Anganatla Popat (Popat in the courtyard)

by Divakar Krushna (tr. Aakash Karkare)

“Don’t go inside, Popat, my child, okay? Bhai will yell at you.”

In the courtyard at the front of Seth Nanubhai’s home, stood a six-year-old boy with a green wooden parrot in his hands. Bhaisaheb sat inside in his office, with his two employees, going through various business documents. The warning was being given to the little boy by a young widow standing by the door to the left.

Bhaisaheb had brought this home for himself on Girgaon’s backroad in 1908. A unique aspect of the place was that it had a triangular courtyard in front of it, which was flanked on two sides by two-storey buildings, and on the third side, by the boundary wall, there was a fence as high as a man, which had a gate at the centre. The courtyard was lined with Shahabadi cement tiles, and four steps had to be climbed to reach the gate.

Nanubhai was a broker of some repute in the world of Mumbai’s stock market. He had been born in Bardoli. Once his family came to Mumbai because his father got a job there, they never went back. Even forgot that a place by that name had ever existed. Nanubhai’s father Aamran was a clerk in a bank. He had left behind a substantial estate for Nanubhai. As per Aamran’s wishes, a marriage had been arranged with a suitable bride of the same caste. In his last days, he had told Nanubhai to buy a home in Girgaon. This was the house that had been purchased as per those wishes. This is how Bhaisaheb’s family life began in the year 1908. Bhaisaheb’s mindset — because he’s spent most of his life in Mumbai people say — was entirely consumed by business matters. Within a few years of marriage, a son was born to him. But Bhai was completely detached from his family life. It was not because he was some kind of ascetic, but no one could not ascertain the real reason either. He was simply unable to do what a responsible man of the house should, ask after the womenfolk and children and see how they are doing.

Bhaisaheb’s wife — I can no longer remember her name — was referred to as “Bai” by everyone around her… which if I recall correctly was her maiden name — she bore the brunt of all of the responsibilities of the house. Business and work was all that Bhaisaheb cared about. At the end of every month, he would give his wife whatever amount she asked for. “Bai” had an army of servants to do all the house work. Bhaisaheb would only come into the building on the left, the domestic home, in the morning to take a bath, two times for tea and a snack, two times for meals, and then late at night to sleep. He didn’t trust his employees to do the work by themselves. Everything had to be done in his presence and his joy lay in seeing the growth of his investments. If there was an illness at home, he would ask someone to send for a doctor. Bhai, himself, would never visit the sick person to enquire about their health. He had never even held his son in his hands.

Bai had named her dear son with a term of endearment, Popat. Little Popatlal was a happy customer. He had a great love of parrots. His favourite parrot was inside a brass cage that was hung in the gallery. And in his hands lay a green wooden parrot. Everyone’s else’s favourite popat was playing in courtyard. Narmada Mavshi had also gifted him a parrot made of embroidered silk. Boys from the local municipal school who knew would call out as they passed by the gate, “Popat!”

Popat was forbidden from going out the gate. In the barricaded environment of the courtyard, Popat was free to run about and do as he pleased.

Bai, unluckily, went into labour during the 1918 Influenza Pandemic. Because of the fever, the birth was premature, and the illness became severe. In the presence of all the doctors in Mumbai, but without seeing her husband one final time, Bai’s life on Planet Earth came to an end.

Bhaisaheb did not like being in the presence of sick people. He sat in his room. He missed his wife by a minute. With her dying breath she asked Narmada to look after Popat. And then Bai was gone forever. Narmada wailed deleriously. The two sisters were one soul in two bodies. That day, Popat had been sent to a neighbour’s house to play. At the last minute, he had come running into the house, and been able to see his dying mother’s final moments. But it was too late for the mother to see her son one last time. Popat thought that the four men who carried his mother on their shoulders had taken her to the hospital. Frequently he posed a question to Narmada, “When will Aai return from the hospital?”

Poor Narmada would collapse into tears. After Bai’s death, Narmada quickly returned home. She came back after three months; without any kunku on her forehead.

“Narmada Mavshi, forgot to apply kunku today?”

Stars began spinning in front of Narmada’s eyes. Narmada’s entire family had perished in the pandemic. Bhaisaheb bought Narmada, who had no one else, to live with them. There was no change in Bhaisaheb’s nature in those two years. He behaved just as he used to with Popat, Narmada and all the other people at home. Narmada had only one support. One thing that kept her going. She would look after Popat with her heart and soul. After all, there’s a saying, “If the mother dies, let the mavshi survive.”

Popat wanted to go into Bhaisaheb’s office. He wanted to show his father the green wooden parrot he held in his hands. But Bhaisaheb was completely engrossed in his work. He was carefully going through the stack of papers in front of him and discussing something with his employees. He had no time for Popat at that moment. The boy stood in front of the door for half an hour. He thought that sooner or later Bhaisaheb would invite him inside. Then I can show him the wooden parrot. But Bhai did not call him at all. In the meantime, Narmada came out of the house for some reason or another. The loving warning advising Popat not to go inside the office came from her.

“I shouldn’t go? Bhai is occupied with work? When do you think he will be free? I am going to tell him to buy pomegranate from the market for my parrot!”

“Tell him to buy it for you when he comes inside for dinner at night, okay?”

A flutter of wings interrupted this conversation. It was the parrot inside the brass cage.

“Mavshi, why haven’t you given him any dal today?” Popat asked, looking at the bowl inside the cage.

“Are you really worried about him or do you want some for yourself?”

Narmada was taken back to the month of Chaitra in 1918. The Popat in the courtyard was wolfing down the dal soaked for the haldi-kunku ceremony under the pretext of feeding the parrot in the cage. Narmada had caught Popat stuffing his face with the dal so many times when no one was looking. Popat had been given a bowl of soaked dal that afternoon. The parrot in the cage’s share was included in it too. Bansi from next door came to play with Popat. The parrot in the cage had been named “Lal” by Popat after his favourite colour, red.

Evening had fallen. On the street outside, there was a to and fro of vehicles. The boys from the municipal school stood outside the gate and called out, “Popat!”

That day it was midnight by the time Bhaisaheb finished work and came home. Narmada was in the middle building deep in thought. She was contemplating the universe. Popat was snoring in bed without a care in the world. Padwa was on the following day. Narmada had bought a new slate for Popat. Popat went all over the house with this new gift. Popat had brand new joy in the brand new year. Popat went to the door of Bhai’s office to show him his proud possession.

“Bhai’s not here!”

Bhai had gone to Ahmedabad for an urgent matter.

“When will Bhai return?” he asked the employees.

“Tomorrow evening.”

Popat said to Narmada on the following day, “Wake me up even if Bhai comes late at night, okay? I am going to show him my new slate!”

After getting Narmada’s assurance, Popat went to the courtyard to ask after his favourite Lal. Bhai didn’t return that night. Not the next day either. He finally entered the gate of the house on the morning of the third day. Popat went running towards him.

“Bhai, first come home. I have a beautiful green parrot to show you.”

Bhai didn’t say a word to Popat. He went to his office without even making a single sound. And for two hours sat there conferring with a man who had come with him. Nanubhai had become restless because there was a matter involving a huge sum weighing on him. He didn’t have a moment’s respite for the following four days. He was just making rounds in his car. On the fifth day he didn’t even remember Popat’s wooden parrot. Popat had become angry. He had decided that he would not speak to Bhai on his own.

One night Popat had a fever. Narmada began to get worried. He had gotten fever many times until now. But today Narmada felt worried without any particular reason. Popat had been made to sleep on the room by the street on the second floor. He had felt like listening to songs on the gramophone. Narmada was playing records for him.

Suddenly Popat asked, “Is Bhai mad at me?”

“No, my child. What have you done that he should be angry?”

“No, he is! And you too! Everyone is mad at me!”

“Who has told you this?”

“I think it is so for no reason in particular.”

Narmada went inside. Popat began looking out the window. Bansi was going to school with the other boys.

“Bansi! Bansi!” Popat called out.

Bansi didn’t hear the call. He kept on walking by the window.

“Every single person is mad at me!” Popat said to himself.

He missed his mother today. Narmada came inside.

He asked her, “When will I get to meet aai?”

“Soon, child.”

What other answer could Narmada give? His mother hadn’t gone to a place she could return from. Popat sat up and began to go outside.

“Where are you going?”

“To Bhai.”

“Wait. I will call him here!”

Narmada went outside. She passed along a message with a servant, “Popat is asking for you.”

Bhai was not in office. When he returned, the servant gave him the message.

“Why is he calling me? Tell him I have work right now. I will come in a while.”

Bhaisaheb forgot to come after some time. Popat’s temperature kept on going up. It would not come down whatever was done, so according to the doctor’s advice, Narmada took him to Matheran. There was no constant noise of cars going about. There the boys from the municipal school weren’t standing in front of the gate shouting, “Popat”. But Popat did not get better. On the third day he became delirious. In his daze, he mumbled, “Bhai! Everyone is mad at me!”

Narmada wrote to Bhai and informed him, “Popat is constantly asking for you. Come and meet him once.”

Aai was dead; father was a stranger; the child was filled with fear.

He said, “Mai, you are not angry with me too, are you?”

Bhaisaheb dilly-dallied while coming. A telegram came the next day, “Come over at once.” Bhai left at once. Popat didn’t recognise him.

“Everyone is mad at me!” That was his constant refrain.

On the fifth day since Popat had fallen sick, the servants carelessly left open the door of the brass cage. Once Lal made his escape, he was never to be found again. Just about at the same time Popat shuffled off the mortal coil, the cage of his human body.

Bhaisaheb came back to Mumbai with Narmada. The wooden green parrot lay on the swing. The empty brass cage hung in the balcony. Everyone in the home was in gloom. Narmada was crying. Bhaisaheb was sitting down with his head in his hands. He remembered his wife’s final words.

“Take care of Popat,” she had said with her dying breath.

Where was Popat now? He had flown away.

It was evening now. Cars were out and about on the road outside. The boys from the municipal school stood outside the gate and called out.

“Popat!”