By Sujatha Balasubramanian

Navarasa literally means, nine emotions.

According to Indian tradition, the basic emotions in life are divided under nine heads; Shringara– love, Hasya– humour, Karuna– pathos, Roudra– anger, Veera– valor, Bhaya– fear, Bhibhatsa– horror, Vismaya– wonder and Shantah– peacefulness.

Each of the following stories is meant to portray one of the Rasas or emotions.

‘Hasya’

“The incongruous juxtaposition of people and things causes humour,” said Guru Somadeva.

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“No,” he said firmly, “not a single paisa. You’ve had all you’ll ever get from me, you little rascal.” The old man spoke with sudden courage. It was just this minute that he had realized what a fool he had been, paying blackmail money for six long months when he really didn’t have to. The thought of liberating himself came like a cool, cool draught, and he almost smiled.

The smile did it. Raghu knew, now, that there wasn’t a chance of getting the four annas from his grandfather. The old man’s guilty secret had almost been forgotten by both of them now. It had such a matter of habit, this handing over of the monthly four annas. With a grim effort, he recollected… ah, yes, he remembered now – one day he had caught his grandfather reading a lurid, yellow rag, eyes popping out in excitement. A gentle subtle threat to let his grandmother hear about it had been sufficient to make the old man’s hands glide to his purse which was securely tucked away in his dhoti. The old man knew it was better to buy Raghu’s silence straightaway rather than face his wife. The very thought of facing her brought sweat to his brow. Thus began the era of prosperity for Raghu. But what they had both overlooked was that Raghu’s grandmother had been dead for six months already!

Raghu turned away without a word, his thoughts running on sinister lines. So, he thought he’d got off the hook lightly, did he? He’d soon learn that Raghu could not be disposed of so easily. “I’ll show him a thing or two,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll make him sit up.” His fingers caressed a small furry body reposing snugly in the pocket of his shorts.

Raghu chose his time with care. It was mid-noon. The old man was having a siesta, his long thing limbs stretched out on an easy chair. There was no one else around. Out came the tiny grey thing from Raghu’s pocket. Gently, and deftly, he lifted a fold of the old man’s dhoti and deposited the little furry object. In a moment he was back at his point of vantage beside the cupboard.

Soon, there was a muffled whirring from the voluminous folds of the man’s clothing. He jumped with a shout, flailing his arms about and twisting his torso in a most agile manner, for a man of his age. “Why! You rascal Raghu! It’s a rat!” he dithered as the top of a thin black tail vanished down his waist. His gyrations increased in speed, the long thin arms thrashed about in the air. Raghu, looking on from his corner was somewhat compensated for the loss of his monthly allowance,

A loud crash brought Raghu out of his corner in a hurry. His grandfather stood looking at the scattered remains of an alarm clock with shocked absorption. Raghu also gazed at the clock silently for some time.

“Seenu will be mad at us,” whispered Raghu. The old man nodded silently. Seenu was the elder grandson and both of them were terrified of his temper. “He bought it only last week,” added the old man under his breath. “Don’t worry, grandfather,” consoled Raghu with a burst of bravado, “I shall handle the matter. Leave everything to me.”

Raghu had his plan worked out to the last detail before the evening. When Seenu returned from work, he hovered around him solicitously watching him drink his coffee, wash and change. Seenu slicked down the unruly patch of hair for the twelfth time and turned to his brother who was watching him with fascinated interest. “What’s the matter with you, idiot, why are you trailing behind me like this?” he asked, irritably.

“Nothing,” stammered Raghu realistically, “nothing really, I was just admiring the way your hair waves, so naturally.” Seenu smoothed down his hair self-consciously. “If you think you are going to touch me for any money, you are mistaken,” he said automatically. “Money?” Raghu seemed surprised. “I never even thought of that,” he said honestly. “You know the girl next door, Neela? Well, we were talking about you this afternoon and she was just saying to me, “I like the way your brother’s hair waves… so naturally.” Seenu jumped. If there was a weakness one could accuse him of, an Achilles heel in a man of steel, it was his predilection for the girl next door. He had wooed her from a distance over the years but had received no sign of recognition. That is, up to now. Seenu sat up and caught Raghu by the collar. “Did she really say it? It you are kidding –” The hand on the collar tightened threateningly. “Honest, cross my heart!” said Raghu. “Actually you can ask her yourself. She wants you to go over there for tea at 6 o’clock.”

Seenu blinked and cleared his throat. “You mean – she really wants me – me to go there for tea?” he asked incredulously. “Of course,” replied Raghu nonchalantly. “She was too shy to ask you herself, so she told me to ask you.” Seenu glanced at his watch and rushed to change agin. Sounds of happy whistling came from the depths of the cupboard as he rummaged for a suitable bush-shirt.

“Er–” Raghu murmured from behind. “That alarm clock of yours – it fell down and broke this afternoon,” he said. “Mind you, I didn’t even touch it.”

“H’m, what? Oh! The alarm clock? Never mind, never mind. I’ll get another next month,” Seenu replied absently, slicking back his hair once again. Raghu fled with the virtuous feeling of having done his good deed for the day.

“It is very kind of you,” simpered Seenu. “Not at all, not at all,” replied Neela with a smile, “have another biscuit. You must meet a lot of pretty girls in your profession?” She arranged the folds of her sari to show off her slender waist to advantage.

“Er – yes, but none as beautiful as –” Seenu began boldly.

“How do you prefer me – in a sari or a salvar-kameez outfit?”

Seenu was startled by this frontal attack. “Anything at all. You are divine in any dress,” he breathed ecstatically.

“When shall we arrange the appointment? Say, 3 p.m. tomorrow or, if that is too early, shall we make it ten o’clock in the morning on Thursday?”

“Appointment? What appointment?” Seenu blinked.

“Why, for me to pose, of course. Your brother said that you have been longing to get me to model for your advertising agency.”

“Advertising — ” Seenu bleated in dismay, “I’m in insurance!”

“Why, you cheat, imposter, telling a poor girl lies so that you get invited into her house!” A capacious handbag with metal fittings descended on Seenu’s head with a band. The next moment, he realized that he was standing outside the door with a throbbing head. That rascal, Raghu, he gritted his teeth. Then he remembered the alarm clock. His hands clenched into fists as he started back home.

Raghu jingled the coins, so thoughtfully and voluntarily contributed by his grandfather.