Banerjee Babu’s Tea Shop

Banerjee Babu’s Tea Shop

November 10, 2007, 12:08 am
Filed under: Brahmin, Childhood, Kanpur, Lal Imli Woollen Mills, memories

Everyone loves Sundays. I loved them too but for a very special reason. That day we got to drink tea from Baba’s tea shop. Morning cuppa had not become a habit in our house. I guess the reason was that gas cylinders had not entered kitchens in Kanpur. Lighting the coal ovens was a cumbersome affair, which needed a lot of preparation and too much time to make them ready for use. Therefore, morning tea was dispensed with in our house, except on Sundays.Ma would get everything ready. Baba’s job was mixing and pouring tea into the bowls and cups. Our tea (children’s) was a milky and sugary thing, with a dash of Darjeeling tea liquor (Baba used to buy tea from Lal Imli stores, which stocked high quality goods for the use of the sahibs).

We would be eagerly waiting for Baba to make tea but he would not get up until he compensated himself in full measure for the loss of sleep on weekdays. He would be sprawling across the two large beds, face down, not sleeping actually but lazing, showing no signs of getting up. When our patience would be exhausted, we would resort to hostility – pulling his legs, hands, fingers even hair but he would not budge. Then the younger ones would mount on his back and jump up and down. Baba seemed to like this very much. He called it “keyari” (the Bangla expression for massage). This had the desired effect to arouse him from his slumber, but he would still not be ready to get up till he exercised his vocal cords. So he would start vocalizing his own composition of lyrics – in full throated voice which was not melodious at all.

“Ekta chilo cheel noni, aakashete ore, urte urte cheel noni K.P. sahebar chate eshe boshe….”

The story went like this -

A kite flying high in the sky comes down to sit on K.P. sahab’s terrace (he lived in a bungalow across the road opposite our house). When K.P. sahab comes out of his house and stands in his garden, the kite relieves himself on his bald head. K.P. sahab huffing and puffing with rage goes into the house and brings out his gun to shoot the kite down. As he aims the gun at the kite, the kite flies away.

The story should have ended here, but one of the younger ones would ask “tar pore ki holo” (what happened after that)? And Baba would try to stretch the story further but its ends would be flying wildly. Moreover, we had got the message that Baba through his composition was pulling K.P. sahab’s leg for his high nosed attitude. We wanted a real story and not a concocted one, so one of us would suggest the story about – Bali Raja chalne chale triloki….

A sadhubaba (mendicant) had once sung this title at our door on his ektara, while begging for alms. Taking a cue from that Baba had developed his own narration of the story, with desired voice modulation having all the elements of drama. Thus he would start -

Raja Bali the tyrant demon king who had conquered all three realms of Swarga (heavens), Martya (earth) and Patal (hell), was holding a yagna (a Hindu ritual involving offerings made to the fir) to sanctify his authority. During this yagna it was proclaimed that requests and wishes of everyone would be fulfilled. Hundreds of people came throughout the day asking for whatever they wanted – money, land, cattle, gold, food etc.

Raja Bali satisfied everyone. When the sun was about to set, the priest Shukracharya advised Raja Bali to wind up the yagna. Just then, a voice was heard at a far distance.

“Bhikshang dehi! Bikshang dehi!” (Give me alms! give me alms!)

When the courtiers looked in that direction, what they saw was a diminutive figure, wearing wooden sandals (khodom), holding an umbrella over his head, coming slowly towards the king. When he came near, people laughed at his diminutive figure, his funny attire and his long chutki (the tail of hair that Brahmins used to wear on their otherwise shaved head). Only Guru Shukracharya suspected something fishy and did not laugh.

Raja Bali asked him humbly what he wanted and the Brahmin asked for “Tripad Bhoomi” (land that can be covered in three steps).

Raja Bali said – “Bus!? This much! Brahmin, I can give you much more than that. Ask for acres of land, hundreds of cattle, sackfuls of gold, palaces to live in….” But the Brahmin only said – “tripad bhoomi”.

“Tathastu!” (as you wish), said Raja Bali, “Please measure your three steps.”

As the Brahmin raised his foot to measure his first step, it started getting bigger and bigger till it overshadowed the whole of the Swarga loka (where the Devas lived).

People gaped in wonder. They had lost their power of speech. The wise among them now understood that the diminutive Brahmin was no ordinary man but Narayana or Lord Vishnu himself who had come in disguise to redeem people of their sufferings.

Raja Bali shaking with fear, prayed the Brahmin to measure his second step. As the Brahmin raised his second foot, it grew big, bigger and still bigger till it overshadowed the whole of the Martya loka.

Swarga and Martya, both taken, the Brahmin asked where he could measure his third step. Raja Bali had no more land to give. True to his words, he laid down his head on the ground for the Brahmin to measure his third step there.

Lord Vishnu, in the guise of the Brahmin – the upholder of the law of righteousness, the destroyer of the evil, thus, put his foot on the head of Raja Bali and shoved him down to the Patal lok (hell), where he remained in captivity.

After such a heavy doze of punishment, the children did not want to hear any more stories. Frankly speaking, the ending did not please me. I was rather worried as to how Raja Bali would escape from the Patal! Besides, the story had not thrown any light on his misdeeds and the punishment did not seem quite justified. Therefore, we would disperse in not a very happy mood.

After a while, Baba would come and take his seat behind the tea things. A large kettle where the tealeaves were brewing, milk pot, sugar pot, cups and bowls, were all placed in front of him. In the meanwhile, the word had got around that - Banerjee Babu ki chai ki dukan khul gai hai (Banerjee Babu’s tea shop has opened). I still am at a loss to understand which system of communication worked here – we had no telephone in our house. Within minutes, boys and girls of the neighborhood (our friends) would come running to join us with their cups and tumblers in hand and Baba would be pouring tea into them.

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