TRANSLATIONS: ARUNAVA SINHA

Although the conclusions of the extraordinary experiments conducted by Bhanu-da’s Dhon-kaka are not yet ready to be published, in consideration of the colossal mistake it would be to deprive the masses of such valuable findings, I am revealing, if not in meticulous detail, certainly to a large extent, all that happened. Needless to add, all the names and other related information are products of my imagination. For although some of the principal players might claim immortality in the field of scientific research, readers prone to fastidiousness might smell some violation of the law here. Nor do I want to cause harm to religious-minded geriatrics or green-behind-the-ears government employees on their way up the ladder. Let us assume I’ve made the whole thing up.

The setting was a suburb of Calcutta, which was pretty much a backward village even twenty-five or thirty years ago. People left their front doors unlocked when they went out, not that anyone possessed anything worth stealing. But it wasn’t as though a handful of rich people didn’t have large houses like those country villas with gardens. Bhanu-da’s Dhon-kaka’s family had lived there for four generations. In a sense they were the heads of Gosaigaa. The village was named after Dhon-kaka’s father’s grandfather, old man Gosai. They used to live round the year in the most ostentatious house in the area, protected by a suitable entourage of doormen and guards. The old man was furious with the city. He owned a huge tobacco business, in fact some of it even used to be exported. He had large tobacco factories and godowns, where everyone in the village worked. He controlled everything that they did, but then he also donated money unstintingly when they were in trouble.

Old man Gosai did not trust the government. He was convinced that as soon as he died, government departments and opportunist descendants would waste no time in ruining the business he had built so painstakingly. So he willed his entire property to his idiotic and completely illiterate eldest daughter-in-law, put in place a strong trusteeship council, and departed smiling at the age of ninety. He was certain the government wouldn’t usurp the property of women, and men had no rights to women’s wealth.

But the woman in question was so considerate that no one in the family suffered. Happily, since the trust included old man Gosai’s sons and grown-up grandsons, no one objected to the arrangement. Work proceeded unhindered. Because Borothamu, as the new owner was addressed, had not studied beyond the basics of the alphabet. Even after her husband’s death she obediently and willingly affixed her signature wherever her brothers-in-law and sons wanted her to.

By then she was over seventy. Her sons and nephews were between fifty-five and sixty themselves. A houseful of dark-skinned granddaughters swarmed all over the place, while there were only four grandsons and grandnephews in all—Bhanu-da’s father, and his three uncles, whom he addressed as Boro-kaka, Dhon-kaka, and Phul-kaka, respectively. The two eldest brothers had not acquired much of an education, immersing themselves in the family business from an early age. Since neither was particularly intelligent, the enterprise had not been expanded afresh.

Things were different with Dhon-kaka and Phul-kaka, neither of whom went anywhere near the idea of commerce. Dhon-kaka was what might be called a born scientist, who had been experimenting with various things since birth. He was absorbed in studying biology and zoology. After passing his MA examinations, he didn’t even think in terms of employment. Instead, he got a mason to rebuild the empty cowshed adjacent to Borothamu’s vegetarian kitchen and converted it to his laboratory. Using his share of the proceeds from the family business, he purchased scientific equipment and chemicals, and immersed himself in research. He had apparently discovered information that would transform the entire animal kingdom. The family couldn’t stop laughing when they heard.

Phul-kaka had done well in his studies. He was a detective by profession, and a codebreaker by passion. Soon he acquired great expertise in deciphering ancient codes, and drew Dhon-kaka to this pursuit too. The two brothers were thick as thieves.

It took no time for a mad scientist to join the set-up. This was Borothamu’s younger brother, a genuine savant. The experiments proceeded along the route he had laid out. Shortly before his death, he asked Dhon-kaka, ‘Are you making any progress? Increasing intelligence isn’t child’s play. First tell me the effect of the potion on the brainless caterpillar you took from the tomato plant.’  

Dhon-kaka said, ‘How do I break the bad news? It turned incredibly violent in one week. In the seventh week it developed a set of teeth in its jaws. In another week it crunched up all its innocent companions. Then it wove a black cocoon and flew out of it at the appointed time looking like a bloodsucking vampire bat.

Sighing, the guru asked, ‘And what of the rabbit? It at least had a brain.’

‘What can I say, my lord, it developed a pair of horns, its teeth grew pointed, and I can’t even begin to tell you how bad-tempered it became. One day it gnawed through the wire cage and escaped, I’ve been told it has become a menace in the neighbourhood. No one dares have a small pet anymore, everyone is furious with me.’

Hopelessly the guru said, ‘Hmm, just as I had thought. Experimenting with the brain is no easy matter. The memory is the container of knowledge and learning. The impact of those faint marks and indentations in the brain can be tremendous. It ruins the entire life of the individual. The more the intelligence, the greater the danger. Intelligence must be fed on knowledge, my boy, or it will go rogue. Just like electricity, if you don’t use it, it will spread everywhere and create havoc. You have to apply this potion with great care, or else the outcome will be disastrous. The Ramayana and the Mahabharata and the Puranas are chock-a-block with examples. There is no doubt that it took very little to please the sages, who would promptly hand out potions to the most unsuitable people. Knowledge must be used to restrain this potion-enhanced intelligence, which most of the sages didn’t know.’

Dhon-kaka’s mouth fell open at this. The guru continued, ‘These aren’t cock and bull stories I’ve dreamed up. Although it is true you cannot take a single step on the unknown path of scientific experimentation without an outlandish imagination. The fact is that my ancestor from fourteen generations ago was a great Sanskrit pundit. I discovered all of this in a handwritten manuscript of his. It’s my research based on that manuscript that led me to invent Formula 16.’

Needless to add, the guru was on the verge of kicking the bucket when he was saying these things. Who talks like this at any other time? His voice was getting fainter. With no other remedy at hand, Dhon-kaka shoved a tablespoon of Formula 16 down the guru’s throat. It worked at once. Sitting bolt upright in bed, the guru said, ‘Oho, ten drops would have been enough. So much wasted. Anyway. You must complete what I didn’t get the time to finish, you have to test the reaction of humans to the formula. Animals have pea-sized brains, how much intelligence can they hold? The rest of the intelligence, having no receptacle, changes to mischievousness. But then simians have large brains, you can try a couple of experiments with them. Only after taking all precautions, though. Intelligence without learning is a very dangerous combination. There’s nothing such humans or simians are incapable of. The potion will realise its potential when the subject is highly educated. Uh-oh, looks like I can’t handle the strong dose after all. The formula is written on a piece of paper under my pillow. Good grief, what on earth is all this.’ With these words the guru set off heavenwards.

Putting the bottle of potion back in the cupboard, Dhon-kaka collected the formula written on scraps of cotton-pulp paper. Only after this did he proceed to fetch everyone with loud lamentations. The guru’s devotees said, ‘Nothing to be surprised at, the only surprise is how he survived so long.’

Since no one knew of this greatness, no procession was taken out to mourn his death. But no part of the last rites was left unperformed. About a fortnight later, when all the formalities had been completed, the family lawyer read the will and said the old man had bequeathed everything to Dhon-kaka. Once they learnt the extent of ‘everything’ the family chuckled and left. On his part Dhon-kaka cleared the grocery bill of Rs 32, distributed the quilts and ripped clothes and old utensils among the poor, hid the bottle of Formula 16 beneath his shawl, put the piece of paper with the formula in his pocket, and retired to his own room in the evening.

Finally he had a chance to examine the formula in private. Phul-kaka was in the room too, the brothers were joined at the hips. He was in hysterics at the sight of the bottle and the piece of paper. But when he unfolded the scraps, Dhon-kaka couldn’t believe his eyes. The entire formula was written in code, all four pages of it. Phul-kaka was delighted, given his passion for deciphering coded messages, but even he had to admit breaking this code was beyond him.

That was the moment Dhon-kaka began his own serious study of code. In four years he became an expert, making a name for himself, and began to get assignments. He was now earning regularly, and used the money to keep experimenting with Formula 16. Happily for him, no one had an inkling of its existence.

Two more years passed meanwhile. Naturally, domestic life did not take a backseat in this period. Phul-kaka got married and was now posted in Burdwan. Dhon-kaka hadn’t married at all, where was the time after taking care of Borothamu and pursuing his experiments? Life had been going smoothly all this time, but suddenly there was deep turmoil. As many people may have noticed, crises don’t appear singly, they gather in numbers and bear down on the victim. There appears to be no way out in such situations. This was exactly what happened in Dhon-kaka’s life twenty years ago. His own earnings allowed him to live well. A vegetarian, he shared Borothamu’s kitchen. The understanding was that he would buy fruits and sweets for both of them, while the rest of the expenses and arrangements were her responsibility. In addition to the various advantages of this set-up, it also meant having Borothamu nearby all the time. The old hag was mad about novels. Dhon-kaka began to bring every single novel published so far in Bengali for her to read, although she was more partial to modern romances.

But that alone wouldn’t do, would it? You have to prepare the soil extensively to get a superlative crop. And besides, the older novelists were not exactly lacking in romantic passion. Caramelised sweet curd would be procured for Thamu from Gopal the sweetmaker’s shop. Initially Dhon-kaka began to measure out ten drops of Formula 16 every day and mix it into the curd. The harvest it produced even on the untreated soil was beyond belief. Within a fortnight Borothamu started reading every book on every shelf of her late father-in-law’s private Gosai Library. At first she needed a few things explained to her, but not only was there no need for this soon afterwards, she even bought notebooks to make notes in.

Dhon-kaka was probably deluded by these unexpected results. He began to instigate Borothamu into taking a more active role in the tobacco business. Now she began to create trouble over signing papers. Not only did she insist on having everything explained to her, but she also wanted to know why something had been done this way and not that way, and asked many other questions. The trustees had to admit there was no flaw in her reasoning. They had no choice but to comply with her demands. Poring over the documents made her ridiculously self-confident. She was over the moon with joy the day she discovered she had the power to dismiss the trustees. She began to toy with the idea of shifting the office to her residence. Her only advisor was Dhon-kaka, who realised that to go one better than her he would have to take fifteen drops of the potion every day, or there was no hope of catching up. He couldn’t fathom where this was going to end. On top of everything, even at seventy-two the old hag was getting healthier and stronger every day. It was obvious to Dhon-kaka that this was a side effect of the potion. It took him no time to realise that the goddess of wealth herself resided within this formulation. Meanwhile, the more the tobacco business expanded, the easier it became to solve the other problems. A phalanx of suitable boys showed up to willingly marry the regiment of dark-skinned foul-tempered granddaughters. No male in the family was without work anymore, even the laziest of the lot were mobilised by Borothamu to repair and catalogue the library books.

Still Dhon-kaka had no joy in his heart. Sir God was on the rampage. This was not the traditional god up there but Dhon-kaka’s potion-consuming educated simian, with whom his experiments had begun. Sir God had come here as a child, and, over time, thanks to the potion, he had learnt to understand speech as well as read and write. But that was it. The other skills he acquired were expended on misdeeds amounting to grave wickedness in various forms. Mentioning these would mean teaching bad things to readers. The neighbours were terrified, and the police devised ways to apprehend the miscreant. Not that anyone suspected that it was a monkey.

By this time Borothamu had become so brainy that no she no longer gave a damn for Dhon-kaka. All she said was, ‘No illiterate woman can become so intelligent in normal course. What have you fed me, out with it.’

Some of the truth had to be revealed, but it would have been best not to have talked about Sir God. Like a know-all Borothamu said, ‘Various parts of the brain control various aspects of the mind. The gentleman probably lacks a sense of right and wrong. Let me think of how to make use of him.’

Dhon-kaku flinched in anticipation of trouble. There was nothing the dangerous duo could not do. Dhon-kaku recalled how Sir God would chuckle when he taught him how to read. But he had no time to think of anything after this, because the very next week evening Phul-kaka arrived with a glum face and a car and practically lifted Dhon-kaku bodily to take him first, to the airport, and then to his actor brother-in-law’s house in Bombay. And then, he was spirited away abroad under a fake identity with the brother-in-law’s drama troupe. What remained were three or four jars of Formula 16 in the cupboard, and the formula in code, hidden in the wall-clock. Which meant no one was going to be able to decipher it. Dhon-kaka himself hadn’t succeeded despite his best efforts. Borothamu kept one of the keys tied to the end of her sari, and Dhon-kaka took the other one.

Once he had realised that Sir God was connected to the terrible reason for the way he was suddenly smuggled out, Dhon-kaka raised no objections. Not that Phul-kaka would have entertained them. His practice was beginning to flourish, he couldn’t afford a scandal. As he left Dhon-kaka asked his brother brokenly, ‘He didn’t injure or kill anyone, did he?’

‘Not killed, but injured. He cleaned out a government bank. Left no clue, but it didn’t take me long to work it out. You need to be respectably missing now.’

Which was exactly what Dhon-kaka did, leaving disguised as an actor. Having consumed Formula 16 for quite some time, he achieved extraordinary success on the stage. Dhon-kaka conquered America, where he passed almost twenty years of a triumphant career. Seven or eight pretty actresses in succession practically forced him to marry them. He made huge sums of money too.

But there was no joy in his heart. Phul-kaka wrote to him regularly, informing him of everything except what really mattered. All Dhon-kaka learnt was that there was no embarrassing outcome of the bank robbery. The money was found in the dustbin of Governor’s House. After a month of bizarre speculation in the newspapers about why the money was taken and why it was abandoned, the whole thing was gradually forgotten. No one associated the Gosais with the incident, nor were they suspects. Everyone was told Dhon-kaku was abroad for research.

In truth he researched nothing but human nature. No laboratory admitted him to conduct experiments. He had no degrees or diplomas he could produce, for he was in the USA under a fake name. But he did have one significant accomplishment—he had become an expert in codes and ciphers, acquiring major degrees. Finally it seemed he would be able to solve the mystery of Formula 16, in which case he could do some more research with the potion and improve it. So far it seemed to have proven more dangerous than efficacious. Extraordinary intelligence coupled with a strong sense of right and wrong—could anything be more powerful?

Bhanu-dada’s Dhon-kaka returned to the country in 1980. His age had increased from 27 to 47 in this period. Although he had not been able to conduct his experiments in these 20 years, the ambition that had planted itself in his head earlier had not been dislodged at all. On the contrary, all his other studies had strengthened its foundations. He had no doubt whatsoever that this potion was the best formulation in the world, it was the gift of a superman from another era. Now it needed more work, it could not be allowed to remain where it was three thousand years ago, his guru himself had said as much.

Dhon-kaka went out of his mind when he saw the amazing impact of Formula 16 on Borothamu on his return. Once, she was a dumb woman, who needed Dhon-kaka to write letters to her family. Now she was one of the tallest mental giants in the country, she could have been a Wall Street wizard. I hope my readers will forgive my vocabulary, after twenty years in the States, Dhon-kaka instinctively used American English. And, believe it or not, Borothamu went one better than him in the use of this language. She had devoured every page of every book in the Gosai library over the past two decades. She was supposed to be ninety-two, but she looked sixty-two. Apparently she had kept herself sprightly by reading a book on botany by Mendel. Dhon-kaka trembled with fear. Even at only fifteen drops a day, she must still have emptied out the four-ounce bottle many years ago. And yet its powerful effect was still evident. Sadly, Borothamu’s ethics had not developed in proportion with her intelligence. His blood ran cold when he ran his eyes over her future plans for the business.

‘Good god, Thamu! All the other tobacco businesses of the world will collapse. Gosai & Co. will be the undisputed emperor. Millions will be ruined.’

Tucking the plans back into the end of her sari, Borothamu said with a pleasant smile, ‘A little more dudhpuli?’ Staring at her, Dhon-kaka was overcome by a horrendous suspicion. Jumping to his feet, he rinsed his mouth and ran to the door of his laboratory. The key was in his wallet, where it had stayed the past twenty years in a foreign land. The steel cupboard with the potion was locked as before. He had that key too. But the jars inside were empty, not a drop remained.

A strangled cry emerged from his breast. Borothamu came running. ‘What’s the matter, what is it, why are you acting this way?’

‘The po-po-potion?’

Borothamu grinned. ‘Had it all. But not alone. Sir God grabbed it and had most of it.’

‘And then?’

‘Then the inevitable happened, obviously. How can a monkey survive such a large dose? His eyes rolled upwards at once. Don’t worry, I organised the finest simian last rites for him.’

‘And… the rest of the potion?’

‘You think I’d kept it within his reach? I’d taken it away to my vegetarian larder much earlier. You never know, what if you came back after eating who knows what over there and then touched it? The monkey swallowed your share. Now mine’s finished too.’

Darkness descended in front of Dhon-kaka’s eyes at first. But then he reflected that it wasn’t much of a disaster after all. He was not afraid of any code in the world anymore. It would take him twenty-four hours at the outside to decipher the one for Formula 16. Then he could brew a fresh batch of the potion. As far as he could tell, adding soyabean extract to it could make even guinea pigs develop morals. After all, Henry Ford himself had said there’s no limit to the qualities of soyabean.

Sadly, the code for the formula was not to be found. Borothamu had gone to put a pan of daal on the stove. Returning, she asked in surprise, ‘What are you looking for so frantically?’

An ashen-faced Dhon-kaka said, ‘I can’t find the code for Formula 16 that gurudeb had left behind.’ Thamu chuckled.

‘How will you find it, you think it’s there anymore? I was stunned when I deciphered it last year. If only you’d known the kind of horrible, ungodly ingredients the potion was made with—it would make you want to throw up. Thankfully I was wearing my guruma’s amulet, so I was protected from sinning. But there’s no telling where you’re concerned, so I threw it into the flames. Oh by the way, I’m done with the library. Get me books on some new subjects.’

Seizing the opportunity for revenge, Dhon-kaka gathered every religious text in every language in the world, starting with the Gita and the Upanishad, and piled them in Borothamu’s office. The outcome was exactly as he had anticipated. Thamu immersed herself in these books, and a new enlightenment dawned on her. Assets turned to poison in her perception. She divided up her estate meticulously amongst her inheritors, after which the tobacco company began to totter in no time. Delighted, Borothamu said, ‘Sell it off and put the money in fixed deposits. You won’t starve. Besides, tobacco causes cancer.’

That was what happened eventually. Borothamu went off to Laxmanjhula on the bank of the Ganges just before it left the hills for the plains, where she has now built a small hermitage and devotes herself to scholarship day and night. Apparently she is writing a book about how unsubstantial wealth is. Dhon-kaka has made a tonic from soyabean and become a millionaire. He adopted Bhanu-da earlier, and his laboratory is in full flow. All his experiments are conducted on Bhanu-da, whose health and intelligence are beyond belief. Phul-kaka is a hotshot in the police force. I’m keeping his real name concealed.

What we say is, all’s well that ends well. Bhanu-da has told me Borothamu’s chief disciple in Laxmanjhula is an ageing simian. He takes care of her, and his expression suggests he is wracked by remorse. Was it to save Sir God from Dhon-kaka’s wrath that Borothamu manufactured the news of his death? ‘Possible,’ says Bhanu-da. ‘She reads bits of her book out sometimes. If she can write what she does, this would be nothing in comparison.’