The Lost Fragrance Page 2

  And then, a riot of colours and the sound of laughter would fill the entire neighbourhood.

  Zoom! Banana Balloon would fly past Maths Balloon.

  Waddle! Waddle! Waddle! The yellow balloon with red polka dots, affectionately known as Fatty, would join the crowd taking considerable amount of time, while trying to get from one side to the other.

  Tick-Tock Balloon would keep insisting on turning around clockwise only, and looked most upset whenever the wind turned her in the other direction. ‘Not this way! It’s the other way!’ she appeared to grumble loudly, but the wind rarely paid heed to her protests.

  And then, from the melee of colours, shapes and sizes, rising majestically, would be Star Balloon. ‘And how are we all today?’ she would invariably ask no one in particular, in her high-pitched voice, as she haughtily raised her carefully drawn and plucked eyebrows.

  The old man discovered that the balloons could talk to each other, and that only he and his wife could understand balloon-talk.

  They found this rather strange.

  ‘There must be some magic to all this,’ his wife said, ‘and it must have something to do with our dream.’ The old man nodded in agreement, for he found it to be a logical explanation.

  Since the old man’s first love was teaching, he introduced the balloons as teaching aids. Complicated things like geography and mathematics could now be made so very simple. Every balloon had a name to help distinguish it from the others, and the children knew them all by heart.

  In school, if they were asked what a rhombus was, every child raised his or her hand to reply! They were all pretty good at geography too, and quite advanced for their age at things like square root and hypotenuse. To top it all, they also learnt useful social values, like respect for elders, why they should never be late for school, and so on and so forth.

  The villagers had little time for their children. They found the balloons to be a most interesting and novel approach to education, and that they also kept the children out of mischief. It was all so terribly convenient!

  Every evening, when the children came home from school, their mothers would uninterestedly ask, ‘And how was school today?’ The children would unhesitatingly say, ‘Great! Uncle had some new balloons for us to play with!’

  Five

  The old man and his wife looked forward to the evenings because of the children. Hearing their laughter and seeing them enjoy made the old couple so very happy, especially because they did not have any children of their own. They had always longed for a child, but it was not to be. Could it be, they wondered, that among these children was The Awaited One the flute player had told them about, in the mysterious dream they had two years ago? How, in God’s name, they asked themselves every night, would an innocent girl child fight a double-headed serpent? The mystery would, however, need to be seen through, they told each other, just like any complicated detective story.

  The old man sighed, as he looked at the sky. After all these long months of balloon-making, he felt he was finally ready to accomplish what the flute player had requested him to do.

  ‘It would, however, need to be done quickly,’ the old man told himself, for he realised he was growing old and that his eyesight was getting weaker.

  His wife, who loved him very much, knew what he was thinking. She looked up from her knitting and said, ‘Why don’t you make the biggest balloon in the whole world? That is what you need to do, isn’t it?’

  The old man wasn’t startled one bit because he knew by now that his wife could read his thoughts. But, when he looked at the small place he had to work in, he wondered how he was going to make such a balloon.

  ‘Fill the living room. Then the dining room, and if necessary, don’t hesitate to use the bedroom. I think it would be a good idea to leave the kitchen alone, or I would find it very difficult to cook,’ the old man’s wife smiled and said indulgently.

  The old man got up, kissed his wife and said, ‘You are such a dear. I don’t know what I would do without you.’

  Then, he went to work.

  For over a month he worked, knowing neither day nor night. He used every bit of nylon cloth there was in the house. He used bed sheets, tablecloths, curtains, napkins and his wife’s favourite petticoat too! When he put the final stitch, the balloon had filled up the entire house, and it was getting more and more difficult to move around.

  ‘It’s done,’ he told his wife, wiping his brow, ‘finally over.’

  ‘And it’s high time too!’ said his wife, smiling.

  They both then dragged the enormous balloon and spread it outside. The balloon was so beautiful that for a while the old couple just stood and stared at it in wonder. It was an extraordinary melange of colours, with patches of red and green and yellow and blue all over. The old man and his wife knew that once it went up in the sky, it would look magnificent.

  ‘It’s big enough to go higher than any other balloon, and the nylon has made it so very light,’ the old man’s wife said. ‘You truly are a genius, dear,’ she concluded proudly.

  The old man sighed in relief as he remembered his dream. ‘This,’ he told himself, ‘will surely help the girl child to fly. Higher and higher, she and the balloon will go. How high, who knows! Perhaps…perhaps, she will even see God.’

  And, of course, the balloon would take her to that strange and faraway land that the flute player had called the Land of the Blue Jasmine.

  Five

  The children came as usual after school. For quite sometime now, they only had the old balloons to play with and were beginning to get bored with them. Word had got around that Balloon Uncle was making the biggest balloon in the whole world.

  Could such a balloon really and truly exist, they argued with one another. Impossible, said some. But what if it did, asked the others. It would be such fun to be able to fly such a balloon! Who, they wondered, would be the lucky one.

  When they saw the enormous, colourful balloon lying on the ground, they gasped in awe and shouted in excitement, ‘Fill it with air, Uncle! Hurry up!’

  ‘Do you like Balloon?’ the old man asked softly.

  ‘Like it? We don’t just like it. We love it,’ all the children replied.

  ‘This balloon is called Balloon, with a capital “B”,’ the old man said, ‘because she is the Mother of all Balloons, for she is the biggest balloon in the whole world. She can take you to places of great magic and mystery. But only if you can fly her.’

  The children were so excited. Not only would they be able to fly the balloon but they could even fly in it! How delightful and extraordinary this is, they told themselves.

  ‘I shall give her away,’ said the old man softly, ‘to whoever can make her fly.’

  He did not tell the children about his dream, or how the flute player had said that the balloon was destined only for the little girl known as The Awaited One. If one of the children did succeed in flying the balloon, he would know that she was most certainly the one the flute player had spoken of. The old man’s wife smiled, for she knew what her husband was thinking.

  Could it be true, the children wondered, that Uncle was willing to give away such a lovely balloon which was bigger than all the other balloons they had ever seen. They were all so excited at the very thought, that they fought with one another to blow air into Balloon.

  Seeing their fervour, the old man’s wife asked them to form a line, with the smallest child in front. Then, one by one, the children took turns as they huffed and they puffed, and they puffed and they huffed.

  A lot of air must have gone into the balloon, but it was far from enough. Balloon lay on the ground and looked victorious, as if saying, ‘I’m not that easy, you know.’

  The children gave up after a while, totally exhausted, and promised to come back the next day.

  Once the children returned home, they could talk of nothing else but this wonderful balloon. Their mothers paused in their card games and pretended to listen to their chatter. They advised them to ea
t well, so that they would be strong and able to fill the balloon with air. The children, who normally made all kind of excuses about finishing their dinner, thought about what their mothers had said and ate everything that was put on their plates, including the vegetables. Some even asked for second helpings!

  The next day, the children literally ran from school to the old couple’s house. They stood in a line and took turns with inflating Balloon. This time, they could see Balloon do funny things. She went a little wobbly-wobbly as more and more air went into her. ‘It’s working! It’s working!’ the children shouted happily. But, there was still not enough air.

  Several evenings passed this way. Balloon lay on the ground, and none of the children, nor indeed all of them together, could fill enough air to help her fly.

  Long after the children had gone home, the old man sat with his wife on the porch, looking at the star-filled sky. ‘She is not among them,’ the old man’s wife said. ‘I really wonder where she is or who she is.’

  The old man shook his head and said, ‘We both asked the flute player about her in our dream. He told us that she would be different from the others. We must wait.’

  Unseen by the old man and his wife, an enormous, hooded shadow swayed from side to side, before it slithered away hissing. It had suddenly become cold, a wet and clammy sort of cold.

  Seven

  Having failed to fill enough air into Balloon, the children became grumpy and irritable. They argued with everyone, including their parents and their teachers. They left their food on the table and didn’t even complete their homework. They spoke rudely to the adults and quarrelled with their friends.

  Seeing the children’s state, the village postman thought it would be a good idea to organise a picnic, and get the parents to join in the merriment of filling Balloon with air. He visited all the houses in the village and told them of his idea. ‘Think of it as a get-together. What have you got to lose?’ the postman said.

  At first, the parents were not convinced. But once the children joined in with cries of ‘Please, Mummy! Please, Daddy!’ nothing more could be said. A picnic it was to be and so, all the wives sat together to decide who would cook what.

  The children, however, had other plans and little fights started breaking out. ‘My father is stronger than yours,’ said one child, ‘and he’ll be able to fill Balloon in no time. You’ll see.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said another child, ‘my father exercises every morning. You should see his muscles. He’ll fill Balloon with air before your father.’

  The old man was not exactly pleased with the turn of events. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘What, I wonder, is going to happen now? I don’t think this is how it is going to work. After all, it is a girl child who will fill Balloon with air. This is going to be a big problem. No one likes girls to win!’

  His wife smiled indulgently and said that it was all in good humour and that there was really no need to get unnecessarily worried.

  Now, it so happened that the other balloons were getting quite annoyed at all the attention Balloon was getting. And since balloons could talk to one another, quite a conversation was going on.

  ‘What does she think of herself ?’ said Fatty, pointing contemptuously at Balloon.

  ‘She thinks she’s the best. Well, she can’t even fly!’ sniggered Banana Balloon.

  ‘Is she a balloon?’ asked Star Balloon in her normal highpitched voice, dripping with sarcasm.

  While Balloon had indeed enjoyed all the attention in the beginning, especially from the children, what she really wanted to do now was to fly. She would spend the whole day gazing at the sky and sigh. Every time a child came and tried to fill her with air, she would pray, ‘Please, God! Please help this child so that I might fly.’

  But in the end, the children all gave up, and Balloon lay limp and alone in the grass.

  She listened to the jibes from all the other balloons and felt awfully sad. ‘I really can’t blame them,’ she told herself, ‘because it is true. I am not a balloon if I can’t even fly.’

  The talk of the picnic was, however, exciting. Perhaps one of the parents would be able to fill her with enough air, Balloon told herself. Who knows, maybe she would finally be up there in the sky, where she had always wanted to be. Balloon, of course, didn’t know of the dream and the girl child.

  Eight

  The picnic was turning out to be a great success. Everyone was having a wonderful time. The men were drinking beer. The women were knitting and gossiping, while getting the lunch ready. The children were, as usual, arguing with one another.

  And, it was such a glorious day.

  The postman decided it was time for fun and games, and so he climbed up on a stool, clapped his hands and said, ‘OK, tough guys, let’s see which one of you can put Balloon in the sky.’

  A roar went through the crowd, which thickened as wives and children joined the enthusiasm.

  ‘Let us make this a family show,’ said the postman. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. ‘House No. 17A, Road No. 63!’ Then he pointed his finger and said with a voice of considerable authority, ‘Stand there!’ And then, ‘House No. 22, Road No. 51! Over there!’

  Moaning and groaning, the families queued up, following the postman’s strict postal identification system.

  Satisfied with the way things were proceeding and visibly enjoying his newfound authority, the postman looked around for a whistle. Not finding one, in a no-nonsense sort of tone that sounded much like that of a new policeman on the job, he said, ‘OK, No. 1! Let’s see what you’ve got!’

  One by one, they all tried. The baker, the plumber, the travel agent, the mayor, the principal, the lawyer, the policeman, the diplomat, the architect, the doctor, the bicycle man. Indeed, every able-bodied man in the village had a go at it.

  A considerable amount of air went into Balloon, but it was still far from enough. Balloon remained on the ground, as sad as ever.

  There was such rejoicing in the sky from the other balloons.

  ‘Can’t fly, can you?’

  ‘Like to stay down there? Don’t we know!’

  Snigger, snigger.

  ‘You are the Mother of all Balloons? Well, well, well!’

  ‘Like the view from down there?’

  Balloon wished she could find a hole where she could just lie down and disappear.

  The old man knew what was happening. Only he and his wife could have known. It was not going to be easy to fill Balloon with air and, in any case, it was promised to a little girl, and God alone knew where she was. Tears welled up in the old man’s eyes and he wept silently. His wife put her head on his shoulder and softly said, ‘It’s OK, my love. My dear, dear love, we never knew it would end like this.’

  Suddenly, the old couple fell back gasping, as if they had been violently struck.

  ‘I can hardly breathe,’ said the old man’s wife, clutching her husband’s arm in horror.

  It was as if a shroud of the most ghastly stench had been thrown over them.

  ‘I have smelt this once before,’ the old man whispered hoarsely, as he covered his nose, ‘there is an evil presence here. I can almost feel it.’

  ‘I feel it too,’ said the old man’s wife, ‘as if it is a warning of something terrible that’s about to happen.’

  The old man nodded silently, and put his arm around his wife as if to protect her from danger. They waited for the reaction of a spoilt picnic. The horrifying stench seemed to be everywhere and it was growing cold, despite the bright sunshine.

  The fathers, angry at being shamed like this in front of their children, suddenly started screaming and shouting at the forlorn balloon-maker and his wife. ‘You and your stupid balloon,’ they hissed and spat, ‘keep it with you.’

  ‘What’s the use of a balloon that just sits around?’

  ‘Occupies so much space.’

  ‘Where, I ask you, are the children going to play?’

  The children joined in the
anger and the screaming. ‘Better to get rid of it,’ they said in unison.

  Get rid of it? The old man could not speak. He just stood there, weeping silent tears. ‘I can’t,’ he seemed to have whimpered at one stage.

  ‘It’s the stench,’ his wife whispered to him, ‘it has some kind of power. The villagers are talking and behaving differently. It’s as if someone or something evil is controlling their minds.’

  The postman was a kind and gentle soul. He sniffed the air. ‘Awful smell,’ he said and looked around. None of the other villagers seemed to be bothered by it. The postman found that somewhat odd but shrugged his shoulders. There was, however, more important business at hand, he told himself, because the situation seemed to be getting out of control.

  ‘Quiet!’ he thundered. There was immediate silence. ‘This is not what we came here for. We came as friends, and it is important that we leave as friends.’

  His words did not help much. The children were grumbling. Wives shouted about the amount of beer the husbands had drunk. And well, quite understandably, the menfolk were quite upset. While they reluctantly heeded the postman’s advice, they could not stop complaining.

  The picnic was over.

  Imagine how miserable the old man and his wife felt.

  The balloons in the sky were clearly pleased at the way things were going.

  ‘She’s had it,’ said Fatty, smugly.

  ‘Oh yes! Done for, if you ask me.’

  ‘Get yourself poked with a pin, my dear,’ Star Balloon advised.

  The old man and his wife could hear every word, and they knew that Balloon had heard as well. ‘I did not want this to happen,’ the old man whispered in anguish. ‘Please forgive me,’ he said, looking at Balloon.

  After a while, everyone picked up their belongings and left. The children trampled Balloon with their dirty shoes.