THE CELESTIAL ONE By Damodar Mauzo <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> Translated by Xavier Cota <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Guru was relaxing in his easy chair watching the Goa Doordarshan programme on his monochrome TV when he thought he heard a knock on the door. Premabai was busy in the pooja corner presiding over the Friday pooja. Vikas and Vimal, one eye on the TV and the other on the laddoos being consecrated in the pooja, were making a pretence of doing their homework. Guru was not sure whether what he heard was a knock on the door or a sound from the TV. Three months ago he had bought the black and white TV second-hand from his manager on monthly instalments of Rs. 150 to be deducted from his salary for a year. It worked like a dream for a month, but of late, it had started emitting a variety of funny sounds. Premabai looked once towards the door and once at the TV. Noticing the door shut, she said, "How often do I have to tell you when pooja is being offered to Lakshmi, the front door should be kept open. They say that the Goddess turns her back on a closed door." Lakshmi! Over the last thirty years, Guru had grown weary looking for the elusive Goddess of Wealth. How much he had entreated her! He had prayed at temples and roadside shrines and had even said loud prayers at pennant-festooned trees and rocks. Now hope had withered away. Very recently though, since he came into contact with Kusha-ghaddi, the soothsayer, a few tender shoots had sprouted on his tree of hope. "Your desire will be realised", the oracle had intoned. But when? "Confer peace on the souls of your forefathers by appeasing them with pind-daan", he had been told. The man had said that the souls of our ancestors wander around. But how do we recognise them? Guru had wondered. At Father's last death anniversary, there was a problem because the crow had not eaten the pind, the obligatory offering for the dead. After that, Guru had taken the trouble of placing the offering on the roof every New Moon night. On his last visit to Kusha, he was told not to presume that a soul would necessarily come as a crow. It could take the form of any creature. Again there was a sound at the door. Who could it be? He was about to ask Vikas to open the door. But seeing the children engrossed in their books and recalling Premabai's words about Lakshmi's tendency to skip closed doors, Guru lifted his tired body from the easy chair and asked, "Who is there outside?" There was no response. Premabai, who had just finished her pooja, turned, "Go and see at least." She motioned with her eyes. He slipped the door bolt and Guru was dumbstruck by the regal appearance, unwavering look and proud demeanour of the visitor. The children's eyes which had turned from their homework to the TV were now riveted on the door. Premabai who had got up with the little tray of pooja-blessed gram to serve to the children, also stood gaping. Without waiting for an invitation, as if it were his own house, the dog walked in with measured steps and sat smartly in the easy chair just vacated by Guru. After the initial astonishment, Guru began to get annoyed. He thought of chasing him off with the stick in the corner, when he had a change of heart. The dog's coat glistened as if he'd just had a bath. A white stripe ran down his forehead, like a smeared temple-mark. Guru looked towards Premabai who stared unblinking at the dog. "Looks exactly like the vehicle of Lord Dattatreya!" remarked Guru, looking for confirmation towards Prema. "Don't be stupid! His day is Thursday. Today is Friday. It has to be Lakshmi! Nobody can tell what form she will take!" Today had been quite a good day for Guru. This morning just before going to office, he had gone to check the result of the lottery draw. He was pleasantly surprised to learn that he had won ten rupees on the terminacao -- the last two digits of his coupon matched those on the prize-winning ticket. Friday being the day of the Goddess of Wealth, he had invested the entire wind-fall on ten more lottery tickets. Though the office closed at six o'clock, by the time he'd finished shutting the windows and locking the doors, it was six-thirty. On his way home when he saw Shiva at the sweet mart, Guru thought of buying some sweets for the children, but he had no money to spare. "Hello, Shiva! Got a bonus today?" he asked. "No such luck, man. I'm doing the boss' shopping." Guru felt that his job was better than Shiva's. Though both were office peons, Shiva's boss used him for his personal work in addition to his messenger's duties at the office. Pondering over this idle comparison, Guru went on his way. He was anxious to share the news of his minor bit of lottery luck with Premabai, but he knew how she would react. "You put the entire ten rupees on more lotteries? You could have bought lotteries of two rupees and brought something for the children to eat with the rest." Which reminded Guru, that Premabai had told him to buy gram for the Friday pooja. Retracing a couple of steps, he had gone into the market and bought gram for two rupees. With the Margao municipal garden to his left, he climbed the incline of Varde Valaulikar Road. Once he had crested it, he looked both ways to cross the street. One car after another went by. He waited for a gap in the traffic. Suddenly he saw something at his feet. It looked like one of those mithai boxes from the sweet shop. He couldn't make up his mind whether to pick it up or not. By this time another line of cars had started. Guru bent down and furtively picked up the box. In case anybody was looking, he quickly crossed and walked to the end of the street. With a nagging misgiving that somebody might have put some trash in the box and thrown it out, he shifted the box from one hand to the other and sniffed his hand. The aroma of fresh sweetmeats wafted into his nostrils. After leaving the road, and reaching the path through the bushes, Guru removed the rubber band, opened the box and looked inside. The box was filled with boondi laddoos. Quickening his footsteps, Guru climbed over the lower ledge of Monte Hill and then stepped over the upper one into his house. "Today I won ten rupees in the Goa lottery!" announced Guru enthusiastically, giving the gram and the box of sweets to Prema. Since the children would be feasting on sweets after many days, he called out to them. But Premabai said, "Why are you so hasty? I'll first make it an offering for the Friday pooja. Gram is our usual offering. Today let's offer something sweet as well." Prema's practical idea of, both, honouring God and satisfying the children, appealed to Guru. He had a wash, closed the front door and eased himself into the chair in front of the TV. By this time Premabai had begun the pooja. And now all of sudden this .... It has to be a Goddess in the form of a dog. See the manner in which he has walked in and sat down -- as if it were his by right. And the haughty way he sits! When Guru sits on that easy-chair, there's enough place for Vimal to squeeze in beside him. But this dog really fills it up! When Guru's father sat on the chair too -- wait a minute! Could it be Father in the form of this dog? It could well be! When his father died, Guru was young, just fourteen. Father had suffered a paralytic stroke, which had left his mouth paralysed and unable to speak. He used to attempt to speak but no one could understand him. Fifty years back, it seems, the broad strip of land from the bottom to the top of Monte Hill had belonged to Father. Maybe because of the rise in real estate value or perhaps because he was in need of money, Father had sold the entire property. They say he got a lot of money for it. Some say that he wasted it all on gambling. But Mother used to say that Father had bought gold bars with the money and buried the treasure in a secret place. He used to unearth the bars one by one whenever he needed money. But he had never told anybody where it was. It was quite possible! In those days nobody kept money in banks. But shouldn't the guy have told Mother at least? When he was dying, he had contorted his mouth trying to say something. He lay for twenty-seven days on his death-bed and finally died with the secret locked up in his heart. Could he have come now in the form of this dog? Guru joined his hands reverentially. The bewildered children who had nudged close to each other, saw their father joining his hands and piously got up. Premabai again raised up the little tray containing the gram and gently moved ahead. She stopped in front of the dog. She couldn't decide whether to keep the tray in front of him or whether to put some gram in her hand and take it to his mouth. What if he bit her hand? In that case? In that case it's a dog. Otherwise it's a goddess! Premabai hastily put some gram in her hand and held them near the dog's mouth. The children held their breath. Guru admired his wife's courage. Premabai extended her hand closer and said, "Revered Goddess, please accept our devout offerings." But the dog was unmoved. When the gram was brought closer to his snout, he turned his head away. "If we have offended Thee in any way, please forgive us dear Goddess." Premabai knelt down before the dog. "We are Thy ignorant children. We do not know what Thy desires are." And then looking towards the dog, Premabai pleaded, "Please say something at least!" The singular way in which the dog sat, Premabai kneeling and supplicating, he himself standing with head bowed and hands joined. Guru felt the atmosphere of Kusha-ghaddi's den... and he felt humbled. "Prema, hurry up, light some agarbattis and bring them here. Bring the vermillion too. Vikas bring a flower from the hibiscus plant, hurry! Even a bud will do. Vimal light the oil lamp and bring it here. Having completed his orders, Guru joined his hands and squatted on the floor. Guru had been nurturing the dream of wealth since his childhood. He believed that in riches lay happiness. He was sure that some day he would find the treasure buried by his father. Within a couple of years of his father's death, their financial plight became so bad that he had no option but to leave school and start working. A government office job in Panjim was his for the asking but Guru was not willing to move out from his house in Margao. Lest his father's buried treasure fall in some stranger's hands, Guru preferred to take whatever job he could get in Margao. He had worn out his sandals going to countless seers and fortune-tellers. Half his earnings were spent on them. But Guru was by nature persistent. To add to this, the woman he married was very devout. With her influence, his belief in the spiritual and the supernatural had bubbled. He had run through the whole gamut of practitioners of the occult. He had tried rice-grain diviners and trance-masters. He went to Belgaum and even tried to speak to his father through a spiritual medium. He managed to connect, but even after death, Father must have still been stricken with paralysis because nothing that he spoke was intelligible! Recently somebody had spoken to him of Kusha-ghaddi. Guru made a special trip to the port-town of Vasco-da-Gama to see him. Kusha's witchcraft must have been very potent because people came to see him even from distant places. And his clientele was not restricted to the poor and the destitute, as the cars of the big shots parked outside his house testified. Guru's drooping hopes were awakened. Two weeks ago, on a Friday like this at dusk, Kusha, in the course of his shaman-like swinging of the head, had said to him clearly, "Hah - hah - Your forefathers are hovering around you - hah - hah - Their blessings are upon you - hah - hah - They speak to you in signs - hah - hah - they are trying to reach you - hah - hah - you are but an ignorant child - hah - hah - Be alert - hah - hah - give timely offerings to the souls of your ancestors - hah - Don't starve them - hah - hah - Your problem will be solved - hah - hah - hah." He still carried the petals given by Kusha, as a talisman, in his pocket. Guru's faith had become strong. "My dear ancestors, please forgive me. I will make my offering of pind due to you at the next New Moon. And let me know if anything more is to be given. But please, understand what is troubling my mind and show me the way." Vimal had lit the lamp and kept it in front of the dog. Vikas had brought a drooping red hibiscus flower and kept it ready. Premabai had lit the incense sticks. When she applied vermillion to his forehead, the dog gently closed his eyes and submitted himself to the ritual with great understanding. Placing the niranjan in the tray, Premabai extended the sacred lamp, working it in circles round him. With that, Guru sensed a pure and holy aura in the room. All of a sudden, the dog began barking loudly. The children almost jumped out of their skins. Premabai quickly joined her hands in supplication. Guru was trying to fathom the reason for the outburst. The dog was staring at the TV. "Of course! The TV." All this time nobody had realised that the TV was on. "Vikas, quick, put the TV off." Normally, Guru would not allow Vikas to even touch the TV. Vikas happily switched it off flashing a triumphant face towards Vimal. But Vimal's focus was on the laddoos in the pooja corner. With the TV off, peace pervaded the room. It was broken by Vimal who asked her mother, "May we eat the laddoos, Aiyee?" "You kids think of nothing but eating!" grumbled Premabai getting up. The moment she lifted the box of sweets, the room reverberated with loud barking. Guru was perplexed. He felt dejected that he could not interpret his forefather's language. Nonetheless, in his own way he attempted to decipher its signals. Shwan-maharaj, the Dog-Lord, perked up his ears. He stiffened his neck and started sniffing powerfully. Premabai hurried over to the Lord's side with the box of laddoos. "Yes, indeed! First bite to the Deity." Saying this, she took a laddoo and proffered it to the Goddess. In a trice the laddoo from her palm was inside the dog. Guru was impressed with his wife's cleverness. "The spirits of our forefathers have now received their nourishment," he intoned. The white stripe running down the dog's forehead looked even more like a temple-mark as it stood out prominently with the dab of vermilion on it. "At least now, listen to my entreaties dear God, revered Forefathers." Though unsure whether it was God or his forefathers he was praying to, Guru petitioned with great faith. Intending to give laddoos to the children, Premabai had barely turned with the box, when Maharaj let off another thunderous volley. "It is a food for the gods. How can one suffice? Offer Him one more." God gulped down the second one too. "Now at least, Dear God," Guru began. The dog looked at Guru and blinked. Guru felt he was telling him, 'Have patience for a while'. When the third fusillade of barking broke out, Premabai extended the entire box to the Goddess. Even Guru could hear the children gulping. "Kneel down," he rebuked the children. The two kids prostrated themselves. When the last laddoo had slid down the throat, Guru said, "Now bring the gram." As Premabai brought in the little tray of gram, Maharaj stood up. He bounded down from the easy-chair and with a final look that encompassed everybody, he went towards the door. With deliberate steps he walked out. "He seems to be asking you to follow him," Premabai interpreted the move. Guru was in his vest and pyjama. Maharaj was beckoning. But there was no time for Guru to change his clothes. Guru leaped up and grabbed the shirt hanging on the peg. Shrugging himself into the shirt, he ran out. "It's dark, take Vikas with you." Premabai said to him from the doorway. "No. I have to go alone. You get inside. I'll come home after everything is done." And Guru ran after the dog. He was prepared to go wherever Maharaj led. Premabai peering through the dark from the doorway, sent along a silent prayer and gently closed the door. Guru thought Maharaj would lead towards the top of the hill or, to the back of his house, but it didn't happen that way. With a graceful wag of the tail, the dog set off regally like a true king. Stepping down from the ledge, he came to the pathway by the bushes. Climbing up to the road he started walking along it. Guru followed him with an agitated heart. When he reached near the bungalow of Motilal Seth, a bell tinkled and a cycle braked to a halt behind him. "To-m-m-y" With one look towards the cyclist, the dog bounded off and got inside the gate of Motilal's compound. Panting hard, the cyclist dismounted. "What happened, Shiva?" a confused Guru asked recognising the cyclist. "I've roamed all over Margao looking for Sethji's dog. We poor folks have no money to even buy our foodgrains from the ration shop. But these rich people's dogs are better off than us! When he comes home every evening, my boss gives his dog boondi laddoos to eat. Since the sweets in the house were over, I was told to go and buy a half-kilo of laddoos. While returning, the box must have fallen from the cycle carrier. To avoid a scolding from the boss, I went back and bought another box of laddoos with my own money. But when I reached the boss's house, the dog wasn't there. Sethji's wife sent me in search of the dog. I'm exhausted after searching everywhere. I was just going to tell them to lodge a missing-dog complaint with the police, when all of a sudden the fellow enters the bungalow gate in front of my eyes." Guru looked through the gate. After entering the porch, Tommy went round in a circle. He lifted a hind leg, liberally irrigated the pillar and without looking behind, entered the house and disappeared from view. With the crushed feeling of having himself been urinated upon, Guru turned back. --------------------------------------------------------------------- ABOUT THE TEXT: Original published in Konkani with the title 'Devaghorcho' by Damodar Mauzo. Translated by Xavier Cota. This story which first appeared in the special issue of the Konkani daily Sunaparant and in English translation in Sahitya Akademi's journal 'Indian Literature' was read out by the author at the South Asian Writers Conference at the India Intenaional Centre, New Delhi. Damodar Mauzo (b 1944) is a Majorda-based Konkani writer, known for his short stories. He has been writing for over three decades and runs a small business in his village. His forte is short fiction, but his novel 'Karmelin' bagged him the 1983 Sahitya Akademi Award. Mauzo's stories have been both translated and also telecast over the Doordarshan state-run TV network. Mauzo's recently translated-into-English and Sahitya Academi-published hardbound book 'Karmelin' (Rs 125, 2004, ISBN 81-260-1918-2) is available for sale in Goa (at Broadways and elsewhere). His stories have also been featured in Manohar Shetty's Ferry Crossing (Penguin), Indian Love Stories (Rolli Books), Katha Prize Stories, Journal of Indian Literature and in several magazines like Goa Today, The Week, the latest being in the June issue of Man's World. Email [EMAIL PROTECTED] Mauzo's stories are often translated by Xavier Cota, a Tanzania-born returned expat who lives in Salcete and earlier worked as a banker, before taking early retirement, to work in the field he loves -- creative writing. He can be contacted via email [EMAIL PROTECTED] GOANET READER WELCOMES contributions from its readers, by way of essays, reviews, features and think-pieces. We share quality Goa-related writing among the growing readership of Goanet and it's allied network of mailing lists. If you appreciate the above article, please send in your feedback to the writer. Our writers write -- or share what they have written -- pro bono, and deserve hearing back from those who appreciate their work. 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