The Package

 Bajar Dadu was prolific! Fifteen children, no less!!

Usually, the Gods frown on such unbridled  reproductive activity. Fortunately, none of his offspring  was born with multiple noses or  hideous tails. Robi Kaku was different though. But more about him later.

Because of locational  proximity,  we became part of Bajar Dadu’s huge  extended family, although my father was only  his nephew.  Almost every day, I walked a quarter of a mile from our house, through the muddy, stinky Behala Bajar  south of Calcutta. Right past the huge garbage pile of discarded fish scales and rotten vegetables, there was this old rambling house with a little temple and a big banyan tree. It was my childhood playground.

Most of my play time was spent at the Bajar bari (Market House) with  my cousins. There were tons of them! We could field our own football team!  We all went to the same local school. The school bullies left us alone. Picking on a Bajar bari boy was not  a good idea! First, you  would be sequentially pounded by  at least a dozen angry cousins! Next, your father would mysteriously slip on a banana peel or get hit by a flying rotten tomato on his next trip to the bajar!

There was a handful of female cousins, generally treated by us as objects of gleeful torment. Insects on their clothes and  chewing gum in their hair were our preferred instruments. They  were scarred for life!

Even today, if you observe a  middle-aged woman happily slapping her husband around in  a fancy shopping mall, please apologize to her on our behalf. We assume total responsibility for her aberrant behavior!

But  I digress. About  Robi Kaku.  It was, indeed, a sad story.

Way back when, in the 1940’s, I guess, a young Robi fell in love and was dumped by his sweetheart. Hey, even in those old days, these things happened once in a while. But Robi took the heartbreak hard. Announced to his  brothers that he is going to destroy himself with drugs and alcohol within a few years.

 Alcohol and  Ganja  were followed by those little opium balls. He would  lay huddled in the corner of his room for days after his opium binges.

The heartbreak was forgotten after a while, I am sure. But the drug abuse got worse and worse.

The family finally found a solution. Sort of.  They  found him a job. One of the ancient business houses in Kolkata, now defunct,  managed the  paper mills of Bnegal.  Robi’s assignment was to travel to the forests of Bihar and Orissa  to  procure timber for the paper mills. He was stationed in Jamalpur in Bihar.  The hard drugs stopped. The consumption of alcohol continued unabated.

My Kakimas would often talk about him tearfully.

“A few more years, he  will be gone after that. What  a shame!”

What about marriage? Well Robi Kaku messed that up too. Years ago, when the family was in financial trouble, he offered to marry a severely mentally retarded daughter of a rich family. They offered a fat dowry.

“I am going to croak  soon anyway. You can use this  dowry money to pay for my sisters’ weddings.” He had said.

He had never seen his wife after his own wedding.

Right after our School Final exam, I went to Jamalpur with cousin Shibu. We were both sixteen. We liked Robi Kaku. We were hoping to go to the forests with him.

He picked us up at the station. He was in his  forties. Looked a lot older. Circles under his eyes. Blotches on his pallid skin.

He drove us around  town in  his company Jeep. Took us to the big bend of  Ganga near the town.

The river was  wide. Dark brown  and bubbly. Surrounded by miles of  farmers’ fields.

We watched the sunset. He rolled one of his Capstan cigarettes.

“Well, I got good news and bad news” He said “There is a surprise audit from our Kolkata office. The auditor is going over all my transactions over the last five years. All the papers are in my bungalow. I have to stay right next  to him. Feed him Chicken curry. Give him Gold Flakes. Watch him like a hawk. So no jungle trips this time. You are on your own, boys.”

“The good news is”, he smiled “I quit drinking. It’s been two weeks”

We were disappointed, but were more  worried about the auditor. Robi Kaku was not a dishonest man. But  with his frequent alcoholic binges, he was probably awful at record-keeping. He bought timber for the mills. Lot of money passed through his hands. His job was on the line!

About the alcohol thing, we didn’t believe him. Even for a minute.

We romped around for two days. Went to the park, the  quarry and the cute little waterfall. Ran around  the golf course. The wretched auditor was right there in the living room of  the Bungalow. Going through the papers till late in the evening.  Robi Kaku was right beside him.

On the third day, he looked really distressed.  In the evening,  he took us aside.

“The bastard wants a big fat bribe.

I can’t leave his side even for a minute.

There is only one way out. But you have to help me.

 I will give directions to the rickshaw. You will go and deliver a letter to somebody and   bring a package back.”

The rickshaw took us through unpaved and unlit roads, crumbling houses and  straw huts, to the end of the town. We nudged each other. This part of town had a lot of young women lounging on the front porches.  Right after the neighborhood ended, there was a little cottage. The rickshaw stopped. A youngish  woman opened the door holding a baby. We gave her the letter.

“Please have a seat”

She went inside for a while. Came back with puffy, tearful  eyes. Gave us a package.

On the way back, we had an argument.

“I am not buying drugs for him, uncle or no uncle” Shibu said “I will throw the package away right now.”

“Let’s look inside.  If it’s drugs, we will throw it away.”

There was a gold necklace, two bracelets  and a gold ring. We delivered the package to our uncle. We figured   that he would sell  the jewelry  to pay his bribe.  Shibu and I kept this our little secret. We have never told anyone about the package to this day.

I went to college and left for America after a few years.  Robi   Kaku  really quit drinking. Everyone looked forward to his visits back to  Bajar Bari. He retired in Jamalpur.

The folks at Behala found  out about his son many years later when Robi Kaku passed away.  Shibu and I first saw him  with his mother when he was a baby.

Ramnath, his son, is now a  manager in   a hardware store. Our correspondence over the years has been awkward and impersonal. He can not write in English or Bengali, and I can not write in Hindi unless you put a gun to my head. Next year, I will visit him.

His mother is still alive. I would finally get a chance to ask her about the package!