master and the peon easily picked them apart, much to the
astonishment of Swaminathan, who had thought till then that the strength
that Somu or Mani possessed was not possessed by anyone else in the world.

Malgudi days

CHAPTER VI
A Friend in Need

ONE AFTERNOON three weeks later, Swaminathan stood before
Mani's house and gave a low whistle. Mani joined him. They started for
Rajam's house, speculating on the way what the surprise (which Rajam had
said he would give them if they saw him that afternoon) might be.
'I think,' said Swaminathan, 'Rajam is merely joking. It is merely a
trick to get us to his house.' He was very nearly pushed into a gutter for this
doubt.
'Probably he has bought a monkey or something,' Swaminathan
ventured again. Mani was gracious enough to admit that it might be so. They
thought of all possible subjects that might surprise them, and gave up the
attempt in the end.
Their thoughts turned to their enemies. 'You know what I am going to
do?' Mani asked. 'I am going to break Somu's waist. I know where he lives.
He lives in Kabir Street, behind the market. I have often seen him coming
out at nights to a shop in the market for betel leaves. I shall first fling a stone
at the municipal lamp and put it out. You have no idea how dark Kabir
Street is. ... I shall wait with my club, and as soon as he appears— He will
sprawl in the dust with broken bones. . . .' Swaminathan shuddered at the
thought. 'And that is not all,' said Mani, 'I am going to get that Pea under by
heel and press him to the earth. And Sankar is going to hang by his tuft over
Sarayu, from a peepul branch... .'
They stopped talking when they reached Rajam's house. The gate was
bolted, and they got up the wall and jumped in. A servant came running
towards them. He asked, 'Why, did you climb the wall?' ;
'Is the wall your property?' Mani asked and burst into laughter.
'But if you had broken your ribs—' the servant began.
'What is that to you? Your ribs are safe, are they not?'
Swaminathan asked ungraciously and laughed.
'And just a word more,' Mani said, 'do you happen to be by any
chance the Police Superintendent's son?'
'No, no,' replied the servant.
'Very well then,' replied Mani, 'we have come to see and talk to the
Police Superintendent's son.' The servant beat a hasty retreat.
They banged their fists on Rajam's door. They heard the clicking of
the latch and hid themselves behind the pillar.
Rajam peeped out and shut the door again.
They came out, stood before the door, and wondered what to do.
Swaminathan applied his mouth to the keyhole and mewed like a cat. Mani
pulled him away and putting his mouth to the hole barked like a dog. The
latch clicked again, and the door slightly opened. Mani whispered to
Swaminathan, 'You are a blind kitten, I will be a blind puppy.'
Mani fell down on his knees and hands, shut his eyes tight, pushed the
door with his head, and entered Rajam's room in the role of a blind puppy.
Swaminathan crawled behind him with shut eyes, mewing for all he was
worth. They moved round and round the room, Rajam adding to the interest
of the game by mewing and barking in answer every few seconds. The blind
puppy brushed its side against a leg, and thinking that it belonged to Rajam,
softly bit the calf muscle. Imagine its confusion when it opened its eyes and
saw that it was biting its enemy, Somu! the blind kitten nestled close to a leg
and scratched it with its paw. Opening its eyes it found that it was fondling a
leg that belonged to its enemy, Sankar.
Mani remained stunned for a moment, and then scrambled to his feet.
He looked around, his face twitching with shame and rage. He saw the Pea
sitting in a corner, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and felt impelled to take
him by the throat. He turned round and saw Rajam regarding him steadily,
his mouth still quivering with a smothered grin.
As for Swaminathan he felt that the best place for himself would be
the darkness and obscurity under a table or a chair.
'What do you mean by this, Rajam?' Mani asked.
'Why are you so wild?'
'It was your fault,' said Mani vehemently, 'I didn't know—' He looked
around.
'Well, well. I didn't ask you to crawl and bark, did I?'
Somu and company laughed. Mani glared round, 'I am going away,
Rajam. This is not the place for me.'
Rajam replied, 'You may go away, if you don't want me to see you or
speak to you any more.'
Mani fidgeted uneasily. Rajam took him aside and soothed him.
Rajam then turned to Swaminathan, who was lost in bottomless misery. He
comforted and flattered him by saying that it was the best imitation of a cat
and dog that he had ever witnessed in his life. He admitted that for a few
minutes he wondered whether he was watching a real cat and a dog. They
would get prizes if they did it in fairs. If Swaminathan and Mani would be
good enough to repeat the fun, he would be delighted, and even ask his
father to come and watch.
This was soothing. Swaminathan and Mani felt proud of themselves.
And after the round of eating that followed, they were perfectly happy,
except when they thought of the other three in the room.
They were in this state of mind when Rajam began a lecture on
friendship. He said impressive things about friendship, quoting from his
book the story of the dying old man and the faggots, which proved that
union was strength. A friend in need was a friend indeed. He then started
giving hair-raising accounts of what hell had in store for persons who
fostered enmity. According to Rajam, it was written in the Vedas that a
person who fostered enmity should be locked up in a small room, after his
death. He would be made to stand, stark naked, on a pedestal of red-hot iron,
there were beehives all around with bees as big as lemons.
If the sinner stepped down from the pedestal, he would have to put his
foot on immense scorpions and centipedes that crawled about the room in
hundreds—
(A shudder went through the company.)
—The sinner would have to stand thus for a month, without food or
sleep. At the end of a month he would be transferred to another place, a very
narrow bridge over a lake of boiling oil. The bridge was so narrow that he
would be able to keep only one foot on it at a time. Even on the narrow
bridge there were plenty of wasp nests and cactus, and he would be goaded
from behind to move on. He would have to balance on one foot, and then on
another, for ages and ages, to keep himself from falling into the steaming
lake below, and move on indefinitely. . . .
The company was greatly impressed. Rajam then invited everyone to
come forward and say that they would have no more enemies. If Sankar said
it, he would get a bound note-book; if Swaminathan said it, he would get a
clock-work engine; if Somu said it, he would get a belt; and if Mani said it,
he would get a nice pocket-knife; and the Pea would get a marvellous little
pen.
He threw open the cupboard and displayed the prizes. There was
silence for some time as each sat gnawing his nails. Rajam was sweating
with his peace-making efforts. The Pea was the first to rise. He stood before
the cup- board and said, 'Let me see the fountain-pen.' Rajam gave it him.
The Pea turned it round and round and gave it back without any comment.
'Why don't you like it?' Rajam asked. The Pea kept staring into the cupboard
and said, 'Can I have that box?' He pointed at a tiny box with a lot of yellow
and black designs on it and a miniature Taj Mahal on its lid. Rajam said, 'I
can't give you that. I want it.' He paused.
He had two more boxes like that in his trunk. He changed his mind,
'No. I don't want it. You can take the box if you like.'
In a short while, Mani was sharpening a knife on his palm; Somu was
trying a belt on; Sankar was fingering a thick bound note-book; and
Swaminathan was jealously clasping a green engine to his bosom.

Malgudi days

CHAPTER VII
A New Arrival

MOTHER had been abed for two days past. Swaminathan missed her
very much in the kitchen, and felt uncomfortable without her attentions. He
was taken to her room, where he saw her lying dishevelled and pale on her
bed. She asked him to come nearer. She asked him why he was looking
emaciated and if he was not eating and sleeping well. Swaminathan kept
staring at her blankly. Here seemed to be a different mother. He was cold
and reserved when he spoke to her. Her appearance depressed him. He
wriggled himself from her grasp and ran out.
His granny told him that he was going to have a brother. He received
the news without enthusiasm.
That night he was allowed to sleep on granny's bed. The lights kept
burning all night. Whenever he opened his eyes, he was conscious of busy
feet scurrying along the passage. Late at night Swaminathan woke up and
saw a lady doctor in the hall. She behaved as if the house belonged to her.
She entered mother's room, and presently out of the room came a
mingled noise of whispers and stifled moans. She came out of the room with
a serious face and ordered everybody about. She commanded even father to
do something. He vanished for a moment and reappeared with a small bottle
in his hand. He hovered about uncertainly. The hushed voices, hurry,
seriousness, agitation, hot water, and medicine—preparations for ushering a
new person into the world—were too bewildering for Swaminathan's
comprehension. Meanwhile granny kept asking something of everybody that
passed by, and no one troubled to answer her.
What did it matter? The five carpets in granny's bed were cosy; her
five pillows were snug; and granny's presence near by was reassuring; and
above all, his eyelids were becoming heavy. What more did he want? He fell
asleep.
The Tamil Pundit, with his unshaven face and the silver-rimmed
spectacles set askew on his nose, was guiding the class through the
intricacies of Tamil Grammar. The guide was more enthusiastic than his
followers. A continual buzz filled the air. Boys had formed themselves into
small groups and carried on private conversations. The Pundit made faint
attempts to silence the class by rapping his palms on the table. After a while,
he gave up the attempt and went on with his lecture. His voice was scarcely
audible. Sankar and a few others sat on the first bench with cocked-up ears
and busy pencils.
Swaminathan and the Pea sat on the last bench.
‘I say, Pea,' said Swaminathan, I got a new brother this
morning.'
The Pea was interested. 'How do you like him?' 'Oh, like him! He is
hardly anything. Such a funny looking creature!' said Swaminathan and gave
what he thought was an imitation of his little brother: he shut his eyes,
compressed his lips, folded his hands on his chest, protruded his tongue, and
tilted his head from side to side. The Pea laughed uncontrollably. 'But,'
Swaminathan said, 'this thing has a wonderful pair of hands, so small and
plump, you know! But I tell you, his face is awful, red, red like chilly.'
They listened to the teacher's lecture for a few minutes. 'I say, Swami,'
said the Pea, 'these things grow up soon. I have seen a baby that was just
what your brother is. But you know, when I saw it again during Michaelmas
I could hardly recognise it.'

Malgudi days

CHAPTER VIII
Before the Examinations
IN APRIL, just two weeks before the examinations, Swaminathan
realised that his father was changing—for the worse. He was becoming
fussy and difficult. He seemed all of a sudden to have made up his mind to
harass his son. If the latter was seen chatting with his granny, he was told
sourly, 'Remember, boy, there is an examination. Your granny can wait, not
your examination.' If he was seen wandering behind his mother, lie was
hunted down and sent to his desk. If his voice was heard anywhere after the
Taluk Office gong had struck nine, a command would come from his father's
room, 'Swami, why haven't you gone to bed yet? You must get up early and
study a bit.' This was a trying period in Swaminathan's life. One day he was
piqued enough to retort, 'Why are you so nervous about my examination?'
'Suppose you fail?'
'Suppose all your juniors in the Fifth Standard become your classmates?'
Swaminathan sat at Decimals for half an hour.
At school everybody seemed to be overwhelmed by the thought of the
examinations. It was weeks since anybody had seen a smile on Sankar's face.
Somu had become brisk and business-like. The Pea took time to grasp jokes,
and seldom gave out any. And as for Rajam, he came to the school at the
stroke of the first bell, took down everything the teacher said, and left at the
stroke of the last bell, hardly uttering a dozen words to anybody. Mani was
beginning to look worried and took every opportunity to take Sankar aside
and have his doubts (that arose from time to time as he plodded through his
texts) cleared. He dogged the steps of the school clerk. There was a general
belief in the school that the clerk was omniscient and knew all the question
papers of all the classes.
One day Mani went to the clerk's house and laid a neat bundle
containing fresh brinjals at his feet. The clerk was pleased and took Mani in
and seated him on a stool. The clerk looked extremely amiable and Mani felt
that he could ask anything at that moment and get it. The clerk was
murmuring something about his cat, a lank ill-fed thing, that was nestling
close to him. Most of what he was saying did not enter Mani's head. He was
waiting feverishly to open the topic of question papers. The clerk had
meanwhile passed from cats to eye-flies; but it made little difference to
Mani, who was waiting for the other to pause for breath to launch his attack.
'You must never let these eye flies buzz near your eyes. All cases of eyesore
can be traced to it. When you get eyesore the only thing you can do is to take
a slice of raw onion. . . .'
Mani realised that the other would not stop, and butted in, 'There is
only a week more for the examinations, sir. . ..'
The clerk was slightly puzzled: 'Yes, indeed, a week more. . . . You
must take care to choose only the juicy variety, the large juicy variety, not
the small onion. . . .'
'Sir,' Mani interrupted, ignoring the juicy variety, 'I am much worried
about my examination.' He tried to look pathetic.
'I am glad. If you read well, you will pass’ said the Oracle.
'You see, sir, I am so worried, I don't sleep at nights, thinking of the
examination. ... If you could possibly tell me something important. ... I have
such a lot to study— don't want to study unnecessary things that may not be
necessary for the examination.' He meandered thus. The clerk understood
what he was driving at, but said, 'Just read all your portions arid you will
pass.' Mani realised that diplomacy was not his line. He asked bluntly,
'Please tell me, sir, what questions we are getting for our examination.'
The clerk denied having any knowledge of the question papers. Mani
flattered him by asking, if he did not know the questions, who else would.
By just a little more of the same judicious flattery the clerk was moved to
give what Mani believed to be 'valuable hints'. In spite of the fact that he did
not know what the First Form texts were, the clerk ventured to advise, 'You
must pay particular attention to geography. Maybe you will have to practise
map-drawing a lot. And in arithmetic make it a point to solve at least five
'I won't.'
'Of course you won't if you study hard and answer well. . . . Suppose
you fail and all your class-mates go up, leaving you behind? You can start
doing just what you like on the very day your examination closes.'
Swaminathan reflected: Suppose the Pea, Mani, Rajam, and Sankar,
deserted him and occupied Second A? His father was right. And then his
father drove home the point, problems every day, and you will be able to
tackle arithmetic as easily as you swallow plantains.'
'And what about English?'
'Oh, don't worry about that. Have you read all your lessons?'
'Yes, sir,' Mani replied without conviction.
'It is all right then. You must read all the important lessons again, and
if you have time, yet again, and that will be ample.'
These answers satisfied Mani greatly. On his way home, he smiled to
himself and said that the four annas he had invested on brinjals was not after
all a waste.
Mani felt important. He secretly pitied his classmates, who had to do
coolly work without valuable hints to lighten their labour. He felt he ought
to share his good secret with Swaminathan without divulging the source.
They were going home from the school. They stopped for a while at
the junction of Vinayak Mudali and Grove Streets before parting ways. Mani
said, 'Young man, have you any idea what we are getting for the
examination?'
'Nothing outside the covers of the text-books.'
Mani ignored the humour. 'Now listen to me carefully, last night from
seven to ten, do you know what I did?'
'Munched ground-nuts?'
'Idiot, don't joke. I made two maps or India, two of Africa, and one
map of Europe.'
'Say all the maps in the Atlas.'
'Maybe,' Mani said, not quite liking the remark, but I do it with some
definite purpose. ... It may be that I know one or two questions. But don't let
the other fellows know anything about it. I may get into trouble.'
Swaminathan was taken in by the other's seriousness and inferred a moral.
IV
Reaching home, Swaminathan felt rather dull. His mother was not at
home. Granny was not in a talkative mood. He related to her some exciting
incidents of the day:
'Granny, guess what happened in our school to-day. A boy in First C
stabbed another in the forearm with a penknife.'
‘What for?' asked granny mechanically.
'They were enemies.' Finding that it fell flat, he brought out the big
event of the day. 'Granny, granny, here is another thing. The Head Master
knocked his toe against a door-post and oh! there was such a lot of blood!
He went limping about the school the whole day. He couldn't take the Third
Form and so they had leave, the lucky fellows!'
'Is it?' asked granny.
Swaminathan perceived, to his intense disgust, that his granny was in
one of her dull sleepy moods.
He strayed near the swing-cradle of his little brother. Though at first
he had been sceptical of his brother's attractions and possibilities, now day
by day he was finding him more interesting. This little one was now six
months old and was charming. His attainments were: he made shrill noises
whenever he saw anybody; thrust his fists into his mouth and damped his
round arms up to the elbow; vigorously kicked the air; and frequently
displayed his bare red gums in a smile. Swaminathan loved every inch of
him.
He would spend hours balancing himself on the edge of the cradle and
trying to make him say 'Swaminathan'. The little one would gurgle, and
Swaminathan would shriek, pretending that it was the other's futile version
of his name.
Now he peered in and was disappointed to find the baby asleep. He
cleared his throat aloud and coughed in the hope of waking him. But the
baby slept. He waited for a moment, and tiptoed away, reminding himself
that is was best to leave die other alone, as he had a knack of throwing the
house in turmoil for the first half-hour, whenever he awoke from
sleep.
Staying at home in the evenings was extremely irksome. He sighed at
the thought of the sand-banks of Sarayu and Mani's company. But his father
had forbidden him to go out till the examinations were over. He often felt he
ought to tell his father what he thought of him. But somehow when one
came near doing it, one failed. He would have to endure it after all only for a
week. . . . The thought that he would have to put up with his travails only for
a week at worst gave him fresh energy.
He sat at his table and took out his Atlas. He opened the political map
of Europe and sat gazing at it. It puzzled him how people managed to live in
such a crooked country as Europe. He wondered what the shape of the
people might be who lived in places where the outline narrowed as in a cape,
and how they managed to escape being strangled by the contour of their
land. And then another favourite problem began to tease him: how did those
map makers find out what the shape of a country was? How did they find out
that Europe was like a camel's head? Probably they stood on high towers and
copied what they saw below. He wondered if he would be able to see India
as it looked in the map, if he stood on the top of the Town Hall. He had
never been there nor ever did he wish to go there. Though he was
incredulous, tailor Ranga persistently informed him that there was a torture
chamber in the top story of the Town Hall to which Pathans decoyed young
people.
He shook himself from his brown study and copied the map of
Europe. He kept the original and his own copy side by side and
congratulated himself on his ability to draw, though his outline looked like
some strange animal that had part bull's face and part camel's.
It was past seven by now and his father came home. He was greatly
pleased to see his son at work. 'That is right, boy,' he said looking at the
map. Swaminathan felt that that moment was worth all his suffering. He
turned over the pages and opened out the map of Africa. Two days before
his examination he sat down to draw up a list of his needs. On a piece of
paper he wrote:
Unruled white paper 20 Sheets
Nibs 6
Ink 2 Bottles
Clips
Pins
He nibbled his pencil and reread the list. The list was disappointing.
He had never known that his wants were so few. When he first sat down to
draw the list he had hoped to fill two or three imposing pages. But now the
cold lines on the paper numbered only five. He scrutinised the list again:
'Unruled white paper 20 sheets.' He asked himself why he was so
particular about the paper's being unruled. It was a well-known fact that, try
as he would, his lines had a tendency to curl up towards the right-hand
corner of the paper. That would not do for examinations. He had better keep
a stock of ruled paper. And then 'Nibs'. He wondered how many nibs one
would need for an examination. One? Two? Five?. .. And then the Ink
column worried him. How much of it did one buy? After that he had trouble
with clips and pins. He not only had not the faintest idea of the quantity of
each that he would need but was totally ignorant of the unit of purchase also.
Could one go to a shop and demand six pins and six clips without offending
the shop man?
At the end the list was corrected to:
Unruled white paper
Ruled white paper
Black ink
Clips
Pins
The list was not satisfactory even now. After pondering over it, he
added 'Cardboard Pad One' and 'One Rupee For Additional Expenses'. His
father was busy in his office. Swaminathan stood before him with the list in
his hand. Father was absorbed in his work and did not know that
Swaminathan was there. Swaminathan suddenly realised that it would be
better to approach his father at some other time. He could be sure of a better
reception if he opened the question after food. He tiptoed out. When he was
just outside the door, his father called out, 'Who is that?' There was no
friendliness in the tone. 'Who is that I say?' roared father again and was at
his side with a scowling face before Swaminathan could decide whether to
sneak out or stop and answer.
'Was it you?'
‘Yes.'
You idiot, why couldn't you answer instead of driving me hoarse
calling out "Who is that? Who is that?". ... A man can't have peace in this
house even for a second. Here I am at work—and every fifth second
somebody or other pops in with some fool question or other. How am I to go
on? Go and tell your mother that she can't come to my room for the
rest of the day. I don't care if the whole battalion of oil-mongers and
vegetable women come and clamour for money. Let her drive them out.
Your mother seems to think—What is that paper in your hand?'
'Nothing, father,' Swaminathan answered, thrusting the paper into his
pocket.
'What is that?' father shouted, snatching the list. Reading it with a
terrific scowl, he went back to his chair. 'What is this thing?'
Swaminathan had to cough twice to find his voice. 'It is—my—
examination list.'
'What examination list?'
'My examinations begin the day after to-morrow, you know.'
'And yet you are wandering about the house like an unleashed
donkey! What preposterous list is this? Do you think rupees, annas and pies
drop from the sky?' Swaminathan did not think so, but something nearly so.
Father pulled out a drawer and peering into it said: 'You can take from me
anything you want. I haven't got clips. You don't need them.
And then the pad, why do you want a pad? Are there no desks in your
rooms? In our days slates were good enough for us. But now you want pen,
paper, ink, and pad to keep under the paper. . . .' He took out an awful red
pencil and scored out the 'Pad' from the list. It almost gashed the list.
He flung it back at Swaminathan, who looked at it sadly. How
deliriously he had been dreaming of going to Ameer Mart, jingling with
coins, and buying things!
He was just going out when rather called him back and said: 'Here,
boy, as you go, for goodness' sake, remove the baby from the hall. I can't
stand his idiotic cry. . . . What is the matter with him? ... Is your mother deaf
or callous? The child may cry till he has fits, for aught she cares....'