The Fly

THE FLY
(A short story)

D. S. VITHALKAR
(Translated by the author from the original in Marathi)

The two stood in the bus queue. Mr. Damle was dressed plainly. He wore clean white pyjamas and a clean white Nehru shirt. Miss Joshi wore a pink full-voile sari and rose-red short blouse to match. With a touch of lipstic she looked pretty. That was the vogue. Mr. Damle was silent. And she too, surprisingly enough, said nothing. She was quiet because she was thinking hard. He did not speak because he feared it would start her on. He did not wish to encourage her.

Miss Joshi was saying to herself, ‘Why does he dress so simply? In the office too he is invariably to be seen in this neat and clean but ordinary attire. Even the clerks nowadays wear terylene shirb and trousers. Some wear ties too. They want to show off, of course. They can’t forget the girls around whose eyes they want to catch. But this one, although he is the Sales Manager, does not even care to keep up his position. He does not appear to be interested in any of the girls. There was no occasion for me, of course, to wish him when I was in the Accounts section. But now it is a year since I am transferred to Sales and yet I don’t remember he has ever tried to talk to me except in the course of office routine. Is that why I am drawn towards him? Or is it because he quietly recommended me for a double raise in my pay? Does that mean he is just satisfied with my work, and nothing more? If so, why should he agree to take me out? And yet he is here standing like a statue not saying a word.’

Presently the bus approached and her chain of thoughts broke as the people in the queue began to move. She followed Mr. Damle mechanically. As they were about to board the bus, the conductor called out, “Only one, please!” They had to step down. The next man got in with pleasure. ‘Tin, Tin’ and the bus shot away

“Come, let’s walk. The place is not far off.” Mr. Damle started to walk. Miss Joshi plodded on silently.

The municipal school had just finished the second shift, the little children looking dirty and haggard crowded along the road pushing each other.

“To look at these poor fellows, it seems we’re all doomed. It fills me with pity and utter dejection. Our population is increasing by leaps and bounds and there’s not enough food to go round. The future looks dark and grim. It is the struggle for survival everywhere! All pushers in the crowd! Sometimes you’re happy and sometimes miserable. But all this is uncertain.”

“Yes, that’s so,” she said, but did not know what. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts. ‘What shall I say when we reach there? And how? Better I should ask him straightaway. That would end the uncertainty once and for all.’

A car that was out of order stood on the kerb with its jaws wide open looking like a crocodile. And the driver was doing something with his hands right in.

“See how Man is being swallowed up by Machine. Very symbolic, I should say.”

They came by a garden on the right. “Shall we sit in the garden for a while? Beautiful roses, there!” Miss Joshi was in a better mood now.

“No. I don’t like roses. They remind me of the pose. I mean the false pose we have to adopt willy nilly. We are always forced to keep up appearances.” Mr. Damle had the habit of wondering at himself. ‘What am I like, really?’ He was at it off and on trying to find the answer. “I’m a strange man, am I not?”  

“Not exactly. Now come. Tell me. Why don’t you dress well like others? You’ve got a nice job with a decent pay-packet, and still you go about like a poor dear. And I know you’re still a bachelor.”

“That’s right. But I can’t feel enthusiastic about anything. In a weaker moment, I bought a terylene trouser-piece. A year has passed but I’ve done nothing with it. I think of giving it away as a wedding gift. When you marry, perhaps! I shall give you something and that one to your husband.”

She could say nothing. It was hopeless. But she was curious to know what sort of a place it was they were going to. “Where is it? Where do we go and why?”

“’Tis the plot I’ve purchased. You might have a.look at least. Far from the madding crowd. No noise or bustle. A secluded quiet place.

“You mean to build a house or something?”

“Oh, no! I don’t need one. I’m well off where I’m. I stay in a lodging house, you know. There are two others in the room. To me they just exist. I won’t be moved if either of them dies. They too won’t feel much, I guess, if I die. I’m fortunate in that.”

“But, why?”

“I consider myself fortunate because there won’t be a soul to cry over my dead body. I feel free that way with no ties or obligations.”

“Does it mean that you’ll never marry and settle down? There was no doubt about it now, but she could not help asking.

“Yes. That’s it. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I agreed to go with you just to tell you that. I guessed you had ideas about me and some hope too. And I didn’t want to keep you guessing.”

“I was thinking of you, in a way. I saw that you were different from other men who feel flattered to be seen with a pretty...And so I was drawn towards you….” She stopped short in a hesitating manner.

“You say you’ve fallen in love! Like a fly falling in a cup of tea!” Mr. Damle smiled in a bitter way.

“You mean that when a woman catches a man, he’s done for?”

“Not exactly. To me, falling in love looks a bit silly. ’Tis so common. You find it in pictures, bus-queues, gardens and what not. It’s become too cheap.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing wrong, I should say. My only grouse against Nature is that none can easily escape the sexual urge. A lot of gadget are invented, but none to stop this. They’re probing the outer space, but the inner one is in dark.”

“What do you want?” Miss Joshi was getting impatient.

“No scientist tries to invent something that would free the human being from the compulsions of the flesh. I would welcome a drug or something that would give me just that freedom. Somehow I’ve set my heart on a simple life. I’m always full of such thoughts. Sometimes I can’t contain myself. I shouldn’t have said all this to you, but I was just thinking aloud...And at last, here we are! Come, we’ve to go up the hillock.”

She saw the narrow winding way leading to the top. “Are we going all the way up?”

“Yes. There you’ll find a small even piece of land overgrown with the Nature’s green, and a solitary banyan tree. Under the tree there’s a little temple of sorts, with its doors so short that even a non-believer has to bow low to enter. An old man lives there. He does the pooja. He has an only son who lives in the town. The son sends him money. The old man often says with grateful thanks, ‘God be with him! He’s good to me and I want nothing more’.” Mr. Damle stopped suddenly and did not say a word till the two reached the top.
“Oh, how nice! A beautiful view! You see the straight little road like a foot-rule marked with street-lights at every inch as it were! The cars looking like toys! The finger-sized people! And the tiny train like a row of match boxes!” Miss Joshi was overcome by the fresh air and the vast expanse around. The place was like an island of solitude.

“Do you like it? I have taken a fancy for this spot. I come here sometimes and sit alone for a while. At this distance, the joys and sorrows of men appear insignificant. You feel calm and quiet….Oh! Where’s he gone? ’Tis time for him. ’Tis quarter to seven, the time for the pooja. Where is he?”

Presently they saw the old man slowly walking up the hill with a stick in his hand.

As he came, Mr. Damle called out, “Good evening! How’re you? Why so late?”

The old man began to weep. “A great misfortune has befallen me. My young son has passed away. ’Tis a month now. His wife and two small kids are crying like hell. Can’t bear to see them. You feel like crying too. But one has to face it. And so I’ve gone to stay with them. I come here just to do the pooja. God is merciful! But not to me! I prayed and prayed. And this is the reward I get. It was really my turn, but he’s gone before me.”

“ ’Tis horrible and shocking! You’re an old man, and how will you face it?Nothingthat I can say will lessen your sorrow of course!”

“I don’t think of myself. I’ve had my day. But I’m sorry for them, poor dears!” The old man collected himself and said, come on. Let’s go in and pray. Nobody comes here. ’Tis only you that I see often.”

The three lowered their heads and went in. The space inside was so small that even the three made a crowd. They folded their hands in silence. The old man gave them prasad-bits of coconut, and blessed them, “God be with you and make you both happy!”

The two started.

“Well, we’re making a move now. Good bye!” Mr. Damle turned to go, but said, “Well, don’t think that we’re engaged or something. We had just come for a walk.” Miss Joshi hung her head.

They were on the steep. Mr. Damle said, “’Tis so bad, you know. You can’t make out anything. Everything is unpredictable. Things which you may not even dream of happen. And you feel ’tis all senseless. You can’t find the answer. So I thought it better to remain a bachelor. Once you marry, you can’t be yourself. You’ve to make adjustments, struggle hard, earn more and more money. You’ve to keep up appearances. You become a creature ofcircumstance and your life is turned into a hotchpotch.”

“And that, I would say, is the philosophy of the shirker. You’re afraid of life and its miseries, aren’t you?” Miss Joshi wanted to hurt him a little.

“I don’t mind if you say so. People may call me a coward But that won’t make me enter this rat-race which you call ‘Life’. You see, for me mere existence which makes no demands on me is enough. ’Tis not for nothing that I’ve taken up that plot. I could build a small cottage there and live in solitude with no regrets.”

As they got to the road, Mr. Damle said, “Come, let’s have some tea. ’Tis only a tin-shed. They serve tea; and nothing else.”

She quietly walked with him.

The boy set down two thick cups on the table. The marble top was cracked and the cups were unclean. A couple of flies calm hovering around the cups and one of them fell into the tea. Mr. Damle quickly removed the fly. It was half dead. It moved along the table dragging itself with effort.

They were on the road now. The clean white pyjamas and the clean white Nehru shirt, walking in a lonely sort of way. The rose-red short blouse and the pink full-voile sari, dragging on dumbly behind. The people and the traffic moved on unconcerned.