The Fantabulous Fens Page 4

  “You tell Papa, Ma, while I go and fetch Uncle,” said Panchu, putting on his helmet and jumping onto his mo-bike.

  “Will you open or do we have to break down the door?” a wild male voice outside enquired.

  Father Fen wondered if he shouldn’t ring up the police. He wished he didn’t have to, because calling the police would mean putting up with a lot of trouble — he would have to write a report, each of them would be questioned by turns, and God knows how many trips they would have to make to the police station! So he decided not to call the police as yet. But if the matter went out of hand, he would have no choice.

  Father Fen and Mother Fen were debating whether they should open the door and try to talk to the people or whether that would be a foolish thing to do when Panchu returned with important news. “I told Uncle,” he said, “but Uncle won’t come. He asked to see where the bed-room was, and when we showed him he went there and hid under the bed!”

  “And Bojo?” asked Mother Fen.

  “He’s trying to climb the rope.”

  “Let’s break down the door!” a voice outside the door threatened.

  “I think it’s best to open the door ourselves,” Father Fen suggested, trying to sound very practical and matter-of-fact, but there was no doubt that he was very disturbed in his mind. “It would be better to do that than have them break down the door.”

  But he was beaten to the door by Mumbo. Baby Panda came behind, holding Koala’s hand, trying to hurry, but that is not saying much because he was far behind Mumbo, and behind Father Fen as well.

  “Mumbo, you don’t get into this,” said Father Fen, “I don’t want any harm to come to you.”

  Mumbo had never ever disobeyed him, so Father Fen took it for granted that this time too Mumbo would automatically listen to him; but as soon as he opened the door, Mumbo edged past him and stood between him and the people outside. The noise outside died out at once. There was a stunned silence. And then, before Father Fen could realize what was happening, Baby Panda and Koala came and took their places by the side of Mumbo, just beyond the door. The stunned silence grew bigger in size. Even Mrs. Superstition stood with her jaws hanging, and Jojo stared at the Fen children with his eyes popping out. As Mother Fen came and joined Father Fen at the doorway, Panchu made a dashing appearance on his mo-bike from the side of the door, with Pinchu as his pillion passenger.

  Needless to say, the hair on the back of Pinchu’s head stood up very straight!

  “Aunty, I have a message for you,” said Panchu. “Uncle asked me to tell you that it will work out to your benefit.”

  Mrs. Superstition had turned stiff, so that if you had looked at her a minute ago you would have thought there was no life in her; but when she heard what Panchu said, she suddenly caught her breath, and her eyes twinkled. Now some of the people who had come there were very rough and rude indeed, as you can well imagine. After all, that is why Mrs. Superstition had brought them. They liked to fight, and they liked to curse — nothing in life gave them more enjoyment than these things. But everyone in the world, however bad he may appear from outside, has goodness and innocence in him as well, however deeply hidden these might be. When these men set their eyes on the Fen children, their inner goodness and innocence, which had been lying hidden for years, came out into the open. It sometimes happens that when you see something very beautiful, like the sun rising over snow-capped mountains or setting into the sea, you feel like being a very good person. It is like you suddenly realize that life can be very beautiful.

  Or perhaps what is beautiful in you finds it easy to relate to what is beautiful outside. That is what happened: these people were suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling they had not experienced for a very, very long time.

  “Are they actually human beings?” someone asked very softly.

  “Of course they are,” another replied. “Can’t you see they can talk? Can’t you see they have hands and legs just like everybody else?”

  “It’s a miracle,” a third stated.

  Mumbo had heard the word in one of his story books. He knew its meaning. He had never dreamt it could apply to his brothers or to him. He found it very funny that the word should be used like this. Maybe it pleased him that anyone should describe them like this — he did not know for sure. But it certainly amused him. It also amused him to see how everyone was looking at them, as if they were watching the Taj Mahal by moonlight. It was so funny! He raised his head, shook his nice, round belly, and roared with happy laughter. It was such an infectious laugh that before they knew it everyone else was laughing as well. Baby Panda looked at Mumbo and gurgled in pleasure. Mother Fen was grinning merrily; Father Fen was chuckling. Panchu was shouting “Ho Ho Ho!” in his small voice; Koala was clapping his hands in glee, and Pinchu was smiling so hard that his eyes were closed and his face was all creased up.

  Others passing that way walked in through the gateway of the Fens to find out what the fun was all about, but even before they could discover the reason, the laughter bug bit them, and they found themselves laughing just because everyone else was laughing. It was an evening to remember, an evening they were later to call Miracle Evening. Everyone was doing just one thing — laughing; laughing like they had never laughed before; laughing in a different way altogether from how they had laughed earlier, laughing from somewhere deep inside their hearts, as if there were hidden wells of laughter situated there.

  Within ten minutes everyone except those who were already young, like the Fen children, were feeling lighter and younger. A TV crew passing by stopped their car out of curiosity. They came in through the gate to find out what was going on, and whether they could make a programme out of it. Everyone saw them with their cameras and busy airs, and the magic spell of innocence that the Fen children had cast suddenly broke. The stink of the market entered the air which till now had been full of the scent of roses. The laughter began to die out. The crowd began to return. The Fens entered their house, rescued Mr. Fen from under the bed, and Bojo from the play-room (where he had got horribly stuck half-way up the rope, and was in tears) and handed them over to Mrs. Superstition, who was so confused by now by the happenings of the last half-an-hour that she hardly spoke a word. The TV crew drove off puzzled and empty-handed.

  “Funny!” exclaimed one member of the crew to another. “Funny peculiar! I mean, when we go somewhere with our cameras, even half-dead people come alive; and here it was just the opposite: people who were having a hearty laugh suddenly turned themselves off, as if we were disturbing them in something very private and secret!”

  “You saw those pets?” his companion asked. “There was a baby elephant there standing on two legs, and a baby panda also standing on two legs, and a koala on a gentleman’s back, and some moving toys, I think … something was going on, I wonder what? … Hey, maybe it was an illegal animal show — maybe they know it’s illegal and they want to hush it up, you see? It could have made an interesting programme, you know?”

  “We’ll come back on a less busy day,” said the head of the crew. He was a fellow they called Bull the Cool. “I too smell an interesting story there.”

  7 - The New Life of the Fens

  There was a sea-change in the lives of the Fen children after that day. People with smiling, wondrous faces started dropping in at all hours with gifts — toys and home-made delicacies and sometimes even clothes. A shopkeeper brought blue caps for all the children. (Those for Panchu and Pinchu were removed off the heads of two toys). When they put the caps on together it all looked like a uniform, and when they stood in front of a mirror they felt very proud of themselves. Everyone said with one voice that they were looking stylish and handsome, and Mother Fen and Father Fen were so pleased and amused that they could not stop laughing. They only stopped when they saw Mumbo watching them with his face about to break into a smile; they were scared that Mumbo might start laughing uproariously again and bring practically the whole area to their doorstep. A Miracle Evening was fine, but there was
no need for a Miracle Afternoon so soon after!

  This new openness in their lives was of course very welcome, but there was the other side as well. Though they knew it was well-meant, Mother Fen and Father Fen did not like the idea of the children being showered with presents all the time. It was difficult to say no to the people who brought the gifts out of their love for the children, but at the same time, a line had to be drawn somewhere, somewhere this had to stop, otherwise not only would they themselves feel that they owed the givers something, but it would also spoil the children. For the life of them, Mother Fen and Father Fen did not know quite what to do.

  As if that was not enough, there was another problem. The Fens had lived largely among themselves, and this had given them a habit of privacy — that is, they liked to be on their own, doing their own things in their own way. Like a piece of music has its own rhythm, their life had a rhythm of its own, and with visitors dropping in any time of the day, this rhythm was upset. Nice as it was to be visited by so many well-meaning people, when this kept happening day after day, the Fens began to feel cramped. The presents did not make up for it because the children really didn’t need them. To give an example, the first day it was great fun for the children to taste the snacks the visitors brought, but afterwards they found they could not eat their meals properly. To them their meals were important, and when the snacks interfered with their meals, they lost interest in the snacks. It was the same way with the caps. When the excitement of their newness got over, they began to feel as if they had put their heads into a cage, and they took off their caps and put them away.

  What would they do with all the extra food that was gathering in their house? There was no more room for it in their two large refrigerators; very soon it would start rotting and they would have to throw it away. It was Pinchu who, with his great thinking powers, first thought up the idea of distributing the food amongst the poorest of the poor. He called a meeting of his brothers, and shared this thought with them. They not only agreed, but they were all very, very enthusiastic about getting it done. They had heard that there were many beggars in their city, and sometimes they had seen pictures of beggars on TV and in the newspapers their parents read. They had not seen much of them because, till now, they had not gone out much, but once in a while they had tried to imagine what a beggar’s life might be like. Frankly, it was quite beyond them. They could well realize, though, that it must be a sad and miserable life indeed. This was their chance to do something about it, and they couldn’t wait to get started.

  The problem was, how exactly were they to go about it? If they went out on the streets, people would crowd around to see them, and there would be absolute confusion. Though they were very small, they knew this very well. They took their problem to their parents.

  “Papa,” said Panchu, “are there beggars on our street?”

  “No,” answered Father Fen, “but why do you ask?”

  “Where are the nearest beggars then, Papa?” he demanded, with his hands locked behind him, and looking the very picture of seriousness.

  He was standing on Mumbo’s shoulder, and that made Mumbo feel rather nervous because he loved to laugh but when he laughed his body shook a lot, and there was no guarantee that Panchu would be able to keep his footing. When they went out, Father Fen and Mother Fen and Mumbo and Baby Panda strapped specially-designed sling seats to their backs, which Pinchu or Panchu or even Koala could get into, if it was necessary. At home that was not the case, and Mumbo had to be very careful. What if Panchu fell to the floor and hurt himself? Even thinking of it made Mumbo worried. He promised himself that, no matter what, he would not laugh so long as he carried Panchu.

  “Will you first say, why this sudden interest in beggars?” asked Mother Fen.

  “We want to give them all the food we can’t eat,” Mumbo explained.

  Mother Fen’s eyes lit up with pride. “How wonderful!” she exclaimed. “If there were more persons like you in this world, the world would certainly be a much better place to live in!”

  All the children looked delighted at this. Koala, who was riding piggyback on Baby Panda, clapped; Baby Panda kind of rocked gently on his feet with pleasure; the single hair on Pinchu’s head stood up tall and straight; and Panchu, almost purring, remarked, “Ma, I too always felt that way!”

  Only Mumbo, controlling himself, did not laugh, which actually he was dying to do. Suddenly he got an idea. “Pinchu, can I put you on that table for five minutes while I have a good laugh?” he asked, pointing to a coffee table not six feet away.

  “Permission given,” Panchu said grandly.

  Mumbo picked him up lightly as lightly can be (he could be as delicate as Mother Fen in spite of being so solid), placed him on the coffee table, and broke into such loud guffaws that the windows rattled and Pinchu blocked his ears with his forefingers. Koala bounced on Baby Panda’s back, sharing Mumbo’s joy. Mother Fen and Father Fen merely looked at each other and smiled.

  “Now that you’ve expressed your happiness,” Father Fen remarked when Mumbo’s laughter at last ended, “have you thought about what would happen if the people who took the trouble of bringing you all that food were to find out that you were giving it out to beggars? Would they be pleased, or would it make them very, very sad?”

  “It would make them very, very sad,” Panchu mused, looking rather sad himself; but his face was such that even when he looked sad, he did not stop looking naughty.

  “I’ve an idea,” declared Pinchu, like a little bird chirping.

  Everyone in the room turned to look at him. Everyone there had great respect for his ideas, and even before he spelt out what was in his mind, there was a general feeling that the problem would now be solved.

  “Papa,” Pinchu continued, “late in the evening we’ll drive far away to some place in the city where no one knows us. There we’ll find out where the beggars are. We’ll sit in the car, and if you give them the food it will be so nice.”

  Everyone felt it was a great idea. They looked at Pinchu and then they looked at one another and nodded in agreement.

  Father Fen raised his fist over his head and chanted, “Three cheers for Pinchu!” Six other fists shot up in the air.

  “Three cheers for Pinchu!” all the others shouted.

  Pinchu’s little face broke into a big, warm smile. His mouth opened, revealing little, well-set teeth. The single hair at the back of his head again stood upright.

  A little late in the evening all of them got into their big, old car whose glasses at the sides and back were tinted, so that you could look out from inside but couldn’t look in from outside. That way the children were more protected. They sat at the back, and Mother Fen and Father Fen, who drove the car, sat in front. They travelled this way and that way for a long time. It was funny: the city was supposed to be full of beggars, but when you looked for them they were not easy to find.

  Maybe this was not their begging time. Here and there they saw single beggars, and made a note of where they were seen, just in case, but what they were really on the look-out for were entire families who lived on the pavement. It was Koala who saw them first, on a darkish pavement fronting offices whose gates were all locked now. On the other side was a garbage dump. At this moment it was not stinking like garbage dumps normally do. Possibly this was because there was no wind. Because the offices were closed, and there were no shops here, or restaurants, or cinema halls, the pavement was almost empty except for the beggar families living there. Ordinary people run away from garbage dumps. If they need to pass them for some reason, they block their nostrils with their fingers and walk with quick, hurried steps.

  But it was different with the beggar families. They had chosen that spot to live in for the very reason that it was opposite a garbage dump. Though it was rubbish that people threw into the garbage dump, it was this very rubbish that the beggars looked forward to: half-eaten meals, thrown-away clothes, broken toys, old paper that could be used as fuel or sold to people who se
nt them to the factories for recycling, and a hundred other things which were of no use to anybody but the beggars. There was hardly anything that was useless to the beggars because they had hardly anything of their own.

  When the Fens reached there, the beggars were all scattered about the place, some lounging on the ground, some lying down, some of the women cooking on old stoves, some of the children playing around naked; and there was even a small group of men enjoying a game of cards, though the pack looked like one they might have picked up from the garbage dump.

  Father Fen parked the car near the curb and opened the boot of the car. He took out the packets of food which they had put into a plastic carry-bag, and walked up to an elderly dirty-looking woman with hair like untidy ropes who was stirring a makeshift ladle in a makeshift frying pan on a makeshift stove which let off angry clouds of smoke for having to work in that broken-down condition.

  “Here’s some nice food for all of you,” Father Fen said, addressing her, but as soon as he opened his mouth some of the smoke went into it, and he broke out into a little fit of coughing. When it was over, he continued, “Today is my son’s birthday, and this food is from him — he wants you to enjoy the food.”

  But the smoke went into him again, making him feel like he would choke, and he had to step back a few feet and turn to one side before he was able to speak again. He noticed that one of the card players was almost staring up at him out of curiosity. For some reason he was not sure of — maybe it was the man’s firm, thick-set jaw — Father Fen got the impression that here was a leader of sorts; maybe he could be given the task of distributing the food along with the woman he had already spoken to.

  He signaled him with his head and remarked, “Would you come here for a minute, please?”

  After gaping at him for some time, the man got up and came towards him like a robot, without any change of expression on his face. Father Fen observed that he walked with a limp, dragging one foot behind him.