Rajshekhar Basu, better known by the pen name Parashuram, was a Bengali writer, chemist and lexicographer. He was chiefly known for his comic and satirical short stories, and is considered the greatest Bengali humorist of the twentieth century. He was awarded the Padma Bhushan in 1956. We publish his short story “Rajbhog” in Ruma Chakravarti’s translation.
It was a chilly evening in December. An enormous car came to a halt in front of the Anglo-Mughlai restaurant in Dharmatolla. It was one of those old fashioned but expensive models. A liveried servant jumped out of the passenger seat next to the driver. He wasn’t carrying a silver topped cane but he had a sizeable brocade turban on his head with a silver badge fixed to it. He wore pyjamas and a long shirt with a red velvet cummerbund across his middle. Another badge glittered in the middle of that. He twirled the ends of his luxuriant moustache and walked proudly into the hotel where he announced to the manager, ‘The Maharaja of Patipur is here!’
The manager Raicharan Chakravarti came out hurriedly, bowing his head and clasping his hands together as he stood before the car’s rear door.
‘Your Majesty! Whose face did I see when I woke this morning! Kindly descend and bless my humble establishment with the dust of your feet.’
The Maharaja of Patipur slowly exited the car. He was over seventy years old and both his body and his white moustache were rather undernourished while the little hair that he had left had been combed carefully to disguise his bald pate. He was wearing a brocade bordered dhoti and a silk kurta, an expensive shawl and red sandals with curved ends on his feet. He got out of the car and said to the lady inside, ‘Come with me to the restaurant.’
She said, ‘What will I do in there? I might as well stay in the car. You go and have what you want, just don’t be too late.’
The Raja said, ‘That cannot be, you must come too.’
Raicharan wrung his hands and pleaded, ‘Ranima, please do come! The fortunes of the hotel will turn around if you grace the wretched place.’
The lady was quite possibly beautiful and even young but she had dressed and made herself up so cunningly that it was impossible to tell what was real and what was not. She got out of the car. Raicharan advanced before the two, waving his hand apologetically as he bent forward from the waist and led them into the restaurant. Once inside he called loudly for the Royal Saloon to be opened. The ordinary folk eating in the public area looked at the woman and whispered amongst each other.
A servant rushed to open the doors to a small room with painted walls of wood and a table in the middle with two cushioned chairs. The white tablecloth showed a spattering of yellow spots during the day time. There was an adjoining room, separated from this one by curtains where there was an old couch and chairs and a small table with a few monthlies from the past couple of years. The walls had been dressed by gluing newspaper photographs of movie stars on to them.
Raicharan seated his grand guests and asked, ‘My lord, please tell me, what I can serve you?’
The raja asked eagerly, ‘What have you prepared today?’
Raicharan answered, ‘If it so pleases you, we have three kinds of pilaf — fish, mutton and lamb. We have kalias, kormas and koftas. We have mutton chops, prawn cutlets, fowl roasts, custard puddings — by your grace, there is so much more.’
Very elated, the Raja said, ‘Good, good, excellent news! Now, tell me, do you make biryani here too?’
‘Of course your Highness! We need a couple of hours notice before making it. A little known fact about me; I was the superintendant of the royal kitchens of the Nawab of Dumbagarh for three years and I learned everything there. He was a great gourmet and he could eat a feast at each meal. He did not like the cooks to make his food, I made great improvements to their skills and he wrote me out a certificate in Persian in his very own hand. Would you like to see it?’
‘Perhaps later, perhaps later. Now what is this special trick that you taught them?’
‘In making the biryani? A-grade basmati rice — the type that sells for five rupees a seer, purest ghee, cubes of meat, cashews, pistachios and sultanas, various spices, some dried khoya mixed with rose water, some musk from the musk deer, ten drops of eau de cologne and no potatoes. When the rice and the meat are almost done, I sprinkle two handfuls of fried onions on top and seal the pot to cook it by the dum method. What I can say, it is delicious!’
The Rajabahadur was almost dribbling in expectation; he swallowed loudly and said, ‘Most excellent I am sure! Now, do you know how Shami kebabs are made?’
‘By your grace, from Mughlai and English to French — there is nothing that this Raicharan Chakravarti does not know. One has to blend ground chick peas and pistachio nuts with minced meat, add ginger, asafetida, garlic and garam masala to that, then make flat cakes out of the mixture that are fried on a griddle. This is Shammi kebab. Uff, how can I describe their succulence to you?’
The Raja controlled his drooling once again and asked Raicharan — Can you make Rogan Jush?
The woman now grew a little impatient and said, ‘What is the point of asking all this? Just order what you want to eat!’
The Raja said, ‘Why are you so impatient? I will eat but I am just trying to get a measure of Raicharan’s skills first.’
Raicharan said, ‘Of course, why not? You must test me first. The Rogan Josh is –‘
The woman steadily got up and glided into the next room to glance through the magazines.
‘Rogan Josh is the meat of a gelded goat, braised in ghee without a drop of water. It is very nutritious and will fatten up even the thinnest person within ten days and give them a paunch.’
‘I can see that you know a lot! But do you know how to make Murgh musallam?’
‘Of course I can, it has to be ordered three hours ahead as it is an involved process. I make it far better than the chefs as I have my own method. I take a whole large chicken and then I stuff it with fish koftas, arum leaves with eggs and tiny prawns, or gourd cooked with prawns and yoghurt ..’
‘Arum leaves? That sounds disgusting!’
‘No my Holiness, everything goes into the chicken and is stitched into place and cooked in a closed pot. After cooking everything blends together and it is just out of this world!’
This time the Raja could not manage to control himself, a little bead of saliva fell on the table. He looked slightly ashamed as he swabbed at it with a handkerchief and said, ‘Hey Raicharan, can you bring me the best quality fried layered cream?’
‘What can I not do for you, by your grace? The king of all fried cream is the one that is made from rose pink cow’s milk, the very same that Nawab Sirajuddaulah used to eat. But you must give me ten days notice and about a hundred rupees towards the making.’
‘Are there rose pink cows?’
‘No my liege. A good milk producer must be fed roses, rose water and sugar for seven days and not a blade of hay or straw. Then it will produce pink milk and that will be perfumed. That milk must be boiled and thickened and then ghee made from that same milk for the frying. There is no need for syrup as the milk itself is as sweet as nectar — from the sugar the cow ate. What a thing it is! Like ambrosia but better! The sweet makers of Krishnanagar would hang themselves in shame if they ever tasted it!’
‘But doesn’t the cow get the runs if it eats roses all day long?’
Raicharan lowered his voice and said, ‘I shall tell you one little secret. The roses are mixed with a little bit of ground cannabis. That takes care of the diarrhea and makes the end result even better.’
‘Excellent! Excellent!’
‘Now please, tell me what I may bring — I have an idea, why not taste a little of everything for they are all good and you will surely enjoy yourself, Later on at another time, you may place an order for certain delicacies.’
‘Alright, Raicharan — do you have limes here?’
‘But of course, limes are essential condiments when eating pulaos. I have a request of you my lord; allow me to serve you a cooling drink after your repast — I assure you, it will make you feel most invigorated.’
‘What drink is that?’
‘Then listen carefully — I have a distant nephew called Kanai. He has studied all manner of things and knows about the essential properties of many of them. He is the one who has patented the drink. He calls it Changayani Shudha or Reviving Tonic. Two years ago, he worked with the government in the princely state of Hundagarh and the Kumar Bahadur became very fond of him. The prince was fond of hunting too but one day his elephant was attacked by a tiger. The wound healed in twenty days but the animal’s spirit was broken. It would not move, not even when goaded. Kanai fed it a gallon of Reviving Tonic under the orders of the Kumar. The next morning the elephant got up, walked briskly out of the stables, uprooted a Sal tree from the forest, ate the leaves and made a club and then took that club to the mountain side where it proceeded to beat the tiger to death with this.’
‘Does it contain whiskey? I don’t indulge in that stuff any more.’
‘What are you saying? Kanai does not even touch that stuff, he is a very good boy, why he does not even smoke. Do you want to hear what the ingredients of Changayani Shudha are? Twenty medicinal plants used by the Kabirajis, twenty allopathic elixirs, twenty types of Hakimi cures, diamond ash, gold ash, pearl ash, all the vitamins in the world, and a soupcon of electricity — these are mixed and distilled. It is very expensive, Kanai has given me a bottle at half the price for Rs fifty, he respects me as an uncle so much. Please, my lord, do have some today.’
‘We will see about that. Okay, Raicharan, do you have barley in stock?’
‘Yes we do. It is needed in making cottage cheese pudding, or else the mix falls apart. Let me ask them to bring you some food then? What do you desire?’
‘You could do one thing for me — get me a teaspoon of barley boiled up in a cup of water with some salt and a lime.’
Raicharan fell from the sky in surprise and said, ‘What, your Majesty! The fish pulao, the curried mutton, the roasted fowls….’
The Raja suddenly became furious and said, ‘You are a dangerous fellow! Do you want to kill me? I have been suffering from dyspepsia for three years now, I can digest literally nothing and am forbidden every food. All I can have during the day is rice gruel and cat fish stew and at night I have a little barley — and you are trying to tempt me with pulaos and rich fish kaliyas! What a murderous fellow!’
Mortified, Raicharan went away and came back after a little while with a bowl of barley which he placed with a clatter in front of the Raja saying, ‘Eat!’
He then moved the curtain and went next door where he said to the lady, ‘Dear Queen, will I bring you some fish pulao, some curried mutton and some roast fowl?’
‘Are you mad? How can I eat while that greedy old fool salivates over every bite I take? Do you think I will be able to swallow any of it?’
‘At least some tea and a few prawn cutlets, please Madam, my Queen?’
‘I am no Queen! I am Nakshatra Devi, the matinee star. I will come here another day after I finish at the studios. I will bring my director Hnadubabu with me.’
Ruma Chakravarti was born in Africa, had her schooling in India and has lived in seven countries. A mathematics teacher by profession, Ruma is a blogger and writer whose interests include Tagore and women’s issues. She currently lives in Adelaide. Her blogs include: http://animikha.wordpress.com/: on Tagore http://banglarmukh-ruma.blogspot.in/: on other Bengali writers.