A Full Night's Thievery: Stories

By Mitra Phukan

A musician never realized the truth of the saying ‘Music is a harsh taskmaster’ until his beloved instrument exacts the highest sacrifice. An unfaithful husband is baffled: his wife grows more and more perfect until she literally becomes the goddess of plenty. A loving mother is naturally distraught at the kidnapping of her son by in

• Language: English
• Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books
• Release date: Sep 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9789386050618

Mitra Phukan

Mitra Phukan is a writer, translator, columnist and trained classical vocalist who lives in Guwahati, Assam. Her published works include four children's books, a biography, two novels-'The Collector's Wife and A Monsoon of Music'-and a collection comprising fifty of her newspaper columns, titled 'Guwahati Gaze'. In addition, her short stories have appeared in various journals. Her works have been translated into several Indian and European languages. As a translator herself, she has brought the works of some of the best-known contemporary Assamese fiction writers into English. Her widely read column, 'All Things Considered', appears fortnightly in 'The Assam Tribune'. She is an active member of Aradhana, an organization that takes music to the underprivileged sections of society, and a founder member of the North East Writers' Forum.

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The Choice

You may well look amazed, sir. Yes, yes, I can read the look in your eyes like a book. Haven’t I seen this look, hundreds, thousands of times throughout my life? Whenever I take up this instrument to play, or indeed, whenever people see me carrying it about with me, as though it is my first-born babe, as I go from concert to concert, venue to venue—yes, I have seen this look in a million pairs of eyes. The same look of wonder and amazement.

I can guess your thoughts, sir, at this very moment, as I sit in your beautiful air-conditioned drawing room, sipping tea from your expensive china, nibbling on nuts from sparkling crystal…I’m a little worried about the air-conditioning—will it harm her? I mean, my instrument. Most likely not—but one never knows, she can be so temperamental at times. If I could request you, sir, to switch it off, and turn on the fans instead—thank you. Yes, that will be fine. She’s not used to air-conditioning, though the concert halls where we play these days are mostly air-conditioned. But my house, my music room, where she sits and sleeps, is not…Thank you.

Where was I? Yes, of course. You’re wondering, aren’t you, how it is that you, who pride yourself on being such a connoisseur of music, haven’t actually heard this instrument being played? And you’re amazed, aren’t you, at its beauty, the sheer majestic grandeur of its looks? Just look at her—how beautiful she is! Most people don’t know that she was created by Rudra himself, for his wife, Parvati. An instrument designed by God the Destroyer, for the creation of music, for his divine consort. They call her the Rudra Veena, but she is Parvati’s instrument all the same. Rudra fashioned it after Parvati, didn’t you know that? He watched her while she was asleep, and the veena took shape echoing what he saw. Look at these two resonators, two perfect globes covered with such intricate carvings. They are her heavy, blue-veined breasts, of course. And the stem of the instrument, wrought just so—that’s her delicate arm as it lies across her breasts while she sleeps. And these frets, what else are they but the bangles on Parvati’s arm, yielding divine music when one plays on them?

See how she responds to my touch, sir. She comes alive with music, like a woman…no, I mustn’t talk in this way.

You are curious now, aren’t you?

Yes, I know you’ve heard of me. Anybody with any interest in our music will have heard of me. After all, I am one of the very few Rudra Veena players around in this country today. And possibly the best one. No sir, I don’t believe in false modesty. It’s a fact that my fees are more than most organizations can afford. Only the really big sabha and concert organizers can come up with the money for my payments. It’s a different matter that you haven’t actually seen or heard me perform. I am mostly abroad these days, sir, performing at the festivals and concerts there. Like so many of my fellow musicians, I spend summers there, and only a bit of winter here, in our country, doing the music circuit of our metro cities. It’s not just the money that attracts me, though I must say that today I am richer than I had ever dreamed would be possible. It’s the…well, let’s just say that I like the seriousness with which the students come to me in Europe, or America, or Japan, to learn this Rudra Veena from me.

They haven’t heard of the Curse, you see. And even if they have, they are too…well, perhaps, they are too far away from the darkness of their distant pasts, to pay much attention to it. Whereas we, here in this country—we are too close still to the elemental forces; we cannot afford to ignore these myths, these legends, which are so often not fictitious at all, but true in every aspect. They talk of the Curse as though it’s a curiosity, something that is totally removed from the everyday, ordinary reality of their lives…whereas here, the dark shadow of the Curse looms over everything connected with this instrument, this veena of Rudra…

You mean you haven’t heard of the Curse? Well, that’s amazing. Yes, that’s really amazing. Practically the first thing that people ask me about is the Curse. I mean people from this country, of course, not foreigners. They want to know—was I aware of the Curse when I took up this instrument? Why did I take the risk of turning to the Rudra Veena for my profession, when I could just as easily have taken up the sitar, or sarod, or flute, or why not, the violin? These instruments make beautiful music, too, (though nothing like the music of my Rudra Veena, everybody says so…) they are popular, here as well as abroad, they travel better than my instrument…yes, and besides, they don’t have the Curse hanging over their heads as my instrument does… Well, it’s my turn to be amazed now. Truly amazed. How come you haven’t heard of the Curse on those who play this instrument? Everybody in the music world knows it. But ah, I was forgetting. You are not a musician, are you? Indeed, you talk so knowledgeably; you are so sensitive to the sentiments of us musicians that for a moment I had forgotten that you are not one. Of course you are a connoisseur, but not part of the music world itself. But we need people like you, people with huge business empires who can patronize the arts like you do. In the old days, it was the kings who patronized musicians. Today, I say, thank God for people like you, cultured and refined businessmen who promote the arts…that is, of course, why I have come to you today. I, along with my instrument, the Rudra Veena. And the Curse that hangs over us.

The Rudra Veena and the Curse, they go hand in hand. It is as though Rudra, jealous of those who would caress and stroke this instrument that was Parvati’s echo, thought up this jinx to keep them away. He wanted to touch, to play, to bring alive with music this instrument himself. What better way than to hurl a Curse to keep merely human aspirants away?

Yes, I’m coming to that. The Curse. I don’t know how it started, of course, but it seems that it has been around since…well, how can I say how long? All I can say is, that anybody who plays the Rudra Veena is doomed to die without a child to carry on his name. Not a male child, mind. He is doomed to be childless—no sons, no daughters, nothing. Tell me, sir, can anything be worse? For us, the people who live here on this subcontinent that we call home, to die without a child to take us to the burial ground, or to light the funeral pyre so that we can proceed on our journey to the next world, our next birth—can anything be worse? To die with no one to carry on the family name, to perish without leaving our blood behind in the veins of our sons and daughters, to have no grandchildren in the evening of one’s life to play with, to tell stories to, to sing to, to teach our music to…can anything be worse?

I can see that you are startled. Yes, this is a terrible thing, a terrible thing indeed. And of course it’s one of the reasons, perhaps the main reason, why my beautiful Rudra Veena is falling into disuse. Who will dare come to learn from me, knowing that he or she is bound to die without any progeny? It’s different for foreigners; in any case they don’t feel as deeply about things like continuity of the family and so on, in the way we do. But Indians…no sir, I don’t have any Indian students on the Rudra Veena. Foreigners, yes, several, but no Indians. Nobody has come forward to learn from me, though many approach me to learn the sitar. I play that instrument, too, you know—but not on the concert circuit. Not yet. Well, perhaps we shall soon have to go to Europe and America to learn the Rudra Veena!

Ah, yes, of course you want to know about my ancestors, my gurus. I learnt from my Mamu, my mother’s brother, the famed Ustad Ali Hussain. He died several decades ago—a bachelor. He never married, never had any children. Of course I was his child in all senses but the biological—the real inheritor of the mantle of his musical heritage. He, in turn, learnt from his Chacha, his father’s brother, who had four wives and several mistresses—he was a very handsome man, and fond of women, but no, he never had any children. This Veena was his child, his daughter, he always used to say…he gave it to my Mamu, who, at his deathbed, gave it to me… Yes, this very instrument that you see before you now. Who knows how old it is? It is priceless, my Rudra Veena.

I can see the wary look in your eyes. No sir, don’t worry, I am not flogging my instrument, holding her up to a prospective buyer like a slave girl in a marketplace, enumerating her best qualities. No sir, my Veena is too much a part of me, of my life, for me to hold her up for auction. That is why I have come to you, and not to others…But let me continue…am I taking up too much of your time? You did tell me that you had kept the whole evening free for me…thank you. It is important for me, a poor artiste like me, that you hear my story. I don’t mean poor in material goods, but poor nevertheless. Why I have had to come to you with my beautiful, my cherished Rudra Veena.

Thank you, I am quite comfortable. No, tea is fine, I am a teetotaller, a strict and devout Muslim, though you know how it is with us musicians, the lore connected with the music we play draws us inexorably to the myths of this ancient land. But I fast during the holy month, I say my Namaz at the prescribed times…yet when I play my Veena, I feel the presence of Parvati near me… I don’t know, it confuses me, but I have come to accept the fact that there is something greater than all organized religions, and I mean all, sir—a Power that cannot be pinned down through ritual or rite, through ceremony or sacrament—a Power whose shadowy form can be discerned only through Art…and Music. Especially through Music. That is why, when I play on my Veena, I worship.

Forgive me for straying from the topic, sir. I have hardly slept at all this last week, hardly closed my eyes as I kept vigil…And the turmoil in my heart is something that nobody can understand.

As I was saying, this instrument is priceless. Not just because it is old, or beautiful, or because it is so rare, though these all contribute to its value. The music it makes, the fact that it has been played by so many of the best Veena players the world has ever known—which, I can say quite without any false humility, includes me—all this gives my Veena a value that cannot be quantified.

In any case, the Rudra Veena is now almost a museum exhibit. The best museums around the world place them behind glass, where they are seen…but not heard, never heard, no, by gawking crowds. Or there are the private collections, housing instruments such as Stradivarius violins, and maybe even a Rudra Veena. (Yes sir, I may be a Rudra Veena player, but I do know the value of a Stradivarius. Priceless, like my Veena). They are kept in climatically-controlled walk-in vaults, for the pleasure of their billionaire owners. Yes, of course I do know that your private collection is one of the best in the world. I also know that you take the best care of your collection, not just looking at them, but even handling them, strumming them, getting musicians in to actually play them once in a while…that is why I have come to you, sir, and not gone to others, though I could have taken my instrument anywhere in the world, anywhere at all…

But like Stradivarius violins, Rudra Veenas are becoming rare because there are hardly any makers around. Indeed, why should anybody make Rudra Veenas? For whom? There are practically no new players around. The students that I have live in places such as Berlin, Tokyo, Manchester, Toronto… A veena maker cannot live by making four or even eight instruments in a lifetime… In any case, where is the fine, seasoned Burma teak, where is the ivory for the bridge work, where can one get the materials needed to craft an instrument of this kind?

Long ago, when I was just this high, and my voice was still that of a child’s, my Mamu had taken me to the workshop of a veena maker. Who knows, that may have been the last Rudra Veena to have been made! The craftsman was, I remember, regarded as being the best at that time. He had invited my Mamu to the ceremonies that were always conducted when work on a Rudra Veena began. An auspicious date was chosen, and at the favourable hour, work on the carefully selected piece of seasoned teak would begin. There was, I remember, prayer and ritual, all conducted in the ancient Hindu tradition. We two, my Mamu and I, were outsiders, Muslims, but we were very welcome nevertheless, because the maker of the instrument and my Mamu belonged to the same religion, the creed of Music. Amid the lighting of fragrant incense and aromatic joss-sticks, the first ceremonial cut on the wood was made by a sanctified tool. It was a moving moment, I remember, and I treasure the memory of it till today. It is not something I am likely to see again in my lifetime… I remember that the craftsman took a whole year to finish that instrument, which was being made, not for my Mamu, but for a…yes sir, you are right, it was for a private collection, a Maharaja’s museum if I remember right.

Am I boring you, sir? I hope not…thank you for your patience. You are kind, very kind…yes, they were right when they told me to come to you, for you understand the mind and heart of musicians. As for me, I never tire of listening to tales about my instrument, my Veena.

Yes, I knew we would come to that. You are still thinking about the Curse, I see. Yes, it is a riveting myth, isn’t it? For me, now, at this moment, it is of course much more than a myth, though there was a time not so long ago when I had thought that it was just that: a myth and nothing more. Till the other day, I was like those foreign students who hear about this Curse and forget about it, or at most remember it only as a strange and interesting tale, which has nothing to do with them. Not now, though, not any more. Oh no, I believe, I truly believe in it, though my religion forbids me to do so. But I am past rationalizing about these things.

Yes, of course you want to know whether I, one of the few remaining Rudra Veena players alive today, have a child. I am coming to that, sir; that is indeed the point of my story…

When I began to show an interest in this Veena of Rudra, my relatives, even my own Mamu and Guru, were uneasy. I was a kind of child prodigy, you know, I could recognize at least six raags and identify them by their basic notes when I was not even five years old. But musical genius was something that was taken for granted in our family of musicians. There have been eminent instrumentalists right from the time my forefathers came from Peshawar, and even further West, from Afghanistan, and ultimately, from Persia. There have been wonderful vocalists, too—indeed, Chhote Wajid Ali of the Agra Gharana is my own uncle. Nobody would have minded if I had become a pakhawaj player, for instance, or a sitarist, or a sarod player. Indeed, it was expected that I join the family firm with some kind of instrument in my hands. But the Rudra Veena?

The threat of the Curse was in everybody’s minds when I began to go across to my Mamu’s house to hear him play, watch him perform… Even he tried to dissuade me, you know. My father was a pakhawaj player, my first cousin an excellent Dhrupad singer—he tried, yes, everybody knows, he tried to get me to take up other instruments, even singing. And my mother—she actually forbade me to go to her own brother’s house, she was that afraid of the Curse. But I would run away, and hide behind the screen in my Mamu’s music room, and listen to him play. And when my Mamu went out of the room, I would creep out and try to reproduce those magical sounds on the instrument—this very instrument—myself.

The things they told me, just to get me to give it up! Of course nobody mentioned the Curse directly, but they thought up a lot of disincentives. The instrument was frightfully difficult to play, they argued…but I countered each and every argument of theirs logically, painstakingly. Yes, the Rudra Veena is difficult to play. But so is, say, the shehnai, and nobody put obstacles in the path of my cousin when he began to take up that instrument in earnest. The breathing exercises that his Guru gave him were excruciatingly difficult. He would have to take a bowl of soapsuds, and blow on it for an hour at a time, making sure that the bubbles he produced were all exactly the same size. But my family never tried to dissuade him from learning it just because of the difficulty…so why were they putting all these hurdles in my way?

Eventually, of course, they all gave up. My Mamu, my father, my uncles—all their cajoling, their threats, their scoldings stopped short in the face of my perseverance, my dedication. And of course, the beauty, the sheer magical beauty of my music. (No, I told you before, didn’t I, that I am not falsely humble). My mother was the last—but even she stopped the day I brought home Suraiyya.

By then, of course, I was already a well-established player. Radio and TV programmes, concert assignments, foreign tours—I had them all under my belt. My earnings were much more than I had ever imagined would be possible. And then, to be paid for doing something that I loved so much, that was as much a part of me as breathing… I felt fortunate, indeed. And the day Suraiyya entered my home as a bride, I felt…well, what can I say? Any man who has in his life the woman he loves will know what I feel.

Suraiyya knew about the Curse, of course. Her family, too, is one of musicians. As daughters, they were not taught the secrets of the art, for daughters move away and take the knowledge to enrich the homes that they marry into—homes that house competitors! But Suraiyya, in spite of being born to a traditional family, is educated. She is a graduate, a rare thing for a daughter in our community of musicians in those days. Yes, a graduate, and a Science graduate at that. Of course she didn’t believe in the Curse.

But now…today…she is the one who begged me, weeping, to bring the Veena to you. My Rudra Veena, which has been my companion for so many decades… Forgive me, sir, I am old now, and easily moved to emotion. No, no, I am fine, don’t worry. Well, as fine as can be expected from an old man in