PHATU'S CLUBS

official source: Sarkar's Short Stories Part 1

cross-references: none

this version: is the printed Sarkar's Short Stories Part 1, 1st edition, version 
	(spelling mistakes only may have been corrected). I.e., this is the most 
	up-to-date version as of the present Electronic Edition.

      Have you heard the story about the theft of Phatu's cucum bers? If you haven't, read on.

      Phatu lived with his mother. He claimed she was an ideal mother - "one of a kind" he said. Most people are not born of great mothers, he told everyone, but fall out of heaven with a thud. It's a rather painful experience so they normally cry their hearts out and remain quarrelsome for the rest of their lives. But Phatu was special...

	Phatu's family grew cucumbers. As I have told you before, cucumbers are adored by jackals. Due to poor eyesight, however, jackals can't see the cucumbers very well. Several opticians have made spectacles for them, but without much success. The specta cles keep falling off as the jackals insist on scrambling in and out of ditches. Undeterred, the opticians are now experimenting with contact lenses.

      The clever jackals have developed an effective way of find ing cucumbers - they roll on their backs over the cucumber plants. As soon as they feel a cucumber they devour it without even bothering to peel off the skin. Phatu and his mother were fed up with these bothersome jackals.

      One early morning, while returning from the cucumber fields, the jackals saw Phatu's mother leaning against a wooden post on her veranda. Tears were pouring from her eyes. "Dear Phatu," she sobbed, "where have you gone? I know how deeply you loved the jackals. You used to say, `Mum, don't pick all the cucumbers. Leave half for the jackals. They are such nice fellows. I've met few gentlemen as nice as them."

      Hearing this news, the jackals were beside themselves with joy, but gave the impression of being deeply moved. "Phatu's mother," they said softly, "why are you weeping on the verandah so early in the morning?"

      "Oh dear, dear, dear," she wept. "Phatu has left us. Just before he passed away he said, `Mother, you must invite the jackals to my memorial ceremony and give them a good feast as prescribed by the scriptures.' So, dear jackals, I'd like to invite you to tonight's feast. Can you come?"

      "That's very kind of you," said the jackals. "We'd love to come."

      Phatu and his mother met at regular intervals throughout the day to discuss their plans. The jackals arrived in the early evening with their friends and relatives. They were wearing dhotis and punjabi shirts and had wrapped scarves around their necks. They were all well-groomed. Phatu's mother put straw mats on the ground which she had deviously covered with sticky mango paste. Then she invited the jackals to take their seats on the mats. The food she served was delicious.

      Perhaps you know that there are three types of feast: excel lent, ordinary and horrible. The menu of an excellent feast is mouthwatering: fine, exquisitely scented beaten rice; yogurt made from condensed milk; the best bananas, mangoes and jackfruit; delicious milk sweets; and molasses puffed rice. An excellent feast ends with three rolled betel leaves and one rupee twenty-five paisa as a sacerdotal fee.

      The menu of an ordinary feast is as follows: ordinary beaten rice, ordinary yogurt, cheap bananas, local mangoes, bitter jack fruit, ordinary sweets, sugarcane puffed rice and, to end, two rolled betel leaves and 25% of the sacerdotal fee of the excel lent feast.

      A horrible feast's menu leaves much to be desired: raw beaten rice mixed with paddy; sour, watery yogurt; over-ripe black-skinned bananas, sour mangoes, unripe bruised jackfruit; tasteless dry molasses; old sugarcane puffed rice and, at the end of the feast, one rolled betel leaf and a sacerdotal fee of five paisa.

      The jackals were served the excellent feast, which they ate with great relish. While eating the thought kept popping into their minds that Phatu's mother would appear at the end of the feast, with a shawl neatly draped over her shoulders, to give them three rolled betel leaves and a sacerdotal fee of one rupee and twenty-five paisa. They expected her to say, "Gentlemen, it is a great honour to have served you tonight. Please accept this sacerdotal fee of one rupee and twenty-five paisa in return for the effort you made to attend this feast. I thank you for oblig ing me in this way."

      Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the most important part of the story. When the jackals sat down on the straw mats Phatu's mother said, "Dear guests, permit me to count your tails to see how many of you have come. I thought it appropriate to give the sacerdotal fee by tail." As she counted the tails she tied one to the other with a rope.

      Just as the feast was about to end, Phatu emerged from behind the door with a club in each hand. His eyes were red with rage. Before the terrified jackals could understand what was happening, Phatu was upon them, beating them wildly with his clubs. They tried to escape but found themselves glued to the mango paste. Some did manage to leap up and attempt to make a get-a-way to the north or the south, but as they were all tied together their resultant speed was nil. After the massacre jackals lay everywhere. Some had broken bones, some broken ribs and some had even lost their tails. Most of them had died two or three times and some had even died seven or eight times.

* * * * *

      The next day Phatu's mother was sitting on the verandah frying rice. Phatu had told her he wanted to eat rice and cucum ber. The jackals suddenly appeared, marching in military forma tion and singing:

      "We trembled with dread
	As the clubs hit our head
	Oh Phatu's mum, we now know why
	You pretended to cry?"

      "Who are you?" asked Phatu's mother. "Didn't you all die last night?"

      "We are jackal ghosts," they replied.

      Phatu's mother looked a little closer and saw that their toes were pointing backwards - a sure indication that they were ghosts. "Ghosts can't eat cucumbers," she said, "so why have you come here?"

	"We'd like you to ask Phatu to arrange a pindi1 for us," they replied.

	1. Food offered in memory of a departed soul.

      "Why don't you ask the priests to do it," suggested Phatu's mother.

      "We did," replied the jackals. "But the priests said if they do this for pack of jackals nobody will ever ask for their services again. So please request Phatu to help us. You've al ready done so much for us. Why not render this last service too?"

      "Why are you so eager to go to heaven?" inquired Phatu's mother.

      "Because in heaven we'll be able to eat cucumbers to our heart's content," they replied.

      "Can you get cucumbers in heaven?" asked Phatu's mother, surprised.

      "But of course," said the jackals. "Don't you know the story? Once a man died after a snake bit him on the nose. His friends and relatives were overjoyed."

      "Why were they happy about that?" asked Phatu's mother.

	"Listen to the story," insisted the jackals. "The dead man's brother presided over the memorial ceremony. One of the guests asked him, `Whose memorial ceremony is this - yours or your brother's?' `My brother's, of course, he replied. `Well can't we meet him then?" asked the guest. After all, it is his memorial ceremony we are attending.' `But he's dead,' said the exasperated host. `When did he die?' asked the guest. `Ten days ago.' `What an unlucky fellow!' exclaimed the guest. `Such bad luck! If he had died ten days later he would have enjoyed today's feast. It's strange, isn't it. We see the child during its christening cere mony, we see the bride and groom during the marriage ceremony, but we never get a chance to see a dead man during his memorial ceremony. By the way, how did he die?' `He was bitten by a snake,' replied the host. `Really? On which part of his body?' `On his nose.' `That was a stroke of good luck,' said the guest. `At least his eyes were saved.' `What on earth can a dead person do with a pair of eyes?' asked the host. `Watch what you say,' cautioned the guest. `Eyes are precious jewels that are needed to see the way, even to heaven.'

      "So, Phatu's mother, we're going to heaven to eat cucumbers to our heart's content."

      Phatu's mother continued to fry rice as the jackals sang,

	"We trembled with dread
	As the clubs hit our head
	Oh Phatu's mum, we now know why
	You pretended to cry?

      To this day the classical tune of the jackals drifts across the dark night into our ears: "Aaoooooo......Aaoooooo."