THE THREE MONKEYS
Keertipriya
The common belief is that one must not see one monkey in his or her dream. And imagine what
happens if you see three monkeys in your dream.
I could not sleep all night fearing what might happen because of the three monkeys that had
appeared in my dream last night; dreaming on end or so it seemed. It was one long stretch of
dreams all night. There was no rhyme or reason, nor meaning to any of those dreams.
I am growing older and wiser, or else I would be scared to death by those dreams. I would have
screamed in my sleep. In my childhood, amma used to tell us that we should not dream of
monkeys. Now, I could not help wondering. Amma had said one monkey in the dream would bring
bad luck. Does that mean the bad luck would be triple if I saw three monkeys in my dream? Now
amma was not alive to answer my question. The question had not occurred to me while she was
alive.
The strange part was I did not see the three monkeys hopping on the trees, hanging on to the
poles or crossing the streets anyway they pleased. The three monkeys looked cute, sitting in a row
just like in the picture Mahatma Gandhi had been fond of –one with her eyes shut, the second with
her ears shut and the third with her mouth shut. Sometimes they were in a row and at other times,
they appeared separately. On other occasions, they looked small at first and then grew larger.
Now I remembered. Probably the reason they appeared in my dream was because of the incident
that had happened the day before. My friend Madhu got the district munsif job. Probably you
understand what I meant when I said he “got” the job. Rumors were whispered in the bar room.
There were comments how he has got the job despite others who were qualified were available.
Some of them tried to dig out clues from his friends like me. One gentleman pulled me to a side
and whispered, “Raju, we all know that Madhu’s brains are nothing compared to yours. You passed
B.L. exam in first class. I think Madhu finished in his second attempt, right?” I had no answer for
him. He added, “Yeah, you are best friends. How can you answer my question,” and went away.
I was well aware that this friendly inquiry did not come from his concern for me.
We four—Madhu, Venu, Sarma and I—had been good friends for a long time. We used to sit at the
same place for hours in the bar room and talk. We went to the movies together. True, we were
happy that Madhu got the munsif position. None of us expressed our thoughts to the other. For us,
it was not a comfortable topic even to mention. We all continued to go around happily despite his
appointment orders. Two days back, at the courthouse, the bar association had thrown a party for
him. They all had praised Madhu. Just as I expected, the person who had questioned Madhu’s
intelligence earlier also stated that Madhu was a great intellectual.
Yesterday, we four ate a sumptuous meal at Hotel Apsara and went to watch an English movie at
Leelamahal, comparable in style. The movie was “Liberation of L. B. Jones”. It was based on a
theme one could not forget that easily. We were surprised at the close parallel between this theme
and the conversations that had taken place last night at the dinner party.
At the party I gave Gandhi’s most favorite figurine—a figurine of three monkeys—to Madhu as a
memento. Madhu’s status went up from that of an advocate to a judge. Therefore I thought the
figurine advocating the motto—do not hear evil, do not see evil, and do not speak evil—would be
appropriate. Madhu had a different, somewhat strange, interpretation for it though. He said, “Your
souvenir is very nice. But, in our profession, especially me as a magistrate, our very job requires
us to perform the same three duties from the moment the court opened to the moment the court
closed. Are you suggesting I should not do my job?” He burst into a big laugh.
I was confused a little. “How could that be? My purpose was to say that you discard the evil in what
you see and hear, and take only the good.”
“Do you think it is that easy?”
“Why not? If you try, I am sure anything is possible,” Venu said.
“That’s not what he meant. He is saying evil is all around everywhere, and we are part of it. That
being the case, how can we expect to be able to do anything? I suppose that is what he meant,”
Sarma said.
To me it sounded like that was how our friend had earned the job in the first place.
“Whatever you all think, let me explain my view with examples. Let’s say there is a case involving a
promissory note. We know that the plaintiff was lying. He had paid five hundred rupees and gotten
the defendant sign the note for one thousand rupees. The defendant claimed that he had received
only five hundred rupees and signed the note for one thousand, out of despair. The plaintiff would
not accept that argument. He would even accept the defendant’s challenge and swear on
Ramayanam without any hesitation that he had paid one thousand rupees. Under the
circumstances, what could you, as a judge, do? Could you say that the note was not valid? Could
you rule in favor of the defendant and tell him to pay only five hundred? Or would you rule in favor
of the plaintiff, and pay the remaining five hundreds in question from your pocket?”
Our conversation had continued on these lines yesterday. Now I was seeing the parallel between
the conversation and the scenes in the movie.
*
The courthouse was surrounded by trees. There was a coffee shop in one corner. Its walls were
filled with smoke. Lawyers wearing black jackets were sitting in the coffee shop, sipping coffee.
Their dark jackets were looking darker. Suddenly, swear words started from somewhere.
“Accursed be his mother. He swore on a book of Ramayanam. He’ll die a horrible death. Sleazy
scoundrel.” I could see his face very clearly but could find no words to describe it. His face was
filled with several emotions like anger, disgust, despair, and helplessness. His eyes were swollen.
The veins in his face bulged. He was gritting his teeth.
I recalled that part from my dream and then was jolted back into the present. So also the
conversation I have had with Madhu at the dinner.
“How many times we had seen murder cases involving false witnesses? We do follow the British
system which claims that it is acceptable to let go of ten criminals but not acceptable to punish one
innocent person. Yet we know that at times some individuals are punished for the crimes committed
by others, right? If the evidence was convincing, and the judge had no other evidence to claim
otherwise, what can he do?”
Venu said, “That’s true, I suppose. Sometime back I watched a divorce case. The plaintiff claimed
that his wife was having an affair with another man. He even submitted pictures of those two
persons being naked and together. The defendant’s lawyer, Sankaram, pulled out previous
decisions and tried to get the photos thrown out; he argued that the photos were not reliable, and
they were manufactured using some camera tricks. He won the case. But it was public knowledge
that the defendant was in reality sleeping with other men, and at the expense of the plaintiff.”
The restaurant was bustling with people all around. Some young men were screaming, annoyed by
the delay in service. I placed my order and looked around. I noticed a picture of Hanuman, hanging
on the wall, above the proprietor’s head. My gaze stopped there. He turned into one of the
monkeys I had seen in my dream. Somebody behind me said something. I could hear it very clearly
even amidst that noise.
The man was saying, “Whoever would care in modern times if his wife were fooling around with
someone else? What do you think the women in high society are doing nowadays? Aren’t they
getting drunk and dancing openly? They put their hands on another man’s shoulder and waist and
dance; and here this woman did something with someone else. What is the difference? Smart men
are passing on their wives cleverly to others or pretending to pass on, and getting promotions at
work. Climbing up. Getting the job done. Smarter yet, some of them are keeping two women—one
for self and the other as a means to get the job done.”
I think the dreams would not appear in any logical sequence. Even if there were one, it’s not easy
to see the rationale behind the sequence. I dreamed a few incidents again—a sort of broken
pieces without any logic. I had forgotten some of them. And those I remembered, I could not put
them in any logical sequence. However, I was pretty sure that I dreamt of the following dream after
the incident mentioned above.
I went to the second show at the Rajeswari Theater. During the second interval, I went outside and
lit up a cigarette. I was wondering about the sorry state of affairs in our movies. Why Telugu movies
slipped so low that there were no heroes anymore but older men wearing half-pants and walking
like ducks, or jumping around in tight pants? At a distance, I could see under the lights the ticket
booth selling tickets for the second and third class audience. There was a poster telling the “Shows
now playing” sign hanging above the booth. At the foot of the poster, a young woman was
standing. From where I was, she seemed to be beautiful. She was wearing a cheap nylon saree,
and it clearly showed her poor economic condition. A little boy was sleeping on her shoulder. I
could see only the boy’s back. I was not sure whether it was a boy or a rubber toy.
While I was still wondering, a man walked toward her. He walked past her and to the gate. She
followed him. I heard somebody say something. I could not see who was talking.
“Did you see, she followed him? That woman!, vow, a fox I’d say. Wherever she has got that little
boy, she is always here during the interval time.”
“What for?”
“What do you mean what for, you idiot; to rob people like you. Stupid slut.”
“Then, why that boy sleeping on her shoulder? What does she need him for?”
“That’s the beauty of it, quite smart, if you ask me. She is not married or any such thing. Fools like
you mistake her for a married woman, and happily go after her, if she had the boy with her.”
Possibly, I had heard this incident somewhere or read it in some book. The reason I would say this
was I could not recall having this conversation yesterday. But I did recall having several
discussions surrounding the courthouse, its atmosphere, and numerous characters that walked in
and out of the courtroom. I was sure that was the reason I recalled another incident, which I had
seen in my dream.
The verandah in front of the courthouse was crowded. There was not enough room inside for all of
them. So, some of them stood outside, peeking through the windows and watching the court
proceedings. I managed to get out of that stuffy room and into the verandah. I was smoking, lost in
my own thoughts. Across from the street, in the balcony of Apsara hotel, a few men, some white
and some brown, were looking at the courthouse and laughing. I turned toward the place they were
watching.
I was nearly shocked by what I saw. One of my colleagues, a senior lawyer, who has been handling
several cases, was standing under a shed across from the courthouse. He was with another
woman. Both of them were stark-naked, like in some English movie, or like the lewd sculptures on a
temple. Our lawyer-friend quickly threw his black gown over himself and the woman but neither of
them moved from the place. He looked totally indifferent to our presence and continued … I was in
no position to record the details, although it had happened only in my dream.
I was well aware that he has been handling brothel cases. His clients would comment that he was a
very kind man and that he would take up their cases without charging for his service. Now I could
see what they meant. This is what he was getting in return for his services.
*
I was on my way home from Anakapalli. I got down at my usual corner. I was exhausted, or else I
would have waited for Dondaparti bus. I put up a fierce fight with the rickshaw driver. I would have
walked home but for the luggage. In short I had no choice. Somehow, I found an old rickshaw driver
and was on my way home.
Rickshaw hardly went ten yards, when a young man approached us and said, “How’re you?” Her
face was ugly; was more like a tainted brass pot. Looked like a drooping, baby eggplant or wilted
flower. I was almost certain she was very young.
Anyway, did she address me or the rickshaw driver? As if answering my question, the rickshaw
driver said, “Look at her arrogance, babu. One day, while it was still dark, I was waiting at the
Lakshmi Talkies. And she got into my rickshaw. I was ecstatic, thought I had a great customer first
thing in the morning. She made me go around the entire town. And she got down, looking rotten,
what could I say. She said, ‘mava! I am all beat up but have not a paise. Trust me. The police
officers showed up and seized all my money. They let go of me only just now. My legs were so
feeble, I could not walk. That’s why I got into your rickshaw.’ That’s what she said, babu. And she
added further that I could go to her hut at night, if I cared for it. Pig-headed idiot. I’m old, why would
I care about such things?”
Did I dream about the above incident because I had watched the movie, “Liberation of L. B.
Jones”? In the movie, a black girl called the police and told them that her husband had not come
home and she was worried in case something had happened to him. The police arrived and took
her in their van. After one of them raped her, they dumped her on the pavement. The woman was
too scared to talk about it with anybody. She was totally helpless. I could still see her in my mind.
In the final analysis, I think all these incidents have contributed heavily for the way I dreamt—
Madhu’s promotion, my gift of three monkeys to him, our conversation at the dinner, and then
watching a heartrending movie.
Then you might ask whether all this writing was a dream as well. I am not sure. I was wondering too
whether I have dreamt the dream I just mentioned really.
(Original Telugu story, muudu kothulu, was published in Andhra Jyoti weekly, August 4, 1972.)