The Charlatan- Pratik K Mukherjee

The Charlatan

Pratik K Mukherjee

Image Courtesy: Wikipedia

(English Version of the famous Bengali short story "Chaliyaat" written by  Sukumar Ray)

Photograph By : Swarup Chakraborty

Shyamchand’s father served a very senior position in some office under a British Management, and that obstinacy was very much reflected in his son’s attire and the airs he flaunted. His routine arrival at school was quite a spectacle – sporting a stylish collar, a colourful umbrella sheltering his precious head, his supremacy sounding high and aloud, from the crisp sounds of his brand new leather shoes. Closely being followed at his heels by a fully uniformed, turban-clad Orderly, trudging along with his books and tiffin box, it was surely a statement! Though the smaller boys remained dumb-struck, we had unanimously rechristened him as ‘The Charlatan!’

To cover up for his remarkably frail stature in order to gain credibility, Shyamchand maintained a sombre personality. He maintained a ‘know all’ attitude and spiced it up with flamboyant statements of wisdom so subtly that everyone, ranging from the school security guard to the younger students had the impression, ‘This man is special’! It created quite a ruckus when Shyamchand came to school brandishing a watch fob one day. After every five minutes he took it out of his pocket, putting it to his ear to check if the watch was keeping time. He started to point out at every clock and watch in the school premises, desperate to prove that each was malfunctioning. He show-caused the school guard Pandeyji for his carelessness, ‘Hey you! Why don’t you regulate the school clock when you wind it up daily? It has a service due, its constantly running late’! Even Pandeyji’s predecessors had never heard of the terms ‘Regulate’ or ‘Service’! He had just mastered the art of winding up the clock daily, which was hailed as a matter of pride and esteem back in his ancestral village. In order to live up to that fame, he retorted, ‘Yes off course Babusahib, I am going to ‘Renglit’ the clock just now’! Vanquishing the confidence of the old man, Shyamchand got back to his class triumphant, was instantly engulfed by a throng of younger boys – his blind fans! With airs of a weathered horologist, Shyamchand gradually unleashed the wonders of ‘Slow, fast, Main Spring, regulate’ and every mystery concerned with clocks and  time keeping to his ardent pupils.

Once it happened, a new teacher who joined our school recently, came to our class and addressed Shyamchand as ‘Khoka’! It was for sure, insult added to injury for the egoist Shyamchand who, with a severely glum and reddened face tried to resurrect, ‘Sir, my name is Shyamchand Ghatak.’ The teacher, not understanding the gravity of this innocent statement, responded, ‘Shyamchand? Very good, please take your seat, Khoka’! For the next few days, practically everyone in the school pestered his pride to smithereens, chanting ‘Khoka, Khoka’ whenever he was in sight. But Shyamchand retaliated just in a couple of days! That day, he arrived class in style and pulled out a black, cone shaped object from his pocket. The new teacher, quite a simpleton, asked, ‘Are you feverish, Khoka? Is that why you are carrying a thermometer?’ Shyamchand’s answer resounded with an air of sarcasm, ‘No way Sir, not a thermometer! It’s a fountain pen!’ A deafening silence prevailed! Everybody stood dumbfounded – A fountain pen? The whole class including the teacher thronged up to check it out! Shyamchand was explaining, ‘This is a Vulcanite tube, which contains the ink.’ A small boy fidgeted out, ‘Oh, this is a water gun for sure’! Shyamchand, not even caring to answer such stupidity, smiled with an air of ignorance. Uncapping the pen and displaying its golden nib he declared, ‘This is Iridium, much more expensive than gold.’ The next moment, he caught hold of a copy and started to write out his name smoothly, in full, with the piece of wonder he had introduced everyone with. Everyone remained dumbfounded by the impact, the teacher wearing a jaw dropping expression! When Shyamchand handed over the pen to him, he examined it from every possible angle, wrote out two lines and exclaimed in a overwhelming tone, ‘What a pen – foreign manufacture, I suppose’? Shyamchand went on in full flow, ‘American Stylo & Fountain Pen Co., Philadelphia.’ He had, for sure made up in style, to dent his punctured aura!

The Puja vacations were fast approaching. A colossal ‘Shamiyana’ had come up at the school playground to celebrate the festive season – the stage was set for a show by a renowned magician hired from Kolkata by the school authorities. On the day of the show, every chair along with the basement, terrace, railings, staircases and every other possible place was filled up with the dignitaries, invitees, teachers, school staff and students. It was a full house audience! The Magic Show unfurled before the amazed eyes – a spotless white handkerchief was instantly transformed itself into a rainbow of colours by the sheer wave of the Magic Wand. The Magician took out eleven raw eggs from his mouth totally intact, after swallowing only one hard boiled egg! He extracted fifty rupees in total, after he wrung the long, shabby beard of the Deputy Secretary’s chauffer! Then came the moment – the Magician inquired, ‘Does anyone have a watch?’ Shyamchand bolted out in utter ecstasy, ‘Here, I do have one!’ The Magician, after collecting his watch fob, inspected it very closely, bearing a very serious expression. Then he called out, totally impressed, ‘It’s a fantastic watch!’ The next moment he wrapped it up in a piece of paper, and started hitting it with full force by a hammer. After this ruthless act, he unwrapped the paper – now it contained a few shards of glass and pieces of iron! He asked Shyamchand, ‘Is it the same watch that you gave me?’ Shyamchand’s expression was miles away from being enviable! There was horror all written over his pitiable face, he tried to say something repeatedly, but choked to silence. Lastly, with a herculean effort, he managed to pull out a strained smile, wiped his face and slid back in his chair. Moments later, when his watch fob was excavated in an unscathed condition from a bread loaf, the charlatan laughed his heart out aloud, as if he was well aware of the whole trick from the start!

The Show went on with impressive magic stunts by the Magician and was gradually nearing completion. At last, he kept on asking for various items of daily importance from the huge audience as – pairs of spectacles, rings, wallets and purses, silver pens, expensive pencils and etc. at random. When ten to twelve items got accumulated, he put all of these on a sheet of cloth, and tied them into a neat bundle under stringent vigil of the audience. Then he again called up Shyamchand, and handed over the bundle to him, perhaps he had developed a special interest in the tantrums of the Charlatan. Shyamchand, who had by then regained his composure, seemed elated and over confident as he struck a gallant pose while acting as a custodian of the public property he was assigned with. The Magician was however, engrossed in his bizarre lines of action comprising of waving of the magic wand, facial expressions and other typical histrionics practised by their contingent – was chanting his magic hymns at the same time! Suddenly he stopped, raised his eyebrows and inquired in a pensive tone, ‘Where are the items?’ Shyamchand replied smartly pointing to the bundle he was holding, ‘Why off course, here they are!’ The Magician exulted in joy, ‘Great job son! Now, can you please reopen the bundle and hand over the items back to the respective owners?’ Shyamchand followed suite, only to open the bundle to reveal some pieces of coal and gravel lying inside! The Magician burst out hysterically, striking his forehead with disappointment and distress, ‘Alas, what will I do now? I had collected all the items from the respectable members of the audience, and they trusted me! Why did I let you hold the bundle? What will I do now? Hey boy, enough of jokes, give me back the things which I had put in your custody! I don’t know anything!’ Shyamchand was completely at a loss of words, his face was drained of colour and lacked any expression, he let out blank looks all around him! Then the Magician started extracting the lost items one by one from Shyamchand - the ring from his ear, the pencil from his hair, the pair of spectacles from his sleeve and so on! The audience started laughing and we too started jeering, as the Magic Show was reaching its climax. Even Shyamchand, sensing the joke intended, started to pull up a smart smile, as if he was unperturbed by the whole issue. After all the items were recollected and handed over to the members of the satisfied audience, the Magician clutched his hands, and enquired on a serious note, ‘What else have you taken?’ After all these tense moments which nearly took a toll on his superlative personality, Shyamchand was unable to control his anger anymore, he blurted out in anger, ‘You are a great liar! I had never taken or hid a single item!’ The Magician made him turn around, and coolly pulled out a live white pigeon from under his coat, and inquired sheepishly, ‘And what do you call it … just nothing?’

Shyamchand could not take it any longer – he burst into tears in public! Wailing aloud, punching and kicking the thin air hysterically, he ran out of the Shamiyana like a man possessed. Delighted that we were by his ultimate humiliation and demolition, lived the moment shouting our hearts out, ‘The Charlatan! The Charlatan!!’

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