Subir Roy: A homestead in the heart of town

The park where I take my walk in Bangalore is not as immaculate as many in the city are. It makes do with a daily sweep of the walkways by a somewhat lackadaisical fellow who must be in the employ of the municipality. He has a family, I realised, when occasionally he would not turn up in the morning and instead the sweeping would be done by someone who seemed to be his wife. She, of course, would do a better job.

The park has a temple in one corner and this attracts a steady stream of visitors through the day. Every time there is a festival of sorts the visitors spill over, as also the leaf platters discarded by them after having prasadam. The next day the cleaning job is bigger and I would feel faintly irritated by the slouchy sweeper who would take his time to clean up.

Then, one morning, I found a makeshift shack had come up amidst the bushes between the temple and the park boundary fence and there had moved in a family — sweeper, wife and a girl in early teens who seemed mentally challenged. Surely the municipality could have given right of residence to a better sweeper, I thought with passing regret. And there the matter would have rested had not a remarkable saga of a homestead coming to life unfolded in the heart of town when the right locale for such a common yet timeless story should have been at the edge of a new slum, itself at the edge of town.

The family made a single frugal morning meal out of breakfast and lunch rolled into one, consumed from a motley set of the humblest of pots and pans. None of this would make any kind of news but fascinatingly there soon appeared on the scene a kitten and a puppy both of whom adopted the girl and immediately gave the family a certain distinctiveness. The two would patiently sit on their haunches and wait for the girl to finish her meal and then give them the leftovers.

The dog and the cat were playmates but could not be more different. The cat, kitten really, was playful, frisky and with unbounded energy; the dog, puppy really, was frail, barely able to run, its undernourished body brought to life by a bright and intelligent set of eyes. They shared their food or more correctly the dog didn’t mind the cat hogging most of it.

Suddenly one day the dog was gone. I asked the sweeper’s wife what had happened and she related an unconvincing tale. The naughty local children had dunked him in the water, he was really ill, so her husband had taken and left him at the hospital. I was sure she was being polite. He was gone from this life, I thought, as I regretfully looked at the spots where he hung around when I came for my walk.

One day a major event took place. A single brick and mortar room began to come up next to where the shack was. The sweeper was going to get his pucca quarters and had obviously moved into the shack in order to supervise the construction. The room went up brick by brick and the family was not half as interesting as earlier, with the dog gone.

Then the dog was back! Even frailer than before but with enough strength to wag his tail furiously at the sight of known walkers who would give him a slice of bread or two. The family was restored to its full contingent and life fell back to the old routine. The cat and dog played, foraged among the prasadam leftovers and the girl was happy to call the pets her own.

Thereafter, one morning the family was gone! The cat was not to be seen anywhere either and it was the dog who maintained a lonely forlorn vigil before the shack, mutely asking all passersby why the family had left him and gone away. He could have gone away, too, but felt it his bounden duty to keep vigil over the homestead.

Without notice one day, when the room was ready, the family was back! They moved in, abandoning and dismantling the shack and lo and behold, the cat soon came back too. The sweeper’s family life was restored to its former full rhythm. I could not make out what they cooked and ate inside their one room home but felt all was well. Or else the cat and dog wouldn’t play again the way they used to and get in the way of the walkers.

If there is anyone who is the happiest at the sweeper’s family getting a pucca home then it is the dog. On one of the two steps to the door of the room is spread out a half dirty rug which people use to wipe their feet before getting in. But they cannot really because the dog has taken it over. There he sits for long periods, with his front paws stretched out, in a regal pose more befitting one of the jungle’s big cats. He has to guard his family and its home. He never had any puppy fat to lose but still manages to look grownup. It is the cat that has not lost the playfulness of a child.

subir.roy@bsmail.com