By Ruma Chakraborty
Purnendu Bose, I.A.S (Retd.) read the name plate of the bungalow. Ashish Saha opened the gate diffidently and entered. Then he corrected his gait to a jauntier swagger as he aimed to strike a mean bargain. In his heart he still was the small-town hick who had struck gold by being an opportunist in spotting and buying antiques from just such houses, slowing fading, decaying, clinging to their past glories behind stained glass windows and chintz curtains. He still felt uneasy by the stagnant trapped time in such houses. It seemed he was being watched. “What the hell am I thinking?” He brushed aside his feelings, snapped on his ingratiating grin and plunged into battle. He need not have bothered.
Retired Mr. Bose did not need much convincing to part with nostalgia-tinged articles, antiques and bric-a-bracs. His mind was made up. “My son is not coming back from his cushy life at Silicon Valley. My wife is gone. So, I see no point in holding on to all this,” he said with the sweep of a sad hand. “I am going off to live in a commune of likeminded people, spending the rest of my days close to nature and in trying to give back to society something worthwhile. I just wish Sunetra, my wife were here. You must be in a hurry. Old age, one tends to ramble on and on.”
“Yes Sir, I understand. Your son would not want any of these things? No. He has a good life. What is the point of this pointless sentimentalism, Sir? Your wife is dead, may her soul rest in peace.” He tried to look suitably sad as he gazed at the picture of a beautiful lady in a gilded silver frame on the coffee table. “Huh? My wife is not dead. She went missing. We searched. The police are useless in this country. Cannot find anything. I used my influence but it did not work.” “Anyway, I wish to dispose off everything. Give me a good deal and it is all yours.”
“Sir, I am giving you the best deal. You are a gentleman. I will not haggle with you. I am ready to pay the price you had quoted. I am also an honourable man, Sir, I will keep my word to you.”
“Please get the packers to move the furniture quickly but with minimal fuss. You may leave now. Nowadays, just talking to anybody is tiresome.” The steel in Purnendu Bose’s voice dismissed Ashish Saha, who felt a twinge of resentment at being waived away like a pesky fly. But, secretly he was pleased. He had struck a good deal. Everything he had purchased would fetch a great deal of money at the auction house he had already struck a deal with. His cut was not bad. This was the third house this month, he was on a roll. Business was good. Liquid cash was flowing in and he felt rich, not bad for a poor school master’s son. He had long put his squalid past behind him. He was keen, very keen, to climb the social ladder. Wonder what people from Naskarpara, Second Lane, would think of Gopal Master’s son? His elder brother had been the model child, the apple of his impecunious father’s eye and the favoured son of his mother. He remembered, with a hollow feeling in his chest the gnarled hands of his mother ladling the extra spoon of rice on his brother’s plate, a spoon of her share of rice. Even today, it rankled. Where was that son now? Leading a pitiful existence, not much different than his father’s. “Why do my parents not see how happy I am? I am unscrupulous, unethical they say. Maybe I am. Where did their ethics get them, I say?” He shrugged. “Why am I thinking of all this today? What’s the matter with me?” He wondered.
“I have the lot, Agarwal ji. Yes, within the limit. A little less in fact. Yes, yes, he’s willing to get the packers move it today itself. Yes, thanks. I will come around to the Auction house the moment I’m done here. My pleasure, ji. I will get you whatever you want. I’m not being immodest but surely you can see for yourself from the past three deals, I am the best in this field. Can’t rush them. After all, they are selling off their memories.” He ended the call with a sigh of contentment.
He was doing up the interiors of his 750sq. ft flat in Behala. Siuli, his wife, loved bright, new, flashy things. He loved her. The equation was simple. He wanted the flat to be exactly how she would like it. Siuli had been mystified, petulant even, when he did not allow her to come and see the flat. “I am getting it ready. I just want you to see the finished product. I am sure you will be thrilled.” Siuli had glared at him in mock anger only to dissolve into coy giggles later at the thought of her pampering, loving husband. She had earlier had reservations about her choice when he had been struggling and her parents kept insinuating that she had made a poor choice but these days her parents and relatives were fawning before her. She could afford to gloat. “I want to live in a beautiful flat, travel in a car, go shopping in the big malls. I want to live the dream.” And it all seemed to be coming true. Her husband had struck the mother lode and life was good. They were ascending the social ladder. Siuli was adamant in getting there.
Manoj Agarwal walked around the packaged crates and closely inspected the opened ones. Saha had done good. Burma teak cabinets, four poster bed, chest of drawers of the finest quality. Would fetch a handsome price from connoisseurs. Brass bells from Tamil Nadu, walnut wood trays from Kashmir, inlay work Bidri coffee tables at least fifty years old but in top shape. Up and down the rows of goods swept the clinically business eyes of Manoj Agarwal. A fine haul. Saha had delivered the third time this month. He wondered if he should raise his commission. “No need, will get unnecessarily greedy. The trick is to keep them motivated enough but the string taut.” Outwardly, he smiled widely at Ashish Saha, favouring him with a set of pan masala stained teeth, “Good cache. It should fetch us the desired price. Just yesterday, I have received enquiry about Burma teak beds. You have done well. I will transfer the money into your account or do you want it in cash?” “I would prefer cash, Agarwal ji. I wanted to buy a few geegaws for my house. I am doing it up, you know.” “Why don’t you pick up something from this lot? For you, I will charge the bare minimum,” said Agarwal, never willing to let go of an opportunity to strike a favourable deal. “My wife likes bright, new things, Agarwal ji. She is not very fond of antiques. She says that it feels like hand-me-downs. I will buy her new chrome and glass furniture.” Agarwal shuddered. His tastes had become quite refined being in his line of business. The idea of decorating one’s house in gaudy bling and showy furniture was repulsive but he persisted, “Why don’t you pick up that brass-lined mirror? It is Belgium glass. Almost as good as new. I am sure your wife will like the ornate brass work on the border.”
Ashish Saha had secretly quite liked the mirror. It was a large oval mirror with exquisite brass metal borders. It had caught his fancy when the packers were packing it at Mr. Bose’s house. He had been too busy to check it out properly but had managed to get a glimpse of the regal object. He was sure Siuli would like it. He picturized her combing her lustrous mane in front of it, smiling at him while she toyed with her hair. A very pleasing scene. Impulsively, he told Agarwal that he would take it. Just then his mobile rang. Irritatedly, he looked at the screen. It was Poltu, his friend and informant. “Do you remember the house on Hastings Road? The son has agreed to sell the old grand piano. With just a little tuning, it could sell for anything between 2 to 3 lakhs. Do you want to come over to talk?”
He could not believe his luck. He hoped this lucky streak continued. Why, at this rate, he could sell his two-wheeler and buy that car Siuli had so set her heart on.
“Poltu, I am going over to talk to the son. Could you do me a favour? Could you pick up a package for my flat from the Auction House? Drop it off and go get my wife from her mother’s house. Tell her it is a surprise for her and that I will get back as soon as I can.”
This one time he would make an exception. He wanted to see her surprised look when he unveiled the mirror to her. With this anticipation in his mind, he made haste towards Hastings Road. Never keep a prospective seller waiting, might change their minds, not good for business.
Siuli quickly dressed up and got ready to go with Poltu to the flat. She wondered why her husband had changed his mind. She pushed the thought aside and hurriedly picked up her clutch. Checking her phone to see if her husband had given her a call. She hailed the cab and climbed into it with Poltu. “When will Ashish come? She asked. “He asked me to take you to the flat. He has a surprise for you,” Poltu said with a smile.
As Siuli entered the lift, she was in a state of excitement. She wondered what work had been done to the flat by her husband. The liftman was suitably defferential. She felt good. Ashish was such a darling. She was lucky.
In an hour’s time, Ashish Saha walked out of the Hastings Road house whistling tunelessly to himself. Another killing. He was going to take this deal to Pestonji. He was a wizard with musical instruments and knew a lot of people who would be really interested in buying a restored Steinway & Sons grand piano. He could not believe his luck! A good quality specimen bought for a mere pittance as the man knew nothing about the piano he had just sold. He had regarded it as just a cumbersome, defunct musical instrument. Let God keep such gullible people coming his way!
“Siuli would have reached the flat by now,” he thought. “I hope she likes what I have got.” He nodded curtly at the liftman, marvelling at his acquired seriousness as a flat owner. When asked, the liftman answered that yes, Madam had arrived a while ago. ‘Madam’, he liked the sound of the word. He liked being upwardly mobile. Walking out of the lift with squared shoulders he walked towards his flat. He had a spare set of keys with which he quietly opened the door. He wanted to surprise his wife.
The flat was quiet. He could not hear anything. That was strange. Where was she? Maybe she was in the balcony. She had liked it the moment they had seen it. He tip-toed towards the balcony but no one was there. “She is trying to play a prank on me,” he smiled to himself. “Okay, two can play that game.” He had removed his shoes at the door and padded around in his socks, moving noiselessly. Moving from the balcony through the corridor that connected the bedroom to the living, he moved to the kitchen but could not find Siuli. “Strange, did she go out? But she knew I was coming.”
An uneasy feeling was overtaking Ashish. He paused and then entered the guest room. The light entering the room was low as the windows opened towards the wall of the next apartment block. On the wall was mounted the beautiful gilded mirror. “Must be Poltu’s handiwork.”
He walked towards the mirror. As he looked at it the hair at the back of his nape stood up. Siuli smiled mysteriously at him through the mirror. How did she get in there? How could he see her in there? Almost sensing his question, Siuli looked to her side and speaking to a lady, who looked vaguely familiar, asked her, “Can we bring him inside?” Mr. Purnendu Bose’s wife, Sunetra, smiled benignly at Siuli and said, “No, men cannot come in here. There is only space here for women.”
By Ruma Chakraborty
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