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Somu By- Radha D'Souza Radha is currently a lecturer at the University of Auckland. Before coming to New Zealand four years ago, Radha was a labour and democratic rights lawyer in Mumbai. She has been a free lance writer, columnist and campaigner for democratic rights and social justice in India and now in New Zealand.

Somu sat on a bench, in the furthermost corner of the garden patch outside his house. He sat there all day long, cowering, his shrivelled hands clutching his glass, or in its absence, his knees bent under his chin. Even in his most inebriated state, Somu behaved like the master of the house. Whenever he needed money, he simply walked up to the house and picked up whatever he thought had resale value, then sacked it for a song. He was not the higgly-haggly type that cribbed over every naya paisa.

Whenever Somu's family embarked upon their undrunken abuses, Somu simply withdrew into his corner. He never answered back. If someone slapped him, he turned the other cheek. He was the only living being to practice this great teaching.

Since Somu seldom got up from his seat, he never sinned. Since he never spoke, he never lied. He never bore any witness against anyone, true or false. He never coveted his neighbours' possessions; he had never even seen them. The question of committing adultery did not arise, as he could not lie with his own lawfully wedded wife. The only thing Somu ever did was drink. Strictly speaking, there was no specific injunction against drinking. If the world around him had become so materialistic as to forget the basic lessons of spiritual well being, it was not exactly Somu's fault. Or was it?

Periodically, people around Somu tried their hands at "reforming" him. Every now and then, his family would drag him to the local Municipal hospital's Alcoholic Ward. They did not have to try very hard. Somu always went with them without protesting. In fact, he quite looked forward to the hospital trips. There was no place like an alcoholic war for a retreat. There he was in sympathetic company. The others in the ward raved and ranted about their persecution. Somu's silent presence soothed their agonised souls. All truly good people were persecuted, and persecution must be borne stoically by true human beings. Somu did not have to sermonise on these things. His very presence exuded a silent sense of oneness, which the persecuted felt. Here, Somu was wanted and respected.

The doctors came, they poked needles and drew blood. Just like the trained tormentors of kings, churches, warlords of yesteryears. Many true men had borne such torture in the numerous dark dungeons of history. That was nothing new. All of them claimed to be doctors, doctors of the body, doctors of the soul, and what have you.

The special ward was never without the "spirit". How it came, nobody asked. How did it matter? As quickly as it came, it disappeared. Nobody knew how. The doctors went on their rounds, morning and evening, and they were livid. They shouted in impotent rage at the ward boys, at the nurses, at the visitors, and of course the victims. They gesticulated wildly at them, issued warnings, and left. The "spirit" entered the special ward unfailingly. The doctors could not understand the situation. How could they be expected to know the mystical ways of the "spirit"? Yes, the hospital rounds always made Somu feel rejuvenated. It restored his inner self.

One day, while Somu sat on his garden seat, an old friend visited him. Joseph, yes, that was his name. Somu was appalled at his friend's appearance. Not just that he looked like all others around him; Joseph looked like the classical traitor. He had put on weight, his cheek shone, and there was a gleam in his eyes.

His friend sat down beside him on the bench. Somu offered him his own glass.
"No, I will not drink 'THIS' glass," he said, "this glass" with special emphasis.
Somu was startled. This was the man who had introduced him to ways of the "spirit". When friends gathered, one would say:
"I am like a barrel."
"I am like a tanker," another would add.
Joseph would beat his chest and say: "I am like a 'mori', you go on pouring, and drain will keep running, non-stop!"

Suddenly Joseph had disappeared. Now he reappeared as suddenly.
"I will not say I have given up on grog. I will only say I will not drink 'this' one that is 'our policy'. He stressed the "our policy" purposefully.
There was a new zeal in his voice, an intensity in his mission.
After that, Joseph came regularly. He always talked about himself.
"From being a lowly, filthy, inconsiderate creature, I could be reborn a cleansed and chaste man."
On another day:
"The first thing I did was to admit I was powerless before alcohol, that there was a greater power than myself, it was the power of God only that power could help me." Or: "We are a fellowship of people who share their experience with one another, no rules, no regulations, no fees, nothing."

His visits always ended with exhortations to Somu to join the AA.
When his cheek had been under attack, Somu had turned the other cheek; now his ears were under attack, and he turned the other ear.
Sometimes, Joseph would bring others from his group, and they would hold their sessions right out there, below Somu's garden seat. Somu cowered into his corner, and on such days sat there staring.

Each one of them would narrate how he had wallowed in his vomit, pissed on beautiful carpets, duped and lied. Such recantations would go on and on endlessly. Somu stared at them, and they went away.

How Joseph had changed! He went about with an air of arrogance, the arrogance of a victor. There was a swagger in him that came from pride. He now sat in the company of all sorts of men, the high and the mighty, the lowly and the earthly; the judges, the bosses, the politicians, the bureaucrats, the babus, the hamals, the workers. He had picked up speaking skills, and much great knowledge of the mannerisms and ways of men of the world. He held his head high.

Somu felt sick at the self-flagellation. The self-abnegation nauseated him. He was reminded of Moharrum, when pious men beat themselves with whips, and nailed batons. By and by, they stopped coming, and Somu found his peace once again.

One day, his little son brought a small wooden cage with two small rabbits, and set is in front of Somu's garden seat. Their ears were deep pink in the middle, and faded to a soft white at the edges. They frisked to and fro, with great intensity. Then they stopped, absolutely still. Their large eyes looked suspiciously at Somu. Suddenly, they spurted forward, slowed down, took two steps forward, and gently felt one another's lips. They lingered for split seconds, and then as suddenly resumed their frisking to and fro.

Somu was very amused. He laughed, he dipped his fingers into his glass and held it out to the rabbits. The rabbits looked suspicious, then licked his fingers. Thus it was that they became friends.

His son soon forgot all about the rabbits. Somu got up, found some leaves and vegetable scrapings from the garden, dipped it into his glass and offered it to the rabbits. One day Somu woke to find a brood of little rabbits in the cage. The leaves and picking from the kitchen trash no longer sufficed. He had to wander all over the streets to find more of the stuff. Then the small rabbits became big, and there was not enough room in the cage for them to frisk to and fro.

Somu fetched his tool kit. He had been a good carpenter at one time. His tools were rusted and blunt. His hands trembled. Somu went all along the street, looking for wood and packing cases. He ripped them apart and nailed them together again, injuring himself, and bleeding from ten different places. He then collected leaves and spread them inside the floor of the cage. Very gently, he picked up the rabbits and transferred them into their new accommodation.

The rabbits were now happy. They frisked, stopped, kissed and frisked once again. Then they too multiplied. Somu wandered all day in search of food and wood to cater to their new needs. Their needs multiplied. Somu had to organise them to bring order into their existence, to cater to their growing needs. He classified them according to age and size, apportioned their food according to their fertility requirements.

Somu became a very busy man. Soon his garden was lined with huge cages, with neatly arranges shelves. His rabbits were among the finest, and many came to seen them, to admire them. Soon the word spread.
And they all came
The laboratory heads, the heads of scientific institutions, the schools, colleges, pet shops, pharmaceutical companies they all came. They offered Somu handsome sums, and when he declined, they doubled their offer. When he still declined, they trebled it.

Somu steadfastly refused to sell. The men shook their heads, and went away. Then came back, after some time. The clamour to sell increased. His family despaired, abused, wept, accused him: "Do you know how this could change all our lives, after all these years?" they reasoned.
Somu simply shook his head.
By now his voice had become sonorous, his shrivelled hands pumped with power. People were afraid to cross his path.

By and by, the men stopped coming. The clamouring stopped. The pestering stopped. Somu was left to himself once more. He continued to work harder than ever. People passing by stopped to look at his rabbits. They exclaimed in wide-eyed admiration. Then they looked at Somu and shook their heads sadly.
"Poor Somu!"
"Poor, poor Somu!"
[This story was first published in the Indian P.E.N, January-March, 1995]

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