Ajanta Paul

Kolkata, India

“Silkinaaa!” cooed Monty, pursing her lips in the beginnings of a kiss and looking in the direction of a white tabby cat perched on her window-sill. “Come, baby…come, come!” she called out. “Come and see what Mom has got for her naughty little baby,” she continued with her patter setting a saucer of milk in the corner of the dining room where ‘Her Highness’ liked to lap it up. “Now you know that Mom has a party to arrange for the evening and how will she go about it if you don’t help her by being a good girl?” Monty coaxed indulgently.

Tabby who had been watching Monty all this while through her narrow, tawny eyes sprang off the sill with an easy grace and went about the ritual of her afternoon tea. Only it was milk and not tea. Tabby loved this time of the day when she was alone in the house with this young woman with long hair who spoke to her, of this and that and so many things. The air especially had a smell of sleep about it, lulling the senses in a kind of fuzzy torpor shot through now and then with interesting whiffs.  Tabby had this sense of a world that smelt and tasted of milk and fish and mice; of the tepid warmth of the winter sun on her fur and the feel and touch of human ankles, legs and laps. Of course, she had no idea of ‘human’ or otherwise, but she could distinguish somewhere in the cells of her brain between these strangely erect figures that towered over her and those darting, scurrying creatures close to the earth.

Monty sat at the dining table busily scribbling on a notepad. She was writing out the tentative locations of the clues to be planted for the ‘Treasure Hunt’ that she was planning for the evening. It was her husband’s thirty-seventh birthday and she had decided on the theme of ‘treasure’ for the party. Her pen paused awhile as Monty tossed back her head and marvelled at her stroke of inspiration which had enabled her to come up with this idea for the party. She wanted to proclaim to all and sundry that her husband was a priceless gift to her whom she treasured above all things.

Monty felt a warm weight against her calves. It was Silkina rubbing her face against her ankles. She bent down to pat her before getting up to prepare the chicken lasagna. She mixed the cream cheese with the mozzarella and placed it in the greased baking dish, covering it with a layer of tender chicken pieces. She arranged spoonfuls of succulent vegetables on that layer before spreading some more cheese on the dish and sprinkling lasagna noodles on top. Vish loved his lasagna and Monty made it really well. Well, most of their friends vouched for that, at any rate. Most of the food for the evening’s do had been ordered from the caterers’ down the road; Monty was just rustling up a few all-time favourites which she knew was sure to go down well with Vish’s crowd. Or would they? Because this time around she had invited mostly Vish’s school and college friends with whom he had lost touch for years, having reconnected only recently and as for her, she hardly knew them.

Fresh out of his bath Vish, who had returned from work was standing before the walk-in closet and considering his sartorial choices for the evening. There were a couple of new outfits should he care to wear them. Oh, I don’t know, he thought fingering some of the shirts ruminatively. In the end he settled for a classic plaid one teaming it with a pair of deep blue trousers. Tabby entered the room with her pacing gait and fixed Vish with a cool, assessing stare. Vish who was looking into the mirror, patting the hips of his trousers and flicking imaginary specks of dust off his clothes turned around to look at Tabby. Now what’s with the cat, he thought absently. He tore off the tag of his new shirt and threw it at Tabby calling out, “Here you are, Tabby Tab, catch this if you can and go throw it in the trash bin.” The tag with a rectangular piece of paper taped to it sailed over the floor and landed in a corner. Abjuring the command Tabby turned around with a shrug of her fluffy tail and padded her way out of the room.

This shirt had been presented to Vish by Tina, one of his colleagues in the office. They did not exactly have a thing going between them but there were times when he felt a strong attraction towards her. Tina, on her part was drawn to him, he knew from the way she looked at him, or was surprised from reveries not to mention the delicacies she frequently prepared for him. They had gone out a couple of times on evening dates. Of course, he studiously avoided any reference to Tina at home for Monty was sure to become mad at him were she to get a whiff of a romance, howsoever tenuous.

 Soon the party was upon them in a flurry of doorbell peals with the cake delivery boy coming in with his huge box, bouquets arriving from online florists trailing hints of fragrance and festivity, and the caterer’s people adding to the merry mélange. Monty put her head into the kitchen calling out instructions to Rita, the girl who came in daily to help her with the chores. Vish barely had time to gather up Monty in his arms and kiss the top of her head before the guests began to troop in. In no time at all the living room was filled with pleasant introductions and salutary exclamations. There were Nitin and his wife Priya; Rahul and Mona; Vinay and Aruna; the Dhall brothers, Pritam and Rakesh; and Avinash who had come alone having lost his wife Monica a couple of years ago. While Rahul, Mona and the Dhall twins were Vish’s classmates from school, Nitin and Vinay had been with Vish in college while Avinash was his childhood friend, the two of them having grown up together in the same neighbourhood.

Soon the guests were comfortably ensconced on the sofas and armchairs. The conversation flowed with the fizzy sodas, colas and fruity mocktails. Pritam turned to Priya and said, “Have we met before? I have seen you somewhere.” Priya returned, “Now that you say it you do seem familiar.” “Was it in Vish’s…?” Priya could not complete her question before Monty swept into the room waving a sheet of paper in her hand.

“I can see there is no need for an ice breaker at all as all of you have already gelled so well,” cried out Monty gaily.  “So shall we go ahead with the ‘Know Your Birthday Boy’ routine now?” she asked looking archly at her husband. She smiled when a chorus of yeses descended on her and said, “Well, then, let’s get on with it.”

Monty busily tidied the few strands of hair that had escaped her chignon and announced dramatically, “Here comes the first question.” She quickly added, “Though, I daresay all of you will agree that it is neither a novel nor a challenging one.”

“Never mind,” Monty’s guests assured her. “Go ahead with your questions, Monty! We are all ears.”

“Who can say what is Vish’s favourite colour?” Monty looked around expectantly. Quite an unimaginative one, that one, Mona couldn’t help thinking but she checked her thoughts and threw herself into the game. “I think it’s brown,” she conjectured.

Someone squealed ‘blue’ when Avinash put up his hand. “White,” he declared offhandedly as though dealing with a very easy card.

“Correct,” drawled Monty. “One point to you, Avinash,” she said as the others clapped.

Monty consulted the sheet of paper in her hand and said, “Now listen carefully, the next question is which beverage does Vish prefer– tea or coffee?”

“Why, that’s easy”, declared Mona. “We used to freak out over cold coffee in high school,” she recalled in a fond tone. “Remember those little coffee parlours with their fancy names?” chimed in Rahul.

“I remember ‘Dailicafe’ and ‘Chocoserie’ which we used to haunt most frequently,” piped up Rakesh shyly. All heads turned to look at him. Monty noticed Rakesh spoke the least and blushed easily.

“And the variety!” added Pritam. “Latte, mocha, iced Americano…”

“Awesome,” agreed Vish. “The variations used to whet our appetite for newer flavours.”

“So do I take it that ‘coffee’ is the answer?” asked Monty.

“Yes, by popular vote,” laughed Vinay.

“Sorry, guys, you got it wrong this time,” said Monty. Her little audience looked at her, surprised.

“Vish prefers tea over coffee, over me, too,” she declared playfully.

The guests laughed uproariously at Monty’s little joke before the latter moved on to the next question.

“Who can say which creature Vish is mortally afraid of – spider, cockroach or lizard?”

The women broke into peals of laughter while the men ribbed Vish in affected consternation.

“What!” exclaimed Vinay, “A grown man and afraid of puny household pests!”

Monty rose to her husband’s defence. “Now, now, no gendering of emotions!” she cried. “Why shouldn’t a man be allowed to express his vulnerabilities without a blow to his self-respect? 

“Exactly,” cried Mona. “Why should social conventions and expectations determine a person’s intrinsic feelings and behaviour?” she continued feistily.

Pritam responded to Vinay’s remark without appearing to register the women’s reservations on the matter. “Yes, Vinay, like it or not, Vish is afraid of…” He checked himself in time.

Both Rahul and Pritam could not wait to answer the question.

Monty looked over her glasses at both of them in what the men would, no doubt have thought a schoolmarmish manner before asking Pritam to try first.

Taking his chance Pritam promptly answered, “Spider.”

“I have to contradict you there, my friend,” Rahul put in a spanner. “I know for a certainty it is lizards,” he declared.

Monty looked at her guests with a ‘There I have you floored’ kind of an expression.

Vish did a little jig. “So you thought you knew me, eh?” he challenged them with an impish grin.

While the spider versus lizard debate unfolded Monty made a quick trip to the dining room to ensure that everything was just as she had planned. She conferred briefly with Rita before returning to the room and saying brightly, “Well, here is your answer. Pritam is right, it’s spider.”

“I know my buddy alright,” declared Pritam with a smug look on his face.

“Looks like it,” agreed Monty but she added as a precaution, “Now don’t be so sure about it. There are still some questions left.”

She settled herself more comfortably in her chair before observing, “Now for a slightly tricky one, which pet does Vish prefer – a cat or a dog?”

Monty tapped her notepad with her pen as she looked around at the assembly of eager faces. A meow distracted their attention. Tabby had padded up silently and stationed herself at Monty’s feet. “Well, talk of the …” quipped Pritam, and Rahul guffawed as if on cue.

“Now this one has us floored,” mused Mona. “We had never noticed any pets in Vish’s home when we used to visit.”

“True,” assented Avinash thoughtfully.

Priya pointed at Tabby and asked, “That cat should be a dead giveaway, though, shouldn’t it?”

“What’s her name?” asked Priya. 

“Silkina” returned Monty.

“What a pretty name!” enthused Priya.

Rahul slapped Pritam’s back and said, “Well, I must confess I had never thought I would find Vish and a cat under the same roof!”

“Oh! Why ever not?” Aruna wanted to know. She looked at the two men regaling each other with snippets of the past. “Remember that time…; Minnie and her menagerie…; How Vish swung Minnie’s kittens by their tails”; and that other time, during the school excursion…”

“Tell us, tell us, what happened during the school excursion?” cried Aruna.

“Come on, guys,” urged Vish. “Nothing of any importance, really.”

“I’m not so sure”, drawled Aruna. “Something must have happened for these guys to be acting thus,” she pointed out playfully.

“Nothing, really!” Vish insisted.

“It was one of those things boys in their growing up years are prone to do …” Pritam waved his hands for emphasis and continued, “In a fit of adolescent violence, you know.” “Nothing more to it, really,” he continued with a note of finality in his voice.

But Rahul would have none of it. “I’ll tell you, folks,” he began, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “We had been taken to this farmhouse on one of our school excursions. We must have been in the seventh or eighth grade at the time. It was a rambling set-up with a main building, outhouses, gardens and stuff. Just outside the expansive premises was this old abandoned sort of a place, a house with gaunt walls and crumbling beams.”

The raconteur in Rahul came to the fore as he warmed to his tale. “Some of us more adventurous ones had ventured beyond the boundary laid down by our teachers, and begun to explore the surroundings of our excursion spot on our own.” He paused for effect and looked around at his listeners.

“In our childish imagination we associated the old, dark, ruinous house with ghosts. In fact, we became sure it was haunted,” he continued. “We entered the house fearfully and began to explore its nooks and corners, even climbing up the ramshackle staircase.”

“Suddenly out of nowhere a sinister looking cat materialized. Now this cat, black with yellow eyes looked at us strangely sending shivers down our spines. We became sure it was an embodiment of a ghost, a malevolent one at that. Now you know what it is like when you are at that age. A few of us chased it around the ruins of the old house. At one point when it was crouching in the shadows we could make out its presence only from the two yellow eyes which blinked like amber traffic lights forbidding us to move forward,” recounted Rahul.

Tabby had stopped in her tracks and was motionless in the way of cats with the hint of a flounce in her tail. Her body had grown taut with remembering. Of course, it was not remembering in the usual human sense of the term but reliving an experience through a metabolic memory, a sensory recapitulation of an ancient legacy. Tabby put out her forelegs, dropped into a relaxed posture, closed her eyes and lapsed into a millennia-old scene that began to be decoded in the molecules of her being.

Bastet, the deity with a small cat head was being worshipped in her temple in Bubastis. It was the feast of Bast as it used to be known in those times and barges full of pilgrims floated down the Nile, depositing the men and women in colourful costumes to make their way to the temple in a joyous procession. The men played on their lotus-stem pipes while the women shook their tambourines in full festive regalia. They came up to the beautifully wrought temple with the two canals leading up to its entrance from both sides listening to the holy chants before drinking their fill of the luscious grape wine that sent them into a delicious torpor.

“We chased the black cat from its hideout in the shadows,” laughed Rahul apparently relishing the incident. “It was an exciting pursuit and we had got into the hunt mode and were thoroughly involved in the exercise.” He would have continued but Pritam took up the thread from thereon, a gleam of primitive enjoyment in his eyes. “There were some five of us, as far as I can remember,” he ruminated. “And we hounded it around the house like demons till it ran out into the courtyard towards an abandoned well.”

Rahul reclaimed the narrative as he could not possibly allow Pritam to deliver the climax of the anecdote. “Vish was the first to arrive at the spot and he fell on the cat with ferocity, picked it up by the tail and threw it with all his might into the well,” he finished with a sudden self-consciousness.

A hush had descended on the room. Vish was fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat. Well, I never! thought Monty refusing to associate Vish with such a cruel act. She could not look at him for a while. Really, how was it possible? Vish was such a kind-hearted person and an animal lover, to boot, always so full of sympathy for the lesser creatures. It may have been the influence of the group. People are known to do strange things in the grip of the so-called ‘mob- mentality,’ she decided. 

In the throes of an atavistic instinct, Tabby, with her fine, feline apprehension of comfort had begun to purr a little. The worshipful atmosphere in the ancient Egyptian town had played itself into her blood stream so that a plasma of inherited tendencies circulated in her. But somehow, something was not right in the room. She sensed an altered chemistry with a part of her brain beeping danger signals.

Aruna tried to dispel the sudden awkwardness in the room. “Oh, come now,” she called out into the silence. “These are schoolboy pranks that are routine stuff…” she looked around for confirmation. Emboldened by Aruna’s response Rahul continued with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “And then there was that time…”

Monty was quick to interrupt him. “May we carry on with the game, please?”

“But that was not all,” Rakesh piped up suddenly. A shadow of pain crossed his sensitive features. The others turned to look at him in surprise. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the cat when it was thrown into that well?”

“Oh, enough!” Vish turned on him impatiently. Though he probably intended the words to carry a touch of friendly raillery they did not come across as such.

Rakesh paid Vish no attention. “It was a very deep well and probably a few feet of water lay in its depths,” he continued. “We peered into it to see what had happened to the cat”.

Rahul butted in, “Obviously it had drowned. Its body lay at the bottom.”

Monty shivered involuntarily.

Nitin ran his hand through his hair looking visibly uncomfortable. He looked across at Priya with an unfathomable expression.

“So that’s that,” declared Vish matter-of-factly, attempting to turn the conversation into other, less controversial channels.

However, Rakesh’s voice droned on quietly but inexorably, “Vish kept picking up stones from around the well and pounding the body of the dead cat with them till the water in it turned red.”

The teasing odour of sun-warmed rock, palm fronds and grape wine in Tabby’s nostrils changed into the smell of blood, of cat blood, once sacred, now spilt in mutilation and murder. The clanging of cymbals and shaking of tambourines grew more frenzied as the pace of the religious rite at the festival of Bast grew in intensity.

Vish tried to inject an element of nonchalance into his voice. “Why don’t you guys look upon it as a sacrifice?”

“An animal sacrifice at the altar of adolescence?” queried Pritam.

“A rite of passage to manhood,” added Rahul.

“And thus we get entangled in the conversation around ‘manliness’ and ‘manhood,’” said Mona with a sigh that seemed to express both exasperation and resignation.

A subtle undercurrent of tension circulated in the room. Tabby sat up erect, her strong body flexible, a crepuscular huntress who had smelt blood.

Mona and Aruna meanwhile had become impatient for the answer to the question.

Monty’s eyes were clouded. Deep in her heart she was confused. She looked visibly embarrassed to call out the answer. After all that had transpired how could she possibly conclude that the birthday boy preferred the cat over the dog? Hadn’t she always taken it for granted that Vish was very fond of Silkina? She ran her hand over her dress, smoothening her skirt and saying in a weak voice, “Well, shall we let that question pass?”

A buzz of assent fell about her ears like manna from heaven.

Monty tried to recapture elements of the effervescent persona she had been projecting all evening. She sang out, “Now I have one last question for you in my little quiz.”

“Who is Vish closest to, his mother, his sister Tina (long settled in Australia reported to have been his absolute favourite in the family) or his wife Monty?”

“Now this should be the easiest one to answer,” said Avinash, aching inwardly with the memory of Monica.

“You can never be sure,” countered Mona knowingly.

“This is a complicated one,” agreed Aruna.

“Go on, folks, figure out this one!” Monty egged on the participants all the while careful to maintain a deadpan expression.

The arguments went back and forth, sometimes erupting into friendly little tiffs while the friends explored the options. Meanwhile Tabby who had been acting a trifle strangely padded into the main bedroom. She returned in a while making her way towards Monty with an ineluctable air of mystery about her. Loving pet, thought Monty. She has sensed my situation and wants to comfort me. She bent down and stroked her head. The cat let out a yowling sound and turned her unblinking stare full blast on her mistress. The little creature’s eyes shone like crystal balls reflecting an unearthly light. Monty almost felt she could read the future in Tabby’s eyes if she really tried. Tabby leapt on Monty’s lap with a feral movement and butted her stomach like one possessed. In her paw she held a clothes label sort of a thing. What is this, thought Monty. What is she trying to give me? She fondled Tabby’s head. “Is this some new game you want to play with me?” she cooed into her ear. “Oh, my poor Silkina is feeling left out with all of us involved in our game,” she murmured.

Monty turned the stiff piece of paper over in her hand. It was a shirt tag, obviously from the new one Vish was wearing. There was another small strip of paper taped to this label. She looked at it idly. Scrawled across it in a bold hand were the words: ‘Happy birthday, darling Vish, love you to the moon and back! Your special one, Tina.’ In much smaller letters were inscribed in a corner the name of Vish’s department and office along with the date. For a while the room and all it held went into monochrome for Monty. She clutched onto the piece of paper for all she was worth. It certainly was a revelation for her. She was getting to know the birthday boy.

“Hey, Monty!” called out Pritam. “There can only be one answer to this one. You know this as well as any one of us out here,” he continued jovially. “Am I right, guys?” he turned to look at the others. “Of course,” smiled Priya happily. From a corner of her eye Monty caught Vish preening complacently in the centre of the room. Rahul badgered her playfully, “Now, now Monty, don’t be modest! Tell us.”

Just as Rita was wheeling in the huge birthday cake on the tea trolley, Monty swallowed a lump in her throat and said huskily, “Sorry to disappoint you, folks but the right answer is Tina!” A moment of silence greeted her announcement. Soon, however a babble of voices took over. “Monty is such a modest wife”; “Tina is one hell of a lucky sister, I must say!” and the like.

As the guests bent to admire the cake, an authentic chocolate sponge imitation of a treasure chest with strawberry, kiwi, vanilla and blueberry coloured jewels spilling out Monty looked at Vish over their heads. He appeared flushed. He shot her a look that was both puzzled and embarrassed. As the guests prepared to sing the birthday song Monty put the ribbon-embellished knife in Vish’s hands. Suddenly the thought occurred to her – it’s only right that a vicious man should have a knife in his hands. She could not recognize herself in this observation. Neither could she recognize Vish. He seemed to her a stranger. This was not the man she knew.

She noticed Tabby had adopted a very tense position. Her belly was close to the ground with her tail curled and close to her body. Her amber eyes glowed in the growing dusk, her body seemed to have acquired a dark satin sheen, almost blackish in its spectral aspect. She seemed strangely cornered. It occurred to her that the tigress in Tabby seemed to have retracted her claws and was waiting, her instincts honed in the centuries old stance of stealthy assessment.

While the singing, cake-cutting and clapping were in progress Monty made a quick trip to the kitchen. She closed the kitchen door and stood with her head pressed against it. She needed to be by herself even if for only a short while to re-compose herself. A painful riff was resonating in her heart. A sound of clawing forced her to open the door. She found Tabby right outside in an attitude of waiting. She bent down to stroke her head recognizing in the cat her foremost ally.

“Hello, hello!” Someone was waving a plate piled with pieces of cake before her. “Where is our devoted hostess?” It was Priya. “Won’t you feed your Vish the first slice of the birthday cake?” she asked gaily holding the plate aloft. Monty took a piece of cake and placed it dutifully in Vish’s mouth, carefully avoiding his eyes. She looked around at her guests and smiled genially even as she shuddered inwardly, and made a mental note to do away with the ‘Treasure Hunt’ scheduled to be carried out later in the evening.