Raghunath, wear your clothes!

Translation of a short story titled 'Raghunath, kapur pindha' by Atanu Bhattacharyya, published in Satsori July 2020 issue. I have left some Assamese words marked in red in the text as I am not completely happy with my translation of those words or phrases.

Raghunath played the guitar.

People would say -- The boy has magic in his fingers.

Of course there was no mention of anything like that in the records and documents. Nothing like that was mentioned in the Nidaanpur Artistes Directory. Even the encyclopaedia that Kaushik Barua had compiled was silent on that front.

Some would like to say that in those days Raghunath’s height was about five feet four inches. His small head was covered with curly hair and his face was soft and sweet like that of a youth whose facial hairs had not grown yet.

Raghunath’s friends would pull out ancient photos to establish their claims – Look, there he is,  second from left. I am the one standing next to him.

People would look at those photos with disbelief -- Was that Raghunath? Was that really our Raghu?

Yes, yes, the friends would answer, yes, he is that one, that very one. Look at his eyes. The eyes will tell you whether he is Raghunath or not.

People wanted to believe them.

People did not want to believe them.

But those who knew, knew that Raghunath’s fingers played beautifully on the strings of the guitar. But where was the chance then to show such mastery on stage? Still nobody had any problems with accepting that he was an expert guitarist.

After coming down from the stage one night, Raghu sat in the verandah of the guest house and hummed a few lines of a song. His voice, ringing out in the dead of night, attracted the attention of the people who were present nearby. A few of them gathered around him and listened to him spell bound. The cook of the guest house was almost in tears. Someone requested Raghunath to sing another song. Acceding to that request, another tune floated out aimlessly into the night sky.

Someone else said, One more!

Another one said, I have never heard a more beautiful voice in my life.

 

The news spread then, when Raghunath was invited to sing at a na-khowa harvest thanksgiving event in a village close to town. That day he sang seven songs one after the other. A section of the audience, listening spell bound, forgot to clap in appreciation, after he was done. One fellow who had come out to spit after having having a jarda-paan returned to say that never before in Nidaanpur had anyone heard anything like those songs.

The youth of Nidaanpur began to say that Raghunath’s songs were actually about their lives, they were the songs from their heart.

One music maestro gave his opinion, Genius, simply genius!

And after that, one thing led to another and Raghunath’s life changed. Raghunath became a singer. It was as if Raghunath became a little more of an artiste.

 

One day around that time something strange happened.

One of Raghunath’s associates observed with great wonder that Raghunath’s head hit against a door frame that was six feet high. What happened? How could it happen? How did Raghunath suddenly become so tall?

The associate told a few of his close friends about this unnatural development. Two of them believed him, three of them did not. The three doubting Thomases went secretly to find out for themselves. What nonsense? How can a person grow so tall so suddenly?

The next few months brought a lot of unbelievable fame and financial bounty to the singer. Raghunath’s face was featured in the cover pages of magazines. One day, an invitation card of a club event carried the line ‘with the budding singer Raghunath’.

Because he was busy, probably because he was busy, Raghunath himself did not notice that his height had gone up to six feet three inches. Or perhaps he believed that he was always so tall. Since his trousers were in various shapes and forms, they by themselves did not give him any indication about growth or shrinkage of his body. Therefore there was no way such thoughts could enter his head.

And then?

And then Raghunath kept getting invitations to sing at the opening and closing ceremonies of various prestigious events in the state. He also kept getting proposals for audio cassettes and video albums from various groups based in the commercial hub of the state. And in some sense, Raghunath filled the whole of Nidaanpur with a new music.

To create that new music Raghunath began to listen to the albums of the famous pop singer and member of the Beatles, John Lennon. He freely chiselled and chipped away at the language of Nidaanpur in order to get the lyrics to fit Western melodies. He even wrote some songs in typical Bob Dylan style and spent many sleepless nights recording those songs at a friend’s studio. In a very short time the news spread that Nidaanpur had produced a very talented artiste and that the wait of the people of the state in that respect was over.

Of course a few sceptics said -- These are not songs, these are just a lot of clamour and loud noise in the name of songs; they are nothing but cacophony, like the neighing of horses in pain.

There were also those who were ready to take on the sceptics. That led to arguments and fights. Those from one camp threatened those in the other, a few fans mercilessly beat up a few detractors. In summary, Raghunath became the topic of a lot of heated discussion in Nidaanpur.

At this point some other developments took place. After the first flush of success, Raghunath recast the centuries old folk songs of Nidaanpur in his own style and within a very short span of time made studio recordings of them and released them in the market. After that he composed some mystical Baul type (dehbisaar) songs. Those folk-based songs also achieved some sort of popularity. The news papers churned out many stories in great and every detail. Presenters in various TV channels repeated ad nauseum that Raghunath had given new life to the centuries old folk songs that were about to disappear from Nidaanpur and brought them back to the lips and ears of the new generation.

The youth began to sing and listen to Raghu’s songs in endless loops. Raghu’s songs blared out from loudspeakers accompanying picnic parties in December. His songs were played also at saloons, restaurants, DTP centres. It became almost impossible to go somewhere or do something without having to hear Raghu’s singing. It seemed as if the bus drivers of the night supers and of the city buses would have to pay hefty fines if they did not play Raghu’s songs during the trip.

Posters were drawn, hoardings were erected, stages were decorated.

The young girls who stood right next to the stage tried their utmost to get selfies with Raghu. The young men who filled the arena a little further away from the stage chanted in unison -- We want Raghu, We want Raghu, Raghu, Raghu!

 

And how astonishing -- just like that Raghu’s height went up to six feet nine inches. Seeing his height one section of people in Nidaanpur were elated, another section were terrified. A group of Raghu fans began to proudly claim that there was no one close to Raghu in stature. Raghu was special. He was unique.

Raghu became seven feet three inches in height.

Raghu grew to nine feet.

One day Raghunath became a massive fourteen feet high.

One medical expert said that it was really a problem of Raghunath’s pituitary gland. A person’s growth hormones are principally found in the pituitary gland, which stimulates the growth of bones and other body issues. Another knowledgeable expert partially agreed with that analysis. He said that there was a condition called gigantism in the world but that condition was possible only in children.

One section of people began to call Ragunath a demon. But another section vehemently opposed that idea. Their argument was that since Raghu did not kill humans, nor did he eat their flesh, he could not be a demon. But those who called him a demon argued that the police had ample evidence of Raghu’s devouring the brains of many young boys and girls. But their argument did not hold because even if Raghu had destroyed their brains, he had not forced them to do so; he had not done anyone any harm without their consent. Whatever happened had happened voluntarily; whatever happened had happened because of an understanding between Raghunath and the owners of the now-damaged brains.

Regardless of the discussions at home and over social media, some unfortunate problems began to surface centred around the organization of Raghunath’s musical events. First of all it became necessary to construct very high and large stages for Raghunath to be able to perform in. That led to an unbelievable increase in the cost of putting it up. With that got added the ever increasing amounts that the singer had started to demand. Of course collecting money was not the problem. Some connoisseurs of culture began to say that money was nothing in front of such artistry. Money was dirt off one’s palms. Furthermore, it was very easy to collect the requisite amount of donations from the businessmen who had come from elsewhere and settled in Nidaanpur. The TV channels started their own competition to increase viewer numbers. It became a huge feat for them to be able to present the fourteen feet tall singer, his voice and music, his makeup and attire, his expressions and gestures on the small screen. Each channel kept advertising Raghunath’s programme as an exclusive telecast in their channel.

Those residing abroad longed to hear their own language and songs. Hence an invitation for Raghu to perform in Dubai arrived. Another invitation came from America.

The anchors of the local TV channels then proclaimed Raghunath to be an internationally acclaimed singer. It was clear that in his internationality, Raghunath was no different from Pandit Ravi Shankar or Ustad Bismillah Khan.

Of course nobody had anything to lose by saying these things.

On the other hand a section of people who knew how to appreciate a fourteen feet tall singer said that they were ready to do anything for their Raghunath. Thus was created the ‘Raghunath Fan Club’. The members of that club proclaimed that they had pledged to do anything in Raghunath’s name. As a first activity, they filled a bus and three ‘Travellers’ with relief material and drove all the way to Nepal to help the victims of the earthquake. Of course they sang Raghu’s songs all the way. Another group found some other cause to organize a bike rally from Nidaanpur all the way to Shillong.

Raghu himself observed that all the youth of Nidaanpur were afflicted with a strange kind of fever. It was Raghu-fever. It was Raghunath-fever.

 

In the midst of all this frenzied adulation, on a Saturday in April, Raghunath shaved the hair off half of his scalp and came back with a different look. More astonishing it was to see on the  Monday after more than a hundred Nidaanpur youth sporting the same look – with one half of their scalp shaven as smooth like a newly shaved coconut. One day in September, Raghu went and got some dragons tattooed onto his arms and lower abdomen. On the very next day was to be seen dragons of all sizes and shapes on the arms and stomachs of thousands of Nidaanpur youth. The young ladies of Nidaanpur – those who were not in favour of damaging their hair – those ladies got written under their navels in permanent ink – I love Raghunath, I die for Raghu!

These things created a lot of confusion, perhaps even delusion, in Raghunath’s mind. He began to behave strangely on stage while performing in the cultural programmes. Once, while in the middle of a song, Raghu took off his shirt and vest and threw it into the crowd. A roar of applause went up amongst the youth in the audience. Members of Raghunath’s Fan Club began to chant, Bra-vo, Bra-vo!

Raghunath became totally possessed. He started unbuttoning his pants.

His fans kept chanting: Bra-vo, Bra-vo, Bra-vo!

In the end, Raghunath took off his pants.

 

Those above fifty in the audience, especially the women, lowered their heads and looked away. Many of them found excuses to leave and go home. Some claimed they were not feeling too well. A few criticized the singer’s actions on stage loudly and in very strong language. Another section began to plead with Raghunath, murmuring and begging him, ‘Please wear your clothes, Raghunath, please wear your clothes!’

But the frenzied tumultuous applause of his fans in the audience kept floating in: Bra-vo, bra-vo, bra-vo!

Raghunath lost his head. In the midst of the exhortations of his fans and the cacophony of the musical instruments, Raghunath stood stark naked. A loud cheer went up in the audience. The boy in charge of the video camera zoomed his lens onto the stage. Many tried to record the scene on their mobile phones in order to upload them later on Facebook and Whatsapp.

The TV journalists asked him in a reassuring tone, Raghuda, our audience would like to know the reason for your taking off all your clothes. What is the message you would like to send to the people of our state?

Raghunath responded in a (dipta konthore) bright and clear voice that is nakedness was a symbolic protest against the nakedness of our society.

A section of the audience could not digest this response. But another section said that his response was very considered and very appropriate. Raghunath was not just a singer, he was also a revolutionary. He was Nidaanpur’s voice of protest.

In the time that followed too many such demonstrations of protest kept happening. Raghunath started taking off his clothes at every opportunity. His popularity also kept growing proportionately. So much so that it was no longer easy for anyone from Nidaanpur to speak up against his actions. Rather the TV channels in Nidaanpur tried to use Raghunath’s popularity to their advantage. A couple of political parties began to request Raghunath to campaign for them with the hope of wooing the new voters to their fold.

Raghunath grew another foot and a half.

There was nobody to rival him anywhere far and wide. He turned into the unquestioned and absolute king of the music industry in Nidaanpur.  As a result, he began to offer his opinions on various matters in between performing his songs. The language of his comments, his expression, his cues, his opinions became the topic of conversation.

Raghunath began to enjoy his newfound power and popularity. He began to take off his shirt, vest, and pants at various events. Standing stark naked on stage only with a microphone in his hand, he began to give comments on various topics rolling his tongue (durol khuwa jibhare). Some laughed, others goaded him on, yet others envied him, and some others got angry with his actions.

And some others kept quiet for fear of being beaten up.

Still those who really loved Raghunath continued to beg and plead with him, ‘Please wear your clothes, Raghunath, please wear your clothes!’

 

There was a fierce debate on Facebook.

One group wrote: Politics is not Raghunath’s area. He should concentrate on his music.

One countered: Politics in nobody’s inherited property.

Yet another commented: But he why should he be bloody blooming naked…

Another responded just to block any further comment: So what?

Someone else wrote in support of the last comment, We have seen many fully clothed artistes and intellectuals. We know them all.

Another wrote: Yes, the people of Nidaanpur are like that. They envy the rise of their own sons. Nowhere else do people treat their own so badly.

Someone countered the last comment: But elsewhere one also does not see anyone standing stark naked on stage.

To which came the retort, You shut up.

Another commented, You d…. (foul language) fool, keep quiet.

A wrote: …(too obscene to print).

B wrote: … (foul language).

 

In the midst of all this, a lot of unhappy developments took place in the music world. On the one hand, cassette and video piracy caused a lot of damage to the music industry. On the other hand, a kind of music-mafia came into existence in Nidaanpur. These new custodians took over complete control of the market. New writers sprung up overnight to write about Raghu in the entertainment page of the newspapers. New singers and song-writers appeared overnight.

In the village, a man with a dry shrunken face sits with a dotora in his hands – Horadhon Rai. Another man with a dry shrivelled body sits with a sarinda – Gopal Barman. They remain there, completely ignored. One sarinda player commits suicide due to financial problems. That news gets published as a tiny news item in the middle pages of a newspaper. The reporters are busy keeping track of every little cold, fever, sneeze or little cough that Raghu showed indications of.

Some news push down other news. Some news drag down other news, they go under.

The short and catchy Western tunes pushed down Nidaanpur’s local melodies. The songs and music styles of the likes of Michael Jackson, Elton John, Paul McCartney were imported. Without giving any notice whatsoever, the music of Ricky Martin, Enrique, Celine Dion entered through the windows of people’s homes. And the ancient, melodious and unique tunes of Nidaanpur’s bongeets were banished to someplace very far away. Iron Metal and Metallica replaced them (boguwa bai). Freddy Mercury’s rock arrived, Justin Timberlake’s pop arrived. Holding Raghu’s hands, the lyrics and tunes of Boy George arrived in Nidaanpur with such stealth that the ordinary Nidaanpuriya could not figure out who was the thief and who, the host.

Slowly the inhabitants of Nidaanpur began to consider the business called music not as something to be heard but as something to be seen. Those singers who wanted to emulate the path shown by Raghu began to concentrate on their make-up and appearance rather than on their voices. Instead of giving importance to music, melody and rhythm on stage they began to focus only on their stunts and leaps, their jumps and jerks, and on loud frenzied screaming. When everyone started to scream in the same manner at the same time the audience found it hard to concentrate on what was going on. To add to it all some singers began to use some filthy and crude language. The subject of their songs became more and more about lurid (sthul) sex and the female body. Among these new artistes too, one or two began to grow in stature, a few began to grow fat and heavy.

On the other hand the small bent singer who sang soulful mystical songs (dehbisaar) began to grow smaller and smaller with time. Those singers from Nidaanpur who sang the centuries old bhakti bhajans also began to diminish in size.  But in the same time, Raghunath grew to be fifteen feet six inches tall.

The taller Raghunath became, the stronger and more powerful became his group of cronies and fans. They began to make fun of the senior artistes in Nidaanpur. They began to attack those journalists and writers who were critical of Raghunath. They became incapable of liking anyone else’s songs. They did not want to listen to what anyone else had to say.

 

It was with a lot of anticipation that Raghu’s father had got on stage that day. The occasion was the release of a collection of songs composed by his celebrity son. His father was overwhelmed by what he saw from the stage. While he was trying to make sense of the sea of fans and followers in front of him, someone put a gamosa around his neck. Another pushed a microphone into his hands. He knew – only he knew, with what perseverance his son used to learn to play the guitar when he was young. His son could play on every instrument with ease. Even in the face of so much need and deprivation, that boy had gone on to become rich on the strength of his music alone. The little baby who had cuddled up into his mother’s bosom had grown up to be a five feet four inch tall guitarist. Only he knew about those early days. Only he could tell the story of the ups and downs, the sorrows and joys of his son who had grown to be fifteen feet six inches tall.

But the onlookers in front of the stage seemed to be getting impatient.

One shouted, Listen you old man, we have not come here to listen to you.

Immediately a loud and ringing applause could be heard.

A daredevil young man threw a small paper ball that hit the old man. He shouted, Who is this damn fellow? What nonsense is he trying to lecture us about?

Raghnath’s father felt faint. He sat down stunned and motionless on the sofa.

 

Raghunath’s eyes kept observing the entire scene from a height of about twenty-one feet. He kept hearing the loud rhythmic chant emanating from the audience – We want Raghunath, We want Raghu!

 

A kind of pain began to trouble Raghunath.  He began to grow shorter, inch by inch, on stage. His ecstatic fans, however, did not notice this. They kept shouting in the same manner as earlier, We want Raghu, we want Ra-ghu!

Just then Raghunath came to a decision.

Ignoring the icy cold winter winds blowing on stage, taking no notice of the dense fog that had enveloped the stage, Raghunath began to take off his clothes, one by one.

First he removed the muffler from around his neck and his leather jacket.

A large group of young boys and girls let out a huge roar of applause.

Then he took off his shirt, after that his vest.

Members of Raghunath’s Fan Club shouted, Bra-vo, Bra-vo, Bra-vo!

Raghunath took off his pants in the end.

The crowd of ecstatic and frenzied onlookers did not notice that tears were rolling down Raghunath’s cheeks. Raghunath kept standing – stark naked -- in front of a delirious crowd of uncouth, insensitive, and crazed young people.

 

One of the organizers got hold of a sador from somewhere and tried to cover Raghunath’s body with it. But Raghunath flung the sador away. Someone tried to massage Raghunath’s back with his hands to give him some respite from the cold. Raghunath removed the man’s hands, silently.

Raghunath kept standing, standing, silently, just kept standing.

Nobody could move him. Nobody could shake him. The sounds of the microphone, the chatter of the audience, the sound of table and chairs being dragged, the ring tones of mobile phones, people yawning, sneezing, coughing – suddenly all those sounds died down.

After a long silence, the old father got up from the sofa. Going close to his son he told him in a voice, totally broken and defeated, ‘Wear your clothes, Raghunath. Yes, Raghunath, please wear your clothes.’

 

Addendum 

Respected readers, I began to tell this story about Raghunath here and there, to my close friends, to one or two learned readers. Naturally a couple of them looked at me (tirjok) amused, a couple of them smirked, another tried to question the writer about Nidaanpur’s exact geographical location. A friend from Africa’s Rwanda asked me by phone, Is it about the tales of the Tutsi, Hutu and Tuwa people of our country?

I had to narrate the story one day to a researcher from Bolivia who had come to work in Nidaanpur. She exclaimed, How strange, how strange! Is it really a story? Is it really fiction? Or is it history?

I told her, It is faction – Fact in fiction.

Naturally she did not understand the word. Giving a weak smile she spoke about a kind of music prevalent in Puerto Rico named Reggaeton which was popular but rather lewd and uncouth which made normal polite people uneasy and uncomfortable. She also said that that kind of music had spread over many countries of Latin and South America like Cuba, Panama, Columbia, Venzuela, and had caused the death of many local indigenous music forms and styles. Then she added with feeling (sahamormitare), Maybe some Raghunaths are there too.

I made a non-commital (angsokar) expression. / I tried to keep a straight face.

 

One day Anuradha Biadeo and I sat down facing each other with two cups of coffee, at a table in the Green view restaurant. It was raining incessantly outside. Looking out through the large glass panes at the rain, Baideo expressed her annoyance, took a long sip of coffee and said, `What about a story, then?’

I started telling her Raghunath’s story. I observed that Baideo was listening to the story with her eyes closed, shaking her head pretending to be swaying to the beats of some song. But at one point in the story she began to get restless and impatient.  In the end in a disappointed tone she said, ‘This story is very strange.’

I tried to remind her that the truth sometimes could be even stranger than fiction. Facts are stranger than fiction.

 

No sorrow had bothered Raghunath on stage that day. He had not begun to grow shorter, inch by inch, on stage that day. Even after witnessing the supreme insult meted out to his father that day on stage, Raghunath had not come to any conclusion. Ignoring the icy cold winter winds blowing on stage, taking no notice of the dense fog that had enveloped the stage, Raghunath had not protested about anything that day. Tears had not rolled down his cheeks for this father that day.

It was not in Raghunath’s interest to allow his height to shrink by speaking up against that kind of aggressive marketing, that cheap popularity, that frenzied madness. Even that day Raghunath kept growing taller, totally excited and drunk on the ecstatic applause he got from his fans.

Raghunath grew to be sixteen feet four inches tall.

Raghunath grew to be twenty-one feet two inches tall.

Raghunath grew so tall that nobody could see his head anymore.

 

That day I forgot to tell Anuradha Baideo the truth behind the story.

I simply said, ‘The rain has stopped.’

Baideo motioned to one of the waiters for the bill, paid it, and then looking at me, said, ‘Let’s go.’