AKTER passing his Matrtc examination from Mymensingh School, our Govinda came to Calcutta His widowed mother had a few material assets, but Govindas greatest asset was his undaunted deter mination He had vowed that he would make 'money and dedicate his entire life to attaining that goal In his speech, he always referred to wealth as "money ." In other words, in his mind there was a very solid element, one which could be seen, touched, and even smelt He was not enamored of fame His fixation dwelt on ordinary money the money which passed from hand to hand in the markets, became dirty and crumpled, which smelt of copper, which was the ancient symbol of great wealth, which had transformed into gold, silver, and paper over periods of history and turned the heads of people through all times.

After passing many crooks and bends, and splashing through mud and sludge. Govinda now had reached the solid banks of his money promising river He had established himself as the Boro Babu or manager of gunnybag business magnate Boro Saheb McDougall Everyone gave him the nickname of McDulal.

When Govinda's paternal cousin Mukunda died, he had already relinquished the caprices of the legal profession. He left behind a widow, a four-year old son. a house in Calcutta, and some savings. There were, however, some debts to be cleared, so the future survival of his family depended on thrifty expenditure. That is why the amenities with which Chunilal was brought up could hardly match those of his neighbours.

According to Mukunda Dada's will, the entire responsibility of his family fell on Govinda. Govinda constantly drummed Into his young nephew s ears the idea of making money.

The biggest obstacle in the way of molding the little boy came from his mother Satyabati. She never said anything directly, but the resistance was apparent in her behavior. Since childhood, she had an obsession with artistic pursuits. There was no end to her dabbling with flowers, leaves, paper cut-outs, fabric., mud. flour, plum juice, or sap of jasmine and shuli. She made numerous impractical, unnecessary things with boundless enthusiasm. She often got hurt in the process too. A magnetic fascination draws people towards the illogical, the emotional. The force of this attraction Is like that of a sudden flood in the month of Ashar. it has the tremendous speed, but its turbulent currents wash away the functional and the utilitarian.

There had been occasions when Satyabati had completely forgotten that there was an invitation at a relative s house and spent her time diligently fiddling with a lump of clay. Relatives Said she was insolent. It was difficult indeed to refute them.

Mukunda knew from his reading of books that there were grounds for critical judgement in matters of art. The very word ■'art" was as-sociated with lofty notions in Mukundu's mind and inspired thrill and excitement within him. But that there could be art in his own wife's creative pursuits was something which never occurred to Mukunda. He did not have an ounce of meanness or any twisted trickery in his bones. He felt amused at his wife s hobbies — an amusement full of lender affection. If anyone in the family criticized Satyabati's activities. he would protest Immediately. There was a peculiar contradiction in Mukundu s person allty — he was a sage in his legal profession but he seemed to lack wisdom in family affairs. He earned a great deal of money, but its glamour never imprisoned him. That is why his heart and mind were free and he never betrayed any need to impose his wishes on those around him. His life-style was extremely simple. He never made unreasonable demands on others to promote his own Interests or required spe cial attention to his daily needs. Whenever family members insinuated Satyabati s slackness in household duties, he refused to listen to them.

Frequently on his way home from work, he made it a point to buy crayons, silk embroidery thread, and water colours from Radha Bazaar. He would carry these Into the house, careful test Satyabati saw him. and lay them out on the wooden trunk in their bed room. Sometimes be would pick up a sketch done by Satyabati

and say, This is great!'' One day he picked up the sketch of a man and held it upside down saying that his two legs resembled a bird's head "Satu, dear, we,need to have this one framed it Is a wonderful picture of a stork," he commented. Mukundu indulged with a sense of humor the childlike imagination working behind Satyabati s artistic endeavors Satyabati too derived a great deal of joy from her hus band's Interest in her work. Satyabati realized her great fortune — she was fully aware that in no other family of Bangladesh could she have found so much patience and indulgence. Her artistic passion would nowhere else be sup ported with so much sympathy and understanding. That is why whenever her husband made one of his hyperbolic comments on her work, it became hard for Satyabati to restrain her tears.

One day this rare fortune was snatched away from Satyabati. Before his death. Mukunda had realized that he must give the responsibility of his debt-ridden family onto the shoulders of one who was astute enough in money matters to be able to navigate this leaking boat across the river. Thus Satyabati and her son fell into the hands of Govinda, who had been chosen to

take on this duty. On the very first day Govinda made it perfectly clear that money was above all else and it was only money that ever mattered. Discerning a crude baseness in this counsel. Satyabati stiffened in humiliation.

The quest for retaining money penetrated their lives in multiple forms, most blatantly in the weighing of living and eating expenses It these matters had not been discussed openly but kept under a discreet layer, there would be no harm. Satyabati knew in her heart that such attitude^ would exert a destructive influence on her son's personality, but there was no alternative other than to endure in si lence. One who is noble and lofty, who has ex traordinary dignity, is also the most vulnerable — it is extremely easy for one who is crude and ordinary to hurt him. to ridicule him.

Some art materials were essential for Satyabati to keep up her work. When her hus ImukI was alive, he would make sure she had these though she never asked for them Satyabati had never faced the embarrassment of asking someone to procure her tools. Now she was mortified and shuddered to add these so-called useless items to the list of family ex penses She curtailed her own food and bought materials for her artwork. She also worked in secrecy, behind a locked door — not because

she feared rebuke, but to avoid the unwanted intrusion of an eye devoid of artistic percep-ilon Now her son. Chuni. was the only onlooker and judge of her art. He gradually became not only supportive, but even obsessed with art. It was hard to contain his enthusiasm. There was evidence all over — from the pages of his notebook to the walls. His hands face, and clothes all manifested his guilt. The god Indira did not hesitate to tempt even a little child away from the concept of moneymaking. But there was much pain to be borne from his uncle!

As more restrictions began to be imposed upon Chuni. Satyabati pitched in more and more to support him.When the Big Boss took Govinda away to faraway small towns and villages on business, mother and son felt an immense joy — just like little children. They created what the gods had not yet begun to create: a dog in the mould of a cat. or a fish resembling a bird — such that it was hard to discri-mate among them. But alas! they could not relain these masterpieces of creation; before Govinda s return, they had to remove from sight all traces of their endeavors. Only Brahma and Rudra were accomplices in the creative

venture^of these two; there was no interference of Vishnu.

The urge for creativity was strong in Satyabati's family. As evidence of this strain, one of Satyabati's nephews. Rangalal. who was older than her. suddenly attained fame as a painter. The art critics immediately targeted the peculiar traits of his artistic creations and flung their derision upon him. In their gatherings. Rangalal was regarded as a laughingstock and provoked a great deal of chaff and banter. Since their ideals did not tally with his, they scorned his talents. Strangely enough, amidst this ignorance, resistance, and ridicule he thrived and his fame grew. Those who tried to imitate him were also the ones who left no stone unturned to prove that he was a fake in the guise of an artist — in fact, they said, there were glaring defects in his technique.

This much-ridiculed artists came on day to visit his aunt. Satyabati. in the absence of Govinda. After banging on the door for a long time, when he finally managed to step in, he found that there was no space left on the floor. The cat was finally out of the bag.

Rangalal said. "It's a rare sight to see the creative soul emerge so fresh and pure, and flower with such spontaneity — unblemished by signs of painstaking effort. He is as young and

ageless as the god who creates beauty. Let me see all the pictures you've drawn so fart''

How could they show those pictures? They never kept one. The great virtuoso in the heavens above paints with an array of colours and shades and light on the vast spread of the skies.

But He nonchalantly discards His nonpareil creations in the infinite hemispheres of mist and mirage. The feat of mother and son too had disappeared Into that same realm of illusion.

Rangalal made her aunt promise not to throw away any more pictures. '"From now on. whatever you create. I will come and collect." he said.

Boro Babu had not yet returned. Since the morning the sky was overcast with sravana clouds and it was raining. How far the day had gone by and where the hands of the clock lay they did not wish to know. Today Chuni Babu was engrossed in sketching a boat plying on a river. The waves were like a herd of sea-monsters threatening to devour the boat. The clouds above in the sky seemed to wave their banners as If cheering them on. These were no ordinary sea-monsters, tinged as they were with a child's imagination. It would, however, be somewhat of an exaggeration if one perceived the clouds to be an amorphous mass of light, fog. water and air.

For the sake of truth, however, it should bp told that if ever such a boat was created, no insurance company would be willing to take its responsibility. Thus the play of creation continued. The artist in the sky did as He fancied and the wide-eyed young child in the room did likewise.

They had completely forgotten that the door was unlocked. Boro Babu came in. He thundered. "What is going on here?'"

The little boy trembled in fear and his face turned pale. Govinda now discovered why Chuni kept making mistakes in dates on his history exam. Meanwhile as Chuni furtively tried to hide his picture under his shirt, his guilt became even more obvious.

Govinda pulled out the picture and what he saw confounded him. What was all this? It seemed that even wrong dates on history tests were more welcome them this nonsense. He tore the picture into Shreds. Chuni sobbed inconsolably.

This happened to be ekadoshi. the eleventh day of the waxing moon, when Satyabati usually spent almost all day in the worship room. She hastily came out on hearing Chuni's sobs. What had once been Chuni’s marvelous sketch now lay strewn on the floor in a dozen little pieces. • and Chuni too lay rolling and tossing on the floor. Govinda was busy trying to delve deep into all the root causes of wrong dates on history exams.

Never before had Satyabati uttered the slightest protest at Govinda's behaviour. She always kept in mind that her husband had trusted him with their responsibility. That is why she had borne everything in silence. But now she was weeping. In a voice shaking with reproach she asked, "Why did you tear Chuni's picture?"

- Govinda said. "Isn't he supposed to study? What will become of him otherwise?" Satyabati said, "In the end. even if he turns out to be a street beggar, it is fine. But God forbid that he should ever turn out to be like you. May the gifts God has given him bring him more honor than your money. This is a mother's blessing for her child!"

Govinda replied, "I cannot abandon my responsibility. All this nonsense must stop at once. Tomorrow I will pack him off to a boarding school. 1 will not let you spoil him here."

Baro Babu left to go to work.

It rained heavily: the streets were filled with water.

Satyabati took her son's hand and said. "Come. dear, let's go!"

"Where are we going. Ma?" Chuni asked.

"'Let's get out of here!"

There was knee-deep water in front of Rangalal's house.

Satyabati entered Rangalal's room with her son. She said to her nephew. "Son, you must take this responsibility. Save my child from the lure of wealth!"