underground and could not be easily uttered aloud. She remembered the light of a far star in her eyes, an unrecognizable look that had made her a stranger to herself when she stared into the mirror. She remembered the desperation she had sometimes felt, that rose about her as if she were being surrounded and enclosed by an enormous wall. She looked at her son sitting up in thetree and felt her emotions shift, like a vast movement of the spheres, and then she said: ‘Let him be.’
‘Let him be!’ said Mr Chawla. ‘Do families allow their sons to climb up trees? You are the number one most strange mother in the world. Your son climbs up a tree and leaves home and you say: “Let him be.” With you as his mother, no wonder he has turned out like this. How can I keep normality within this family? I take it as a full-time job and yet it defies possibility. We must formulate a plan. Only monkeys climb up trees.’
Sampath clutched the branch he was sitting on and held it tight.
Monkeys climbed up trees. Beetles lived in trees. Ants crawled up and down them. Birds sat in them. People used them for fruit and firewood, and underneath them they made each other’s acquaintance in the few months between the time they got married and the babies arrived. But for someone to travel a long distance just to sit in a tree was preposterous. For that person to be sitting there a few days later was more preposterous still.
In desperation, the family called upon Dr Banerjee from the clinic in the bazaar, and, an energetic man, he arrived as quickly as he could to view his patient. He had a moustache and round glasses and a degree from the medical school in Ranchi. ‘Come down,’ he shouted good-humouredly. ‘How do you expect me to examine you while you’re sitting up in a tree?’
But, oh no, Sampath would take no risks. He was not a fool. He would not climb down to be caught and – who knows? – put into a cage and driven off to the insane asylum on Alipur Road, like the madman who had interrupted the ladies’ home economics class at the university and been lured and trapped by a single sweet. So, at the family’spleading, Dr Banerjee, who prided himself on being a good sport, hoisted himself into the tree, stethoscope and blood-pressure pump about his neck. He climbed all the way up to Sampath so he could look into his eyes and ears, check his tongue, listen to his heart, take his blood pressure and hit his knee with an expertly aimed karate-like move of his hand. Then he climbed down and got back into the scooter rickshaw he had arrived in. ‘He is a crazy person,’ he said, beaming, the mirth of the entire situation too much for him. ‘Nobody except God can do anything about that.’ And he disappeared back into town.
The family went on to see the doctor of Tibetan medicine who had been recommended by their neighbour, Lakshmiji. ‘A variety of cures may be prescribed,’ he said. ‘For example, medicines derived from the scorpion, the sea scorpion, the sea dragon and the sea mouse.’
‘What sea mouse?’ shouted Mr Chawla. ‘There is no such thing as a sea mouse,’ and he dragged the family from the dark little clinic, despite their interest in the sea mouse. They went on to the homoeopathic and Ayurvedic doctors, and to the naturopath who lived all the way in Kajuwala.
‘Unless he faints from hunger, a diet of millet and sprouts is not going to make Sampath descend from the tree,’ said Kulfi firmly, and they decided not to pursue the recommendation made by the nature doctor. After all, they did not want to starve Sampath. However, dutifully they pounded pellets into powders, brewed teas and once, twice, sometimes ten times a day they counted out the homoeopathic pills that looked and smelled promising but wrought none of the miraculous changes they had been assured of. Finally, they visited the holy man who lived outside the tea stall near the deer park.
‘Sorry to disturb you. Our son is
‘Let him be!’ said Mr Chawla. ‘Do families allow their sons to climb up trees? You are the number one most strange mother in the world. Your son climbs up a tree and leaves home and you say: “Let him be.” With you as his mother, no wonder he has turned out like this. How can I keep normality within this family? I take it as a full-time job and yet it defies possibility. We must formulate a plan. Only monkeys climb up trees.’
Sampath clutched the branch he was sitting on and held it tight.
Monkeys climbed up trees. Beetles lived in trees. Ants crawled up and down them. Birds sat in them. People used them for fruit and firewood, and underneath them they made each other’s acquaintance in the few months between the time they got married and the babies arrived. But for someone to travel a long distance just to sit in a tree was preposterous. For that person to be sitting there a few days later was more preposterous still.
In desperation, the family called upon Dr Banerjee from the clinic in the bazaar, and, an energetic man, he arrived as quickly as he could to view his patient. He had a moustache and round glasses and a degree from the medical school in Ranchi. ‘Come down,’ he shouted good-humouredly. ‘How do you expect me to examine you while you’re sitting up in a tree?’
But, oh no, Sampath would take no risks. He was not a fool. He would not climb down to be caught and – who knows? – put into a cage and driven off to the insane asylum on Alipur Road, like the madman who had interrupted the ladies’ home economics class at the university and been lured and trapped by a single sweet. So, at the family’spleading, Dr Banerjee, who prided himself on being a good sport, hoisted himself into the tree, stethoscope and blood-pressure pump about his neck. He climbed all the way up to Sampath so he could look into his eyes and ears, check his tongue, listen to his heart, take his blood pressure and hit his knee with an expertly aimed karate-like move of his hand. Then he climbed down and got back into the scooter rickshaw he had arrived in. ‘He is a crazy person,’ he said, beaming, the mirth of the entire situation too much for him. ‘Nobody except God can do anything about that.’ And he disappeared back into town.
The family went on to see the doctor of Tibetan medicine who had been recommended by their neighbour, Lakshmiji. ‘A variety of cures may be prescribed,’ he said. ‘For example, medicines derived from the scorpion, the sea scorpion, the sea dragon and the sea mouse.’
‘What sea mouse?’ shouted Mr Chawla. ‘There is no such thing as a sea mouse,’ and he dragged the family from the dark little clinic, despite their interest in the sea mouse. They went on to the homoeopathic and Ayurvedic doctors, and to the naturopath who lived all the way in Kajuwala.
‘Unless he faints from hunger, a diet of millet and sprouts is not going to make Sampath descend from the tree,’ said Kulfi firmly, and they decided not to pursue the recommendation made by the nature doctor. After all, they did not want to starve Sampath. However, dutifully they pounded pellets into powders, brewed teas and once, twice, sometimes ten times a day they counted out the homoeopathic pills that looked and smelled promising but wrought none of the miraculous changes they had been assured of. Finally, they visited the holy man who lived outside the tea stall near the deer park.
‘Sorry to disturb you. Our son is
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