And he would reply, in the
nasal accent of an Afghan
mountaineer: "An elephant!"
The reply was never the cause
for merriment, perhaps; but
how they both enjoyed the
witticism! And for me, the
child's conversation with a
grown-up man was always
strangely fascinating.
After that, the Kabuliwallah,
not to be left behind in the conversation would continue: "Well,
little one, and when are you going to your father-in-law's house?"
Most little Bengali girls would have heard about “the father-inlaw's house”; but we, being a little new-fangled, had kept these
things from our child. This question would therefore always
bewilder Mini. But she would not show her confusion and would
always ask: "Are you going there?"
Amongst men of the Kabuliwallah's class, it is known that the
phrase “father-in-law's house” had a double meaning. It was often
used as a euphemism for jail, the place where we are well cared
for, at no expense. In this sense, I wondered how the sturdy pedlar
would reply to my daughter's question.
"Ah," he would say, shaking his fist at an invisible policeman, "I will
thrash my father-in-law!" Hearing this and imagining the poor
discomfited relative, Mini would go off into peals of laughter and
her formidable friend would join in.
These were autumn mornings, the time of year when kings of the
past went forth for their conquests. As for me, without even
moving from my little corner in Calcutta, I would let my mind
wander over the whole world. At the very mention of another
country, my heart would go out to it, and at the sight of a foreigner
in the streets, I would build a network of dreams; the mountains,
the glens and the forests of the foreigner’s distant home with the
cottage settings and the free and independent life of faraway wilds.
The scenes of travel would conjure themselves up before me, and
50