My
mentor in philosophy was the third Earl of Kingston, Bertie Russell, born circa 1872, died 1970 oblivious of the
ardent affiliation of mine. What he once wrote is relevant to our story here-“..between
Theology and Science there lies a No Man’s Land…that’s Philosophy. Almost all
questions of most interest to the speculative mind are such as Science cannot
answer, and the confident answers of theologians no longer sound convincing...”
The only improvement I have made upon his words consists in the capitalisation
of initials of some important words that are carriers of significant concepts…
It
was in bleak December, and Kong Beloris, my dear friend, and I were lounging at Swish, Shillong’s most
ancient café, waiting for the dense Meghalaya fog to run its course. Inside, it
was 4 in the evening, and outside, a dark freezing midnight. Bah Tito Syiem,
the Café Manager, carefully purring on a hot coffee while trotting back and
forth, waited patiently for the fog and the two remaining occupants of the café
to disperse. Kong Dr Beloris Lapang, D.Phil and I were sitting at our usual
corner table, debating the longevity of Philosophy, the subject Kong taught at
Shillong’s excellent University, NEHU, and Bah and Kong are not Khasi names,
but merely honorifics sans which gentlemen and ladies respectively may not be
addressed by you.
Kong
Beloris was lamenting the exponential decline in admissions to her Faculty,
seeking comfort in her approaching retirement from service. It was here that I dusted
and delivered the quote that forms the substance of our first para. Kong, said
I, theology and it’s surrogate, religion, are in retreat, their territory contracting
by the day. Simultaneously the canvas of science expands as she conquers territory
after territory. The scope for Philosophy is therefore that much less. That is
why philosophy as a discipline has lost fecundity and vigour. A day has to come
when the sum of annual admissions in your departments all over the country equates
itself with the sum of retirements…only replacement demand would remain! That
was certainly a prospect Kong failed to relish. I don’t expect such negative
vibes about my subject from you, Carl, she said… pinching me in fun..
The
to-and-fro metronome movement of Bah Tito had continued in the background. All of a sudden Bah halted in his tracks,
turned around, placed his coffee mug on the mantelpiece of the fireplace which
hosted a crackling fire, rubbed his palms vigorously at the fringes of the
fire, and thus replenished with warmth, approached our corner with his Lajong
mug. Do you mind if I joined you, asked Bah,
and upon our nodding cordial assent, pulled a heavy teakwood chair.
Khublei
shibun, said he, I was listening to your conversation with some attention, an
act of mine which deserves your indulgence, for the mention of the word
Philosophy floods my mind with the memories of the delicate Lenore, Lou for
short, and Philosophy is the world where I seek solace when I try to come to terms
with her existence. Is it some kind of third-party-existentialism I felt like
asking, but the sun-and-shade of emotions that flitted across Bah Tito’s thick
brow compelled me and Kong to let Bah continue uninterrupted. Umm.. he said, in
that sense Philosophy which is perhaps a matter of theory for you, is for me an
article or a contrivance of daily use, like a bed-spread or a fishing-rod you
may say…Nevertheless, Bah Carl’s definition deals me a strange relief today,
how and why, I shall presently explain…
Umm
I can’t help but begin with Lou’s eyes, said Bah Tito, for they had- note the had-
had a special sparkle that lent a peculiar glow to her beautiful face,
which again, being a Khasi face, had a measure of strangeness in proportion
that Blaise Pascal would have commended- or was it Poe, or umm Poe quoting
someone in...Eleonora? Lou’s face had a
high recall quotient on account of her special eyes, and like beams of light
emanating from a car’s headlight they shone.
She was my youngest sister, 15 years in between, and when I went to fetch
her, as a little girl, from the Laitumkrah bus-drop, I would locate her easily
in the cramped Loreto school-van from a mischievous gleam of eyes sitting in a
corner, brimming with joie de verve and an irrepressible curiosity about
the world in general..
Well,
umm, Lou was the beloved of the household, and as you must have guessed, she
was the family’s khadduh- the youngest daughter, the inheritor of the family’s wealth.
Ka khadduh, amongst Khasis, is the family darling, not for any motive, but it
is a fact, simply stated, that ka khadduh is the recipient of much inquisitiveness
and adoration, and Lou was such a source of delight!
She
grew like the phases of the moon, blossoming into an exquisite beauty, tall,
delicate, and boys would sway when she walked down the undulating streets of
Shillong, on her high stilettos as only a Khasi girl can. Bright at school, she
was, and the Shillong Choir would sound incomplete without her. In short, a daughter
or sister to treasure, cynosure of all eyes wherever she went! A beautiful and
fulfilling future awaited her expectantly...
She
had just turned 18 when that year’s Nongkrem arrived, the Khasi thanksgiving
festival celebrated at Smit in early winter, after the harvest, where the sacrificial
goats are offered to the Gods, and where Khasi virgins and boys congregate, to
dance in the steppe-like fields, scattering the golden hue of pure Khasi gold
ornaments and crowns to the skies, to the entrancing accompaniment of drums and
pipes...
Then
it happened. We lost Lou. She disappeared...simply vanished from the face of this
earth as it were, leaving no physical token of existence! Her friends saw her
last at the altar of Ka Pah Syntiew, on the fifth day of the festival. Frantic
messages went out to the head-men, the Lyngdohs, the Syiems...We combed the whole
of Khasi hills for her, from the heights of the Nohkalikai Falls, to the depths
of Dawki, to the wilderness of the Mawplang forest, where for 2 whole days in a
feverish trance we negotiated the arms of the castanopsises and the pinus kasia,
swaying and whistling wildly to the angry winds, side-stepping the poisonous cobra-lilies,
ferns and pipers that inhabit Lou’s beloved sacred forest. We then remembered
her obsession with Nohkalikai…
Here
I blurted out something which I quickly realised was wholly misplaced, even as I
intoned my last word.. “ but what did the police..welll.. say”? Bah Tito gaped
at me, his mouth struck open and the only word there spoken by Kong was the
whispered word “Carl”, Kong Beloris looking at me half in disbelief, half in
amusement…a Khasi will rarely, if ever, approach the police force over family matters unless he’s sure
that an outsider was involved...
..and..continued
Bah without allowing the sombreness of the narrative to flag...do you know how
the tallest waterfall in the world got it’s name? Poor Ka Likai had jumped in
anger and grief from the Sohra hill- that’s where the Noh comes from- when she
saw the severed fingers of her child! So..I even checked the green plunge-pool
half a mile below for our girl, to rule out the possibility of Likai having
permeated Lou’s mind..umm..
Now
you know Sir what it is to try to come to terms with someone’s existence! One
day my dear child occupied the whole length and breadth of my world, and the
next day she was gone! Mamma and Papa were of course disconsolate. They waited
in vain all the time watching from our terrace the winding road that leads from
Laitumkrah to our abode in Lummawrie. Umm..Mamma visited various churches and
must have sacrificed at the very least a hundred roosters. Mamma hosted many a Khasi ritual, the chief being
the Egg Oracle, where the priest invokes the supreme God U Blei Nongthaw, breaks
an egg, and from the way the shell crumbles tries to divine His command. By all
indications she was very much alive and happy, so they said! How could she be
happy away from her family..duh...!Much as I wanted to share my parents’ plebeian
hopes, in the heart of hearts I feared the worst, though I must confess I would
see the likeness of Lou in every girl approaching from a distance. Philosophy
was my only succour and solace. Why did Lou go away? Ka tyrut? Khasi philosophy
never attributes a mortal departure to the will of God- the machinations of the
vicious spirit ka tyrut are believed to be behind every mortal event...and...
Umm..
Bah Tito paused, apparently in order to compose his philosophical
interpretation of the events, and also to allow the lump in his throat to
retreat....
”Strange
are the ways of fate” I mused absently.
Well
well, strictly speaking, we Khasis don’t believe in the way the Christian
religion treats the concept of Fate, Carl, said Kong Beloris, looking kind of
askance at me. Bah Tito nodded vigorously, for none other than NEHU’s
Philosophy department seemed to be certifying his world-view..ka kambhah
kambynta we call it, said Kong..and before she could elaborate, Bah, being
better prepared thanks to Lou, jumped the gun..Ka kambhah kambynta said Bah
Tito defines the way Fate is supposed to operate. The unborn child in her
mother’s womb is confronted by ka Lei Synshar, our equivalent of the Hindi
Brahma, with various kinds of fate and the embryo has to choose one, failing
which she or he will remain still-born. How and why had Lou chosen to
disappear? That was the question which we asked ourselves...
…Outside
Swish the weather was worsening, as further reinforcements of fog arrived from
the heights of Laitkor...Bah Tito’s mystery took on further lease of life..
Umm..said
Bah years passed, the world went on and did what Father Marbaniang pompously
says- is it not ‘ tempus edax rerum’ Kong? Tempus edax rerum...to be sure..Time
heals, but when..?
Umm…about
three years after the unfortunate events, I happened to be in Calcutta. All
said and done, in spite of the emergence of Gauhati, Calcutta still remains the
umbilical cord that connects the north-east to the mainland...Umm…I had gone to
have a look at a second-hand frigidaire..there it lies in the corner... the
skies were overcast just like today, I had taken a morning-walk in the Maidan and was crossing the main-road near
Grand, when I saw a well-dressed girl emerge from the Hotel, and she..was it
Lou...? I missed a thousand heart-beats- the same stiletto-balancing walk, the
same profile and...”Lou” I yelled in spite of myself, keeping my best manners
under animated suspension. The girl froze, turned around, yes she was Lou
indeed, the same shining eyes, the same tall forehead, same garden-fresh complexion...a
bit taller…she had in the meantime covered her cheeks with her two palms like
the figure in that scream painting and exclaimed, to my surprise, “Dada”, which
is how they address an elder brother in Bengal. She regarded me most cordially
and with affection, as the whole of Chowringhee spun around me, and conscious
of the explosive potential of the situation, she hurriedly came across, held my
hand, and promised to explain to me everything once we reached her home in
Behala.
We
clambered onto a rumbling tram, found seating easily, moving as we were against
the morning traffic, and looking out of the window I sat, the montage of the
past three years playing fitfully before me like an old movie print. Calcutta
was the only place in the world where such dénouement could have unfolded…I
consoled myself..
Umm..Lou
was shaking nervously. We alighted at the Behala Chowrasta and reached her
home, on the second floor of a decorous building behind the Museum. There was
no one inside, seemed she stayed alone. The ambience bore the stamp of style
and affluence, to my great relief. It was unusually cold for Calcutta and Lou
was shivering. Bah Tito she asked, of course you have not given up smoking, let
me get a pack of cigarettes for you, there is a pan-shop across the street, she
picked up her purse and slid into the winding staircase.
I
looked around the small house , it was neatly kept, as could be expected of
Lou. The memorabilia in the showcase evidenced a trip to South East Asia, with
those merlions and red-dragon images. A guitar hung beside the dresser in her
bed-room. Good, there was a picture of the Christ, which bore uncanny likeness
to the one back in our Shillong home, how this thing called habit works, I
mused. I ventured into the little balcony. It overlooked the pan-shop Lou spoke
about. I looked around but failed to spot our Lou wearing the red T-shirt with
the number 10 on the back I had noticed when I last saw her hurry down the
stairs…
And
that was also the last I had seen of her. The elements had again played truant,
and Lou had vanished. She never came back with the promised pack of Four
Square.
We
sat in stunned silence, I and possibly Kong, trying in our minds to apportion
blame for the lost resurrection. I sighed, and just to relieve Bah Tito of the
sheer burden of misery that overtook his weather-beaten face, reminded him of
his resolve to explain the relevance of our Quote here, how it could provide
poetic relief to him.
Umm..
said Bah Tito, you talked about the no-man’s- land between religion and
science, did you not? As I realise, the hand of dark-forces stands ruled out by
the fact of Lou’s reappearance. The territory of the known expands thereby, and
thence I derive peace and quiet…but Philosophy will always be there for me…my
bed and fishing-rod!
