The Painter of Signs Read online

  ‘What would you expect me to do?’

  ‘I am going on a tour of the surrounding villages for an initial survey, and to look out for places where we can write our message on the walls permanently. The headquarters want a picture of a family — a couple with two children, with the message “We are two; let ours be two; limit your family” - in all the local languages.’

  Raman could not share her seriousness and began to laugh.

  She was offended and said, ‘I see no joke in this.’

  He had to explain away his levity. ‘No, no, not connected with this. I was thinking of something my aunt was saying.’

  ‘About what?’ Daisy asked relentlessly. She had grown slightly red in the face. It seemed as if her faith had been abused. Such missionary zeal! ‘Don’t you see how horrible it is with everything crowded, and an endless chain of queues for food, shelter, bus, medicine, and everything, with thousands of children coming with nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no roof, no civilized existence being possible on such a mass scale - each one of us has to do our bit in the corner of the country allotted to us.’ He had not suspected that she would feel so strongly on this subject. As far as he was concerned, it was purely professional - his duty being to inscribe whatever he was ordered - and he could not share anyone’s passion for the cause. But he still had to take care not to offend this fair creature seated before him and demanding his faith. She lapsed into silence and he felt he had to say something to cheer her up. He assumed a grave look and said, ‘Of course, it’s all very sad and thoughtless ...’

  ‘What?’ she questioned abruptly.

  He was at a loss to explain, nervous lest he should upset her again by saying the wrong things. He said in a general way, ‘I mean, it’s a national tragedy - looked at from the right perspective.’ She looked appeased, and continued to expatiate on her plans. He realized that she was a zealot on the population question and that he should not trifle with her feelings. All the world’s workers who had any results to show were fanatics, he reminded himself. If she were a despotic queen of ancient days, she would have ordered the sawing off of the organs of generation. He realized he had been mistaken in taking her to be just a suave bureaucrat who got sign-boards written and files completed and properly knotted with red tape while within she seemed to carry a furnace of conviction.

  Raman was subject to further revelations in the next three weeks they spent together travelling and campaigning in the countryside. He lost count of days, distances, directions, of the names of the places visited. Daisy had a steel-framed itinerary and followed it scrupulously. They travelled by taxi, bus, train, and even lorry. Daisy’s only aim was to reach a particular village and complete her work there. Her adaptability was astonishing; she could spread out the little roll of carpet that she carried in a bag and sleep anywhere. She also carried a little food container and a bottle of drinking water, and had suggested to Raman to equip himself similarly. Wherever she could, she filled up the containers with what was available - egg, bread, chicken, meat, fruit, or rice. She had no taboo of any kind. Raman, though brought up as a strict vegetarian, tried to eat for her sake and suffered in silence. It made him sick - it seemed impossible to bite into fish; when he ate meat, he had the feeling of burrowing into the side of some quadruped. They ate in the veranda of a rest-house or a village schoolroom or in the mottled shade of a coconut grove. She bathed in a public well, washed and dried her clothes after ordering Raman to keep away. She never bothered about comforts, conveniences. She accepted any hospitality, even in the lowliest hut, and proved extremely undemanding.

  She explained, ‘Let us live at least for a while as millions of our population live; otherwise we will never understand our own people. Living in a city is not the real life. Urban life is standardized, and meant to keep people apart.’

  ’‘Then why do you live in the city?’

  ‘Ultimately I’ll select the tiniest hamlet and live in a hut. I’ll not want anything more than what a majority of our population have.’

  ‘Are you a communist?’ Raman asked suddenly.

  She glared at him. ‘What if I am or if I am not? Is there a label one should always carry like a dog-collar? ...’ They had had their lunch in the classroom of a children’s school, and were resting for half an hour, as she always insisted. At unexpected moments, she became intense and red in the face, leaving Raman wondering how he could have upset her. He did not pursue the inquiry. Any question he might ask seemed to upset her. He remained quiet as a safety-first measure. She herself added, ‘I like to serve the people in what seems to me the best way, that’s all. And in this area allotted to me now, if I can help arrest the population growth by even five per cent within this year, I’ll be satisfied.’ Raman felt bewildered by her intensity. Wanted to ask, Why such anger? Why not accomplish it all with less grimness?

  He made a series of discoveries about her from time to time. She had a smiling side to her and a non-smiling one; a talkative and non-speaking. She smiled when she could forget her mission, and became grim when the population problems oppressed her mind. He never suspected that anyone could be personally so affected by population. After all, he often reflected, she should be satisfied if I write the boards clearly, and not expect me to go through it as a religious exercise. Often he was on the point of cracking a joke, but controlled himself. He realized that he was becoming extremely considerate of her feelings — not as if he were dealing with a woman purely on a business footing - it seemed more like a considerate husband and an irritable wife.

  Why will she not be my wife? Time enough, time enough, he told himself. She may throw me out if I speak of it now. I can’t say she is the gentlest person I have known. She looks frail, but not gentle. In any case when she becomes a wife and proves tough and argumentative and red in the face, repulses my companions at The Boardless and that bookseller, and flings out my rare editions ... I don’t know. Thoughts floated across his mind like wisps of cloud across the sky - coming on from somewhere and vanishing as he sat beside her in a bus and watched the trees and landscape glide by ...

  At every place, she had the same routine. She had a perfect time-table between her arrival and departure. Settled down at the local school or on the veranda of a hospitable home or hut or in the shade of a tree. Sent Raman out to select a wall for their inscription, met the local official or the village headman and with his help collected data and statistics, called for the register of births and deaths, and took notes in her diary. Summoned an audience of men, women, and children under the big tree, and spoke to them quietly, firmly, with conviction. Explained to them the process of birth and its control. Daisy explained physiology, anatomy, and sexual intercourse, with charts or, if a blackboard was available, with sketches in chalk. She never felt shy or hesitant, but sounded casual. Sometimes the men sniggered, the women giggled, but she quietened them with a word or gesture. Sometimes the elders tried to send away the children. But she commanded, ‘Let them also stay. It’s important for them, more than for their elders,’ and kept them around, although she was not really a lover of children and viewed them perhaps as symbols of defeat for her cause. She never patted a child or tried any baby talk. She looked at them as if to say, You had no business to arrive — you lengthen the queues, that’s all.

  When Raman had selected a wide side-wall of a house or temple, she viewed it from various angles and distances, negotiated for its lease with the owner, and gave Raman instructions. ‘We shall only select the spots now. Later on you will come back and write the signs. In all about thirty I am planning now. You will have to come round later and finish the work as quickly as possible. When the message has sunk into their minds, I’ll come again with a medical team, who’ll do vasectomies and also fit up contraceptive devices. I am preparing them for it in this visit. A great deal will depend upon how quickly you’ll finish your work so that they’ll get used to the idea. We’ll give you an allowance to take an assistant with you, but paint and brush will have to be
provided by you.’

  He wanted to say, I hope you’ll also be around. I shall feel the emptiness of the world when you are away, but he swallowed back his words and she asked, ‘What are you trying to say?’

  He just said, ‘Some advance may be required for buying brush and paint.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course whatever you want.’

  When he found her in a ‘smiling mood’, he tried to question her about her life. She was relaxed whenever they completed a task in a village and were ready to catch the bus or a country cart for the next village. She did not mind the long waits for a bus under a wayside tree or even in the sun. If she found an upturned packing case or a stone slab, she sat on it, cross-legged, and never stirred until the bus came, without saying a word or noticing the people who stared at her. In order to be unnoticeable, she wore a sari of the drabbest shade, never used any powder or make-up, and did her hair up indifferently, and if it was ruffled in the wind, she smoothed it out with her palm. Still, there was much charm about her, and the village people generally stood around to gaze at her. Sometimes they thought she was a doctor out to perform abortions. Instead of feeling outraged at the notion, she would explain her mission with patience. Once at a village, while they waited for a bus, a villager came and requested, ‘Please come to my cottage.’

  ‘I may miss the bus,’ she replied. He was importunate. She said to Raman, ‘Let us go and see.’

  The villager looked forlorn, and led the way to a cottage not far from the bus-stand. At the door of the cottage, the men stayed back. He said, ‘Doctor, please go in and speak to my woman.’

  Daisy remained inside the hut for some time, conversing in a low voice, came out, and said to the villager, ‘Ten childbirths in twelve years of married life: don’t you see that it will kill your wife?’

  ‘True. She is very sickly,’ admitted the man. ‘I have to spend so much on medicines for her, but nothing helps.’

  ‘And the children?’ she inquired.

  ‘Six died,’ he added sorrowfully. ‘God gives and he takes away ... and that’s why I thought at least now ...’

  She turned to Raman and said with a sad smile,’ They think I can abort!’

  At which Raman tried to explain to the villager what Daisy and he were there for, but the villager kept pleading, ‘If only the doctor makes up her mind to help us ...’

  Daisy said firmly to him, ‘At least, prevent the next child coming. Other doctors will be here next month. Let this baby come; can’t be stopped now.’ The villager escorted them back to the bus-stop, saying the same thing over and over again and pleading repeatedly all the way. Daisy became very silent and was sullen until they were in the bus, when she said, ‘Poor fellow! Ninety per cent of our masses are at this level. We have an uphill task. But we shall do it. A five per cent improvement in a year will satisfy me.’ She looked gratified at this possibility and sat brooding. It looked as though she feared if she weren’t strict an entire crowd of newborns would be clamouring and howling at her door. But Raman restrained himself from saying so, and just asked, ‘When did you get interested in this problem?’

  She kept looking ahead at the passing scenery and said, ‘Even when I was young. A missionary gentleman inspired me early in life.’ She stopped short, not wishing to go over the past, a subject she always avoided.

  They got off the bus at a cross-road leading on to the Mempi Hills. She said, ‘No road, we are going on foot.’ She hauled her baggage on to her back, and he did his likewise.

  ‘How far do we have to walk?’

  ‘Three miles, maybe four on a foot-track. We are going to a mountain village.’

  Raman looked resigned to his fate. He had still four unfinished jobs waiting at his work-shed, past the delivery date. But how could he speak to her about it? She expected him to be as dedicated as she was. He had said more than once, ‘For my part, I’ll promise to write the messages as well as I can,’ hinting that she should not expect more than that from him. She had taken it in her own way and had said, ‘You serve in your own way, of course.’ Raman thought, I have other customers and other signs to write. How can you expect me to be writing only DON’T MULTIPLY? You leave me no time for anything else. Her passion for service seemed to him carried too far. But he dared not comment.

  He realized that he was gradually becoming overconsiderate. They probably mean this state when they say, ‘Love is blind.’ It probably also deadens the wits and makes one dumb. One likes to please the other at any cost. Otherwise how could I ever show this zest for birth-control? He brooded and introspected as he followed her mutely on the foot-tracks, criss-crossing the mountain-side. She climbed and moved with ease without a pause. Far below, the plains stretched away under the afternoon sun. She walked ahead wrapped in her own thoughts, not seeming to give a thought for him. She had offered him the privilege of accompanying her and he had accepted it, that was all. She treated him as a sort of a trailer. He felt a sudden irritation at this thought and wondered why he should not turn round and go back home; he glanced at his watch - four o’clock - the best hour at The Boardless, with fresh coffee percolating through the brass filter. As the evening advanced, they’d dilute it with hot water. Fragrant coffee was available only between three and four in the afternoon, the precise hour when his system craved it. But this woman seemed impervious to such needs - she was satisfied if she could eliminate pregnancies! That was food and drink for her. He was afraid to seek any information from her as to whether she had any arrangements for coffee at this time. She would spurn such a question and treat him as a infidel, thirsting for coffee when mother earth was groaning under the weight of excess population. He speculated on what would happen if he caught a couple of women in each village and went to bed with them and thus, in ten months, fouled up Daisy’s anticipated five per cent improvement! Fantastic and morbid but, withal, a very entertaining day-dream. But such pursuits were beyond him, he was ignorant of the technique, also his general philosophy prevented such exercises. Or perhaps, he wondered, he lacked the normal virility. But if he were impotent, he would be just right for Daisy, who might feel her mission in life fulfilled by her husband. He realized that he was indulging in such wild, salacious thoughts because the woman was walking ahead without bothering to turn round to see if he was following. And then he explained to himself that, naturally, she had to walk ahead because she was the one who knew the way on that narrow path. Should. not indulge in bitter thoughts, he reminded himself. Her small knot of hair bobbing up and down as she swayed along somehow filled him with pity. He should run up and seize her and declare his love to her and beg her to leave the villagers alone and try to change the whole course of her life, or else become a true missionary himself for her sake. He wished he knew more about her, but she just snapped shut any reference to the past. What could be the mystery?

  After panting up a never-ending slope, he was relieved to notice her pace slackening, as village homes came into view beyond a grove of mango and coconut trees. She stopped and waited for him to come up and said, breathing hard, ‘Here we are after all ... at least four miles from the main road.’

  He felt happy, forgetting instantly all his annoyance. He noticed that her face had become red and covered with perspiration. He felt a pity for her travails. Why was she putting herself through these ordeals, when she could have married and relaxed at home, leaving it to a husband to sweat for her? People are moved by strange, inexplicable drives, he concluded. He asked, ‘How did you know about this village?’

  ‘Well, I study the map and the vital statistics before selecting the area of operations. I know my ground. Also, I have been here before,’ she said. ‘This is one place where concentrated work will be needed. The growth rate is frightening.’

  A mild-looking man received them at the entrance to the village. ‘He conducts the school here,’ explained Daisy. Do you have such things as coffee? Raman wanted to inquire first.

  The teacher led the way to his house and seated them on the pyol
under a low, sloping tiled roof; a narrow doorway led to an inner court. The teacher’s wife came out to welcome them, and invited Daisy to go in with her. The teacher explained, ‘The lady came here last year and stayed with us a whole week ... last year about this same time. This is the best time of the year. Next month when the monsoon breaks, we will be impounded for four months. It will be continuously raining.’

  ‘How will you manage for buying food-stuff and so forth?’

  ‘We stock most of our needs, as we also grow what we want ... Anyway, when the downpour is not too heavy, we move about - sometimes the water comes as a deluge from the upper reaches, and then all hands will be turned to diverting the flood.’ He went in and brought out a couple of bananas on a plate and a brass cup filled with purplish coffee. No kinship with the brew at The Boardless, Raman sighed, but he drank it and felt revived. ‘You could stay with us,’ the teacher said.’ The lady can sleep inside, and we will sleep on this pyol. I think you should rest after the walk.’

  But Daisy did not seem to need rest. In a few moments, she emerged from the house with her hair brushed back, and joined them. She said, ‘Our work must start right away, before the monsoon begins, as it has been observed that the birth-rate goes up during the monsoon months.’ The implications were clear that during the rains the village folk, cooped up in their homes, had no better business than to procreate. This notion was timidly contested by the teacher. A sort of debate ensued between them. She settled down on the pyol for a good, prolonged argument on the subject. The teacher looked mild, with a thin line of hair on his upper lip, but he had a lot of guts - as it seemed to Raman - to engage himself in a controversy with Daisy. She asked with a rather mischievous look, ‘Well, can you explain exactly how people engage themselves when it’s pouring all hours of the day for months?’ She opened her handbag and took out her memo-book, made a note on some page, and waited for the man’s answer.