A Tale Of Two Brothers

III

A road was being built.

About a dozen of men, all thin and shirtless, a thread drawn across their shoulders through their waists, wearing their dhotis uptight, were pulling on a roller to level the ground for road construction.

The sun was out, in the middle of the sky, beaming bright and the humidity was taking away the pools formed in the monsoon last month. The wind whipped some dust along with beedi butts in the air, while some plastic bottles kept rustling and rolling on the sides of the road like wheels. The roads were, as usual, at places unsteady and rocky. The afternoon was so stifling, one could see the vapours rising as if snakes were crawling upwards. Although the sky was clear, there were clouds in mid-air, but only of loose soil and smoke.

It may rain tomorrow, they thought.

But it wouldn't. The noise of the road was somehow muted, or so people thought. This was right on the outskirts, on the way towards the city visible from the little town on the peak, where the family once lived.

They'd moved to the city a couple weeks ago. The father had gotten a job to teach Sanskrit and Urdu to one of the English-men's daughter. He was told that she was intrigued by these languages, and as a future businesswoman, she must know the basic local languages. The house here was bigger than what they were used to, in the middle of the bright and crowded city. Life was busier here, faster even.

Rudra had yet to finish his studies in history, and so Adrith helped him get admission in the university nearby. Their father's employer had helped with that too, providing with all that was needed. It was rare, for the fairer to be this kind to the darker. But father told them he was a good man, kinder even. He was polite, their father chimed, pretty respectful too. His student was very attentive, interested in what she was being taught. She is a dedicated learner, he told his sons.

But he left the part out - where if he'd ask for water, he was served in a different steel glass unlike others, that the only people who looked like him in that house were the butlers and that instead of being called "guruji" or "teacher", he was addressed by only a pair of claps, or a noise to catch his attention like clearing of throats or loud sniffing. Sometimes, he and the servants were called out in English, words he didn't know, but somehow understood were bad and degrading names because of how he saw and heard everyone else laugh. He'd join them and chuckle, only to hide the embarrassment.

While returning home, on purpose, he'd take the longer way through a lowland that was quieter than the rest of the city. He liked this part of the city - it was slightly colder than the rest of the places there, something he unwillingly missed about the house in the graveyard.

A sea of humanity is what consisted of the markets here, almost about the actual population of the town he once called home. Trams - vehicles with overhead cables and rails on the roads would glide throughout the city, used by the public, introduced by the British. The roads weren't too crowded, it was still quiet, yet it was more than he was used to.

People here travelled on foot, but many of them in bicycles, the rich people rode in luxurious cars, there were chariots pulled by horses - not everyone could afford. Bullock-carts were used to pull carriages. The passengers sat with the drivers in the front, the loads were placed in the back.

With arts, the patience was great but time had little value. Children even joined their parents in working at vertical looms, weaving intricate patterns being dictated loudly by a commoner, with the only original design copy in their hands.

The architecture, he admitted to himself, was incredible, something he now admired. There were buses, electric and engine trains, their horns loud and alarming, that charged this city.

Beyond the lowland that he passed, there was a parade ground, where men of the army would practice, in khaki shorts and shirt, knee-length stockings, tight shoes and caps made like turbans. The men were all thin, rugged though tough and disciplined. Some of them practiced the heliograph drills. Off duty, the fighters moved their feet to a rhythm played on drums, in black kurtas and white dhotis with red scarves tied at their bellybutton, and red kerchiefs in their hands. Some of these men danced with swords.

Astonishingly, the old man admitted to himself, it was a quiet city. There wasn't a lot to do. But in the late noons, he'd take his wife for an outing, right beside that lowland where a park resided. It was when Rudra would be in his classes and Adrith, at work.

The park had huge gates - an intricate work of iron, twirling across each rods that stood still in between two bars, like soldiers standing in attention at the parade ground. It was black in colour, as dark as a moonless night. The centre of the park was decorated with a fountain, small and white. But anyone would be distracted entering the garden, by a tree, looking as beautiful as a peacock, with deep blue flowers.

Before their children, they'd reach home and get back to their routine.