The Calcutta monsoons are but a vicious torment to the Feriwala (travelling hawker) who go
around streets selling their merchandise.
The police are a constant annoyance for 12 months of a year and the
monsoons double it up for two months it stays in the city. It literally brings all
to a state of destitution - these unfortunate Feriwalas most of whom earn their
livelihood from the streets.
In this business one cannot hope to sell ones wares if one is confined
indoors because of the merciless monsoon rains. This morning the sky had
cleared up a bit which had prompted Jamal to leave his house. However within an
hour the sky had again broken out in torrential downpour. Jamal took refuge
under the balcony of an old dilapidated house and cursed his luck and the
weather. But his body seemed to accede to this sudden recess. As if it actually
welcomed this abrupt opportunity to rest. It seemed to Jamal that his body was
getting feebler by the day. He was getting tired too easily.
The damp weather had sorely manacled his earnings which in turn had affected
the food supply for him and his family of four. He had two saddlebags, one that
contained sarees and bed sheets and the other that contained handmade towels (Gaamcha) – both that had never seemed
too heavy for him to carry now felt like a considerably weight. But it puzzled
his as to why on earth would his load become heavy? Where would he get supply
of wares that would make his consignment heavy? He had started his career by
hawking towels; it’s only recently that he had taken on the sarees and bed
sheets.
It’s off late that he had started reeling under the weight of his
saddlebags. Within a few miles of walk he used to feel breathless. Walking
seemed difficult by the day and he just somehow dragged his body ahead.
Shouting out his wares seemed to take a lot of effort and his lungs almost
burst out in violent bouts of cough.
‘Do you sell sarees?’ A feeble woman’s voice came from behind.
On turning back Jamal saw a little boy, maybe six or seven in a scraggy
shorts and dirty shirt leaning against the half open door. But the enquiry
didn’t come from him. It came from a feeble woman’s voice from behind the door.
‘Yes Ammi I have sarees. Do you want to see some?’
‘Yes please can you show me some?’
Jamal handed over the black and red Taangail saree to the little boy.
This was the best he had in his lot. A trifle expensive too. But it was one of
the best of the lot bought from the Akram Mia the best weaver at Kalihati. This
one had a red Jori or silk yarn that was used for making its edges. This was
one of notably the best amongst his hand woven Taant (cotton) sarees and the
most expensive too. Jamal had been carrying this for the last twelve days
without any luck. No one was ready to buy such an expensive saree. As matter of
fact no one even wanted to further the negotiations once Jamal quoted his
price.
The same thing happened here as well. Once he mentioned the price the
saree was promptly returned back to him.
‘Don’t you have anything cheaper?’
He showed three to four less priced cotton ones through the little boy,
which was returned with no consequence. Things started reaching the negotiation
levels once he sent his light green Taant with a diffident red border. Jamal
raised his price to ten rupees as he excitedly starts giving a posy to his
ware, while the other party slowly raised her quote from four rupees. The deal
was finally settled for six rupees.
The ladies have become experts in arbitrations thought Jamal. A man
would probably hesitate to quote almost half price of an item but the women do
it so effortlessly.
The little boy handed over to him a one rupee note and another rupee in
coins. Two rupees in total
‘Can you please take the remaining after two days?’ Came the gentle
implore from inside.
‘I am sorry Ammi I don’t sell on credit. I have a very small business
and I really can’t afford to give out credit.’ Was Jamal’s firm but snug
response.
But Jamal did give out credit to his customers. His transactions were
usually in the afternoon with housewives. In most cases the ladies didn’t have
enough money or sometimes even if they had the money, they didn’t have the
authorization to spend it. Hence the possibility of credit always loomed in his
occupation.
He had to comply to this even if the customer was a complete stranger.
Sitting in the corridor he normally tried to gauge about the family from as
much of the room indoors, the manner of talking and over all demeanor of the
customer that was visible to him. He needed to use this information to evaluate
whether it would be judicious to leave his merchandise with them on credit. But
this customer had been completely evasive. She had carried out the entire
transaction from behind the doors, not coming out even once. The ladies rarely
held any inhibition to come in front of Feriwalas.
This was no situation where one can consider the possibility of giving out
credit. One might even encounter a direful situation of being told ‘Why no one
had taken any saree in this house?’ ‘Who did you sell your ware to my man?’
Again the soft beseeching voice peters out from inside, ‘If you come back in
just two more days, you’d surely get back your money. Please believe me.’
‘I am sorry Ammi. I am helpless.’
There is silence for a while. Then the door creaked open and then a
dark-skinned and adumbral lady steps up to him behind the door wearing his
green and red saree.
‘You have called me Ammi, you have to give me two days’ time else you
have to open it from my body.’ She said in a doleful tone. ‘My clothes are all
gone. I could only come in front of you wearing your saree.’
Jamal didn’t have anything to say after this. He waited for half an
hour more in that porch and quietly left with an insipid state after the rain
subsided. He was now in the hem of the city and the village. He walked slowly
through the meandering muddy roads and sometimes shouted his wares. The city
and the village have not completely merged in this place. It had merely come
close abruptly intermingling in a few places. The moss covered pond still
created a stark contrast with the dazzling neighbouring cinema hall and the gap
was much wider than the small stone wall that separated it.
There were so many vendors who walked the streets of the city, but
Jamal knew very well that it’s the call of the Cotton printed sarees and blouse
that received that highest attention in these neighborhoods. Many inquisitive
and tempted feminine faces came peeping behind the curtains only at the sound
of this particular merchandise.
Just after sunset Jamal started off towards his small house near
Rajabazar. Just before his house he crossed another vendor like him carrying a
basketful of Aluminum utensils. He stopped Jamal and asked ‘How much are the
sarees brother?’
‘It ranges between fourteen and fifteen rupees.’
‘Fifteen! You don’t have anything around ten?’
Jamal quietly nodded and started walking over towards his house.
At home Amina asked him about his day’s business.
‘Not good.’
Amina’s saree he observed was almost in tatters. She usually wore it at
home. She had another one that she had kept carefully to be worn when she went
out to do the cleaning work at Chowdhury Babu’s house. He himself had only one more set of shirt, a
torn trouser and a Gaamcha.
Jamal lowered his two saddle bags in one corner and stretched out on
the old bedstead. Amina kept on talking with her monologue. ‘I know you’d get angry if I tell
you, but believe me I had no other options – I had to buy an Aluminum pot to
cook from the vendor. ‘
She paused and then continued again. ‘The last one had worn out in
several places. I couldn’t get myself to tell you this. But I have to cook rice
as you know. The last two days I have been boiling rice in that earthen pot,
but this morning even that broke.’
She paused again anticipating a reply from Jamal and continued, ‘but I
have done something smart. I took this on credit from the vendor. Such a small
bowl but he was asking two rupees for it. But I drove a hard bargain and made
him agree to sell it to me at 75 paisa. As luck would have it, I didn’t even
have that money to give him. I told him that let me check if there are any cracks
in it today and I would pay him tomorrow. But he was so adamant. He would just
not give in. I quickly had to wash the bowl and start steaming the rice on a
half lit oven to prevent him from snatching it. I called him inside to show him
the same. So he had to give in. He couldn’t have possibly taken his bowl away
from the oven. ‘
Jamal mused over the thought whether the rice would taste different
cooked in a new bowl. Would the pungency of the cheap rice be a bit diluted?
Would the rice not get brittle as it cooled? It was amusing to notice how
dolefulness smears shades of childish frivolousness on one’s imagination.
The rain didn’t show any indication of stopping the next morning.
It had started in the wee hours of the morning. A part of the room was
already wet and damp with the water leaking from the roof. Thankfully the roof
was slanted which prevented a larger leakage. Jamal was grateful for that. This
arrangement saved the bedstead from getting soaked. Also the bedding and his
saddlebags were saved along with the two kids. Jamal had thought that he would start
early this morning so that he could catch the lady’s husband before he left for
work, to recover his money. But the rain had raised a barricade to that design.
Who knew if the rain would even stop today or not?
Amina walked in with a sullen face. ‘How can I go to work on a day like
this? If I don’t report for duty Mrs. Chowdhury would be upset again.’
Amina is of the dark complexion but her hands and feet had become white
with decay caused by excess exposure to water and detergents. As if her skin had
started to rot.
Jamal said, ‘Let her get upset. What can one do if it is pouring like
this?’
Amina shot a glance at the carefully stacked pile of clothes on the bedstead
and replied, ‘As if what you say would make any difference. If she’s upset she
would not give me the bonus during the Pujas. Last week I couldn’t go in
morning because of Banu’s fever and she told me clearly that my absence can
wrest me of my bonus.’
‘So what if she doesn’t give. We are not beggars Amina.’
‘This is no begging. All the other maids get their Puja bonus. We work
throughout the year and the bonus is deservedly ours.’
Jamal gave her a smug look and said, ‘Bibi those are all old rules. No
one follows them anymore. Just wait and see how many people get your Puja bonus
this time. Do you feel there’s any rule or ethics left in this country? Why
else would I be selling clothes on the streets even with a proper degree and
you would be working as a house maid. ’
Amina sigs and says, ‘I think she had come to know that you would not
let me work in any other house. Why else would she suddenly become so brazen?
All the other maids leave their jobs at the drop of a hat’
Jamal could not let Amina work in any other house. Chowdhury Babu’s
house was close to their home. There was no other man in that house except the
old Chowdhury Babu. It was with a lot of covenant that he had agreed to let her
work here. Besides he didn’t want to make Amina a classified house maid.
In the meantime, next door neighbor Paritosh’s ten year old boy came
in. ‘Baba is asking for a new Gaamcha
(towel). He said he would pay at the end of the month.’
Jamal replied ‘No. Tell him that I don’t sell on credit.’
He goes back only to come back again to ask for the price of the Gaamcha. After a while Paritosh walks in
himself wrapped in a bed sheet.
‘Jamal I had always bought my Gaamchas
and underwear on credit from my friend’s shop. But today I am being forced to
buy in cash because of a misfortune. Would you believe someone can steal Gaamchas? And one, which I had been
using for over a month?’
‘Stolen?’
‘Exactly. I have only one set of clothes that I wear to work and the Gaamcha that I use to take a bath. God
knows who have filched it. I hope the one who have pinched my Gaamcha gets my rheumatism too. I
thought I would go for my bath without any clothes then hesitated against it.’
Paritosh laughed opening his partially toothless mouth.
‘What happened to your Dhoti?’
‘Well you can say that had also been filched. The only difference is
that it had been filched by and insider. It is now being used by my wife
instead of her petticoat. She says she feels ashamed to wear her saree without
anything underneath. I had to give it to her. It is ridiculous of her to afford
such modesty at this age.’ Paritosh guffaws again his brazen laughter. He looks
at Jamal’s sarees and says ‘I would have taken one if you would have given me
credit. But you say it is against your business policy.’
Jamal kept quiet for a while and asked ‘What would you wear after
coming home from work?’
‘Well if my wife returns my Dhoti I shall wear it else your Gaamcha – I hope it would dry up by then. ‘
Once Paritosh left Amina asked ‘So how much did you earn sitting at
home?’
‘Earn my foot. I had to sell him in cost price. ‘
‘Oh God! I thought the day had started propitiously and it’s a matter
of time you would sell your entire merchandise once you go out.’
The oven had been set precariously so as to protect it from the leakage
on the roof. Amina sat next to it chopping vegetables. Today it was only boiled
vegetables and rice for lunch. They had not tasted Daal for a very long time now. It was not as if Jamal was
completely bankrupt. He still had some cash saved in the old box, money he had
made selling his merchandise. But it was kept safe as a capital funds to buy
merchandise from the whole seller. There’s money but not the luxury to spend
it. Who else but Jamal could realize the ascorbic irony of this
self-restraint.
The rain stopped after midday. The overcast gave way to streaks of blue
skies from where sunrays stream in. Jamal got
ready to go out. Amina reminded him ‘Please leave the money for the
Aluminum vessel else the vendor would be rude.’
Jamal wondered if he also could be rude and derisive towards that lady
who had bought the saree from him in credit.
He was about to leave when he saw Paritosh also getting out.
‘Didn’t you go to office Paritosh Da?’
‘How can one get out in this rain?’
His office must be a very considerate one that allows half days to
workers stopped by rains concluded Jamal.
‘Which way are you going?’ asked Jamal
‘Towards Bowbazar.”
The Feriwala must not be
fixed to one particular locality. He had to go all over the city. The
neighbourhood you visit today you can only come back here after a space of four
to five days. The rain had given Jamal a bonus reprieve during the morning, so
he sets off in full steam to make the most of whatever was left of the day
towards a crowded precinct. The market is closer from that place, but it
doesn’t affect his business. The women did visit the market for sarees, bed
sheets etc. but not in this colony.
This block of the city was packed with houses almost falling on each
other. He went shouting his wares. His voice had a couple of ladies ushering
him to the landing of their building to see his sarees. While the ladies were
busy looking at his stock another voice of a vendor was heard in the vicinity.
This man was selling table cloths and ladies blouse. The ladies also called him
in. Jamal was shocked to see the office clerk Paritosh walking in with his
saddlebag containing table-cloths, blouse and frocks.
Paritosh gave him an understanding smile and said, ‘Surprised? Hang on
I would tell you everything.’
Both got to sell a substantial amount of their wares. Jamal even got to
sell his black and red Taangail to a middle aged woman with a hefty profit
margin. Paritosh sold a few blouses and a frock. Looking at his vending ability
Jamal deduced that Paritosh was quite experienced in this profession.
Once out in the streets Paritosh disclosed to him, ‘What to do brother?
I didn’t have a job for the last few months. I tried hard but there is hardly
any employment anywhere. So I thought why not try out your profession. I didn’t
have much savings as you know’
‘But why did you hide it? Are you ashamed of this profession?’
‘Ashamed? Nonsense! One cannot afford to be ashamed on an empty
stomach. But you know Jamal; I have just recently arranged a groom for my
eldest daughter. The wedding is scheduled for the end of August. They have
agreed to this matrimony knowing that I have a clerical job. What if they break
the engagement knowing I peddle clothes on the street? This anxiety had
thwarted me to confess my real profession. I don’t even carry my saddlebags
home. I leave them at a friend’s shop and collect it the next morning. I plead
to you Jamal; please do not breathe a word of this to anyone.’
‘I would never do that Paritosh da after knowing everything.’
‘Let me wear the pretense of a Government clerk till I can get my
daughter married off happily then I would take this façade off. I might even go
in front of her in laws house and shout my wares.’ Paritosh again let out his
partially toothless chortle.
Well there was not much time for idyllic talk so they went their
separate ways.
One more day came to an end. A dry half of a day in the monsoon months.
Jamal started his journey back home. He decided to pay a visit to the lady
ignoring the desperate fatigue and exhaustion that he was feeling then. It was
also a long detour from home. If her husband was home then recovery would be
easier.
As he approached the house he saw that the main door was open today and
a man hardly in his twenties was standing on the portico smoking a cigarette. Jamal
pointed towards the closed door where he had made his transactions to the young
man and asked ‘Can you please tell me if the Babu who lives in this room is at
home or not?’
The young man nonchalantly replies, ‘I don’t know - maybe. You can
always knock.’
Jamal gave a couple of hesitant knocks on the old dilapidated door. The
little boy opened the door and looked at him.
‘Is your father at home?’
‘Baba has not gone out today. He has very high fever.’
A man’s voice came from inside, ‘who is it Bablu?’
‘That saree vendor Baba.’
A man walked out to the door. He had wrapped himself with an old
tattered mattress. His eyes were red with high fever. The vendor he had met
yesterday outside his house, who had sold his wife the Aluminum vessel stood in
front of him. Seeing him Jamal almost forgot his intentions to collect his dues
for the saree, instead all he could think of was that since this man had high
fever he would not be back in a while to collect money from his wife.
