He was a bachelor, my doctor-uncle; but more than a father to us. He died of a sudden stroke. When I arrived all rites of the period of bereavement were over and there ensued (=followed) a brisk disposal of his goods among us who were his beneficiaries. As it is, he seldom put his belongings under lock and key. My mother was his principal custodians. Naturally there was nothing among his goods that called for a locksmith. But our work suffered a setback in respect of a locker in one of his cabinets; it would not open as the others, nor the key was to be found. Even the secret as to where the key might be could not be ascertained as his sudden death had snatched away the opportunity.
However, the bureau/closet had to be broken It open. presented an interesting scene. Although he was a doctor and the poor man’s physician, the drawer was full of articles of avocational (=objects other than those connected with one’s profession) interest scraps of pages containing poems of D.L. Roy; an impressive photo of Subhas Chandra Bose; paper cutting that carried the sensational flight of Subhas Chandra and such things. But many these tit-bits that lay in a litter (=scattered condition) was among a small silver box that contained three articles that completely beat my wits. I could not make any reasonable guess about their being there. They were: a dainty little pestle-and-mortar of shining brass; a mounted photograph of a haggard old-person whom I had never seen in my life. But the third object beat the other two in it’s strangeness and absurdity. It was a pair of small cardboards that represented two painted objects. The one showed two bulls that locked their horns in an dual and the other had three monkeys. These two paintings were indeed marks of a good and seasoned artist, but I had never known my uncle to have any such aptitude towards art.
These three objects struck me with a degree of surprise. He was a good doctor and a good student. He never married and led a happy-go-lucky (= not very serious about life’s responsibilities) life. Naturally he was very popular among us. I cherish (= fondly nurse) still some of his gestures. When an I.A. student he took me to two plays in Shrirangam – a theatre-stage in north Kolkata where the famous stage artist Sisir Bhaduri acted. He used to say, him see on stage. You shall remember what I say in later life, and indeed today they are my treasure.
I took the silver-box to my study-room, the contents engaged me like Sherlock Homes with his clues. I now lay down my readings, which are, however, the result of various queries to mothers and others and my interpretation.
I learnt from mother that the first thing – the pestle and mortar was a favourite with my grandmother. My mother explained that when the old lady had lost her teeth she had obtained this to grind her beetels and nuts. Being her youngest son, my uncle was her favourite and would often smash the stuff for his mother. When the old lady died, her sons are reported to have kept some or other object of her daily use as an heirloom (= an object preserved with respect by an inheritor). So, I thought, it would not be far from truth to guess that my uncle, too, had owned it. He might have had a special attachment to the thing, as he handled it himself.
The second object – the haggard-looking old man riddled – me with wild guesses. Even my parents could not solve. I thought at first that he might be the guardian or father of someone whom he loved, and who loved him. In fact I have a notion that my uncle must have had some love affair. He had the handsomest features among my uncles and parent and he was a good student These are generally the best attributes (= personal recommendations) that liken a man to girls or their parents. Naturally it followed as a corollary that he must have taken fancy to some pretty girl. May be, the marriage did not culminate (= come as the final thing) as the girl’s parents had been of a lower caste. In those days inter-caste marriage was regarded as a sin. The affectionate nature and treatment of the girl’s father might have induced my uncle to preserve his portrait. I thought that in those days it was unthinkable that a girl would dare to present her portrait to her lover.
The third object – the two paintings – taxed my brain the most. It did so all the more as he never showed any preference for fine art. But he was of a charitable disposition and often helped those whom he considered to be genuinely poor. May be one such might be a painter. But, why should he have presented him a specimen of his art in such a clumsy fashion, if at all he had desired to do so? He could have drawn a portrait-sketch of the uncle and presented him. The whole manner of the thing suggested to me some abnormality. It seemed that some stray person or someone known to my uncle, but demented (= mentally retarded), might have demonstrated to him his painting skill. Having no brush or casel or paper with him he might have snatched some stray cardboard and painted with my makeshift brush. My uncle loved such creators, I know.
I guessed these and still do not find any positive answer. But the silver box is still in my possession.
