Chapters (48)
Not a single leaf of the peepul tree stirs. Nothing in Ashesh's mind stirs either, except for the drops of sweat that seem to move sluggishly through the very folds of his brain. He decides to sit under the fan and listen to Siddheshwari Devi. But as he is about to turn indoors, he hears a magnificent voice ringing out from the end of the street. It rings so loud and clear that God in his heaven must hear it too. It is the call of the woman who exchanges brand-new steel utensils for old clothes. ‘Bhaand-eeyo,’ she calls in a voice purified through rigorous practice, like gold in fire, every note imprinting itself sharply on the air. Starting on ‘sa’, it moves up the octave to the nishad, gives the note a little vocal click, and feather-touches the dhaivat in a perfectly controlled glissando as she descends to ‘sa’.
Ashesh leans over the veranda railing, twisting his neck to get a glimpse of the source. He knows the woman will not enter his street. But he also knows that she will stop briefly at the corner to call once again before moving on. There she is and there is the call again: ‘Bhaand-eeyo’.
Her sari is a deep magenta, her blouse pure turmeric. She carries a basket of glinting utensils on her head and a large bundle of old clothes slung over her shoulder. When she turns to face Ashesh's street, her eyes search the upper floors and balconies of the buildings. It is siesta time for homemakers and no answering call comes from them. She turns to move on but stops. Under her feet is a thick scatter of peltophorum blossom. She glances up at the tree from which they have drifted down. Even as she does so, one delicate yellow blossom comes to rest at her feet. Balancing the basket on her head and the bundle on her shoulder, she bends her knees without bending her back, stretches out her arm to the full, picks up the flower, holds it to her nose and walks on. Her call becomes a strong, flexible arc in Ashesh's mind, giving birth to an image which he hastens indoors to sketch. The arc of the woman's call gives shape to her body. A sandy desert stretches to the horizon. Her right hand is raised to her ear. Her basket is in the sand beside her, filled with dazzling utensils that look real enough to touch.
The cartoon for the fifth painting in the Artists series is done.
