Ceasefire and reconciliation

 

We have been turning on our heels in antipathy—he moving away with a snarl and me with mouthfuls of cuss words holding something in my hand to ward off any potential attack from his side. But the profoundly irresistible dislike for him has melted a bit after his dusk-time play with the newly dug pole. The next time when I see him I offer a good banana. His imperial majesty looks suspiciously. In any case he will steal, I think, so it’s better to offer one myself and gather some good points in his books. The supreme monarch of the simian kingdom in the village is aware of the risks of fruit traps by the humans. Huddled in utter detachedness to my ceasefire offer, he simply looks away. I’m again on the verge of faltering, capitulate and cave into anger about his not accepting my gift. But somehow I retain my composure and leave the banana on the compound wall. He arrives casually after some time—as if he didn’t know about the banana and merely found it on the way. What attitude! He sniffed at it with extra-dilated nostrils. Vah, the royal connoisseur of the olfactory art! He accepted it in an off-hand manner as if his highness has done me a favor by doing so. I’m relieved that I have bought peace for just one banana—no broken branches, no angry snarls, no foul words, no mangoes mangled on the floor.

A couple of days later I see a lady monkey with her infant. Driven by the far-flung memories of encounters with monkeys, my initial impulse is to scare her away using hard words, stomping of feet, brandishing a stick and a lynching tongue well in toe. She makes a sound which only a mother can, a kind of request to hold my temper because her little one is there. Her red face peering at me from a space in the roof railing. I hold back my reaction and immoderately throw a guava on the roof. Immediately I see him emerging from his secret watch post. He claims the peace booty. So he was watching me! I hold another guava for the mother monkey, but two monkey lads—teenagers, his sons from the previous season of love—smartly gallop and one of them claims it. Meantime, he gives me an avid scrutiny from a distance. Ahaa the art of autumnal armistice in the monsoon season! It scoops a handful of pleasure and peace for both parties.

He sits solemn and recalcitrant while his brood is enjoying within limits. A miracle! His old wife, the one with the infant, has her tail missing. There are two young boys and one young second wife. I’m not in a querulous mood today; as a result neither are they. All of us play our parts in conflicts. If both sides don’t add their share, peace prevails. He sits like a monarch—with astute magnanimity. His lads fidget and dolt around, crawl on a cable to reach a tree outside the yard and pluck leaves and buds to eat. I laugh at their antics and natural laughter makes one amiable and solicitous. All this is harmony-augmenting stuff. Today I have not given them a fright; they haven’t reacted on their part. I know he is stealing glances at me while I’m suffused with the wonderful sight of his tailless wife showering maternal affection on her baby. She is relaxed and lies belly down, legs dangling on both sides of the parapet wall, her tailless pink bottom gleaming under the monsoonal sky, her chin supported on the wall, the baby playing in front of her face; tranquilly and lugubriously she braces it behind the ears to find out any lice. This is all-surpassing love and affection.

There are no stony stares and distrustful eyes, no scandalous alertness, no sly ingenuity, no tenacious passions, no gratifying deceit. Just a normal world with pulsating excursion. A soft and supple world that can easily turn treacherous and ferocious if we don’t hold our respective parts of peace. They are enjoying on the terrace. Today I don’t make them feel that they are marauding thugs; don’t snivel and dribble with cuss words. He has a despondent and limpid grimace on his face. I have to go to my den on the terrace. I’m moving up the open staircase with a book and the day’s newspaper in my hand. As I reach the landing, I see him moving along the railings just three-four feet away. There are no glowering looks on either side, just traces of timidity. He just double checks by sniffing in the direction of the book and moves away slowly and sits on the wall, his back to me, assured that I don’t mean any harm.

His brood is playing but surprisingly they haven’t raised the usual ruckus. I think like Moi and Noah tried to come to terms with each other’s presence in the ape movie, we both also should try to come to terms with the reality of our respective existence. I have to understand that he simply is a father fighting for his family. Theirs is a big fight for survival in the concrete jungles. I can’t expect them to be well behaved all the time. But are we ourselves as such? So I can try to buy peace like I did this time with a banana, two guavas and a behavior missing reprimanding words.

All of us should try to buy peace. It’s not costly; hate, anger and wars are very costly on the other hand. They burn relationships and countries. Let the bigger issues be decided by big authorities. I shall prioritize buying peace with the monkeys in lieu of some fruits. I mean with this group at least. They keep moving across the localities. But for the fresh truants I reserve my right to act, behave and jump in the usual ways when they will arrive to slay peace. And I’m sure they will.