The Savoy Bar

City of Joy

George Eggleston had just returned from Mumbai where he was working in an MNC. It was his dying father, Robert, who in his last wish asked his son to take charge of his bar at Park Street in Kolkata. Despite George’s resistance, the father said, “Son, this bar was given to me by my father and before that it was his father who started it during the colonial period. This is where the burrasaabs would come in the evening for their drinks, play bridge and listen to live music. We have seen the highs and lows of Calcutta….times when everything was good and money flowed. Now, things have gone bad but I can tell you, the joy of running this place, meeting people who love fun and feel the sweetness of home, is something no money can buy. You can also make more money than the so called bitcoins on days when wealthy old patrons come here. You give it an honest try for six months and if you feel cheated by your old man, sell it and go where your work and heart takes you.” Tonight would be George’s first night at Savoy Bar, established 1911, the year the Imperial capital shifted to Delhi.

People started coming in around 7pm and some of them spoke to George about his father, how they loved him and that they would miss him. The band had also assembled and they still seemed to wear the old tight fitting white jackets and bow as they started playing old songs….Come September lifted the spirits of the people in the room and some of the oldies took to the floor impromptu to do a gig and twist. As the merriment continued and spirit flowed, George noticed, at a table near him, three strange looking men….one a pure gorasaab and attired perfectly with a hat, the second looked an Englishman but wore traditional Indian clothes befitting a Bhadralok and the third seemed a mix between a gora and a desi. George got closer and tried listening to the men seated.

“Young man, get us the finest and rarest Scotch whiskey you have”…one of them shouted.

“I do have the whiskey but will cost a lot. You think you can afford it?”

The three men started laughing aloud. “Son, don’t worry about money. We shall fill up your coffers with gold mohurs. Just serve us and make us happy.”

George obeyed and poured them the finest whiskey in the bar and stretched his ears to listen.

“Stuart, you stop wearing these funny clothes. Wherever we go, people are watching you and mocking you.”

“Why should I change? These are clothes best suited for the Indian climate. I have written many articles on why even English women should start wearing sarees as against the western dresses.  There is no attire as beautiful as the saree draped well.”

“Why don’t you have your bath in the house where all amenities are there from shower to the bath tub. But you prefer bathing in the Ganges every morning. It is so unhygienic and does no good to your position.”

“Taking a bath in the holy Ganga cleanses your body and soul every day. And for those who say the water is dirty, it has been scientifically proven that holy the Ganges has special properties that kill all impurities and the water turns clean on its own. After my bath each day, I go to the temple on the ghats and chant mantras that I have learnt during my stay in India. Jay Sittaraamjee!”

George was amazed at Stuart….what a man! A foreigner and yet he is more Indian than most. No wonder Dad spoke highly of the people who visited Savoy.

It was now Stuart’s turn to question his friends.

“So tell me Henry, what are you up to nowadays. Surely teaching cannot be the only thing you do?”

“You are right Stuart. I am saddened at the state of Bengal and wish to do something. I am talking to my students to create a Young Bengal Movement. I have great hope on the youth of this state. They are well read and have fire in their belly. If their passion is directed in the right manner and for the right cause, change will happen.”

“You are just a teacher and should not get into the politics of this state. The way you are talking seems you are preparing the young students of yours for a revolution.”

George just could not hold himself back and went to the table occupied by the troika and raised his finger and spoke up in clear and stern voice…. “Gentlemen, this is a place where we want our patrons to come and enjoy. Talking of change, planning revolutions is not what this place is meant to be. You know how sensitive the establishment is to any talk of opposition and upheaval? They will not only put you behind the bars but they will also take me away for being an accomplice and arranging for the meeting place. Today is my first day at the bar and I just cannot allow this here.”

Henry looked up to see the angry expression on George’s face and gently smiled and spoke softly…. “Don’t worry George. No one will ever be able to put me behind bars and I shall make sure no evil ever falls on you. This is India and I care for the country and its people. This is India, my native land.”

George did not argue any further and moved away after pleading once more and showing his clasped hands, as if praying to the men to maintain order.

Henry changed the subject immediately and asked his third colleague….”William, why did you change your name to Yunus Uksfardi?”

“Ha …ha…I too, like you both, love this country and its wonderful languages. I have learnt to speak and write in Persian, Hindi, Sanskrit, Bengali apart from Hebrew, Latin, Greek and Arabic…..so I changed my name as they would pronounce in Persian…Yunus Uksfardi is nothing but saying Jones from Oxford.”

“That is really smart of you, William.”

“I am working on translating old texts of various religions. This land is so rich in culture, history and spirituality that I will never ever think of going back to England. I will create a repository of translated books so that future generations are proud of their country and do not blindly look towards the West for knowledge and material gains.”

George was quite impressed with the three gentlemen who kept drinking the finest whiskey he had to offer. They finished off two bottles in a couple of hours as they kept talking about India. How surprising that we Indians often look down upon our own country and here are three Europeans who love everything about this country. These old men show the true spirit of nationalism and patriotism which the youth in the country today lacks.

The three gentlemen now took out something from their respective pouches and placed a metal under their empty glasses as they walked out of the bar swiftly before George could react with Stuart shouting Jay Sittaramjee. George ran after the men but when he reached outside the door of the bar, the three gentlemen were not to be seen. Vanished!

“Oh no…I have been completely fooled by these crooks. Each of those bottles cost over twenty five grand. Instead of making money on my first day, I have been duped by three crooks for over fifty thousand rupees on a single night. Is this what Pappa had in mind when he wanted me to be here for six months? I will be gone in six days and surely with empty coffers should men like these come more often.”

He walked back to the table and saw the metal pieces glowing under the whiskey glasses…. “I have not tasted one drop of liquor and yet I seem to be imagining things”….he lifted one of the glasses and held the round metal piece close to his eyes…. “Is this a gold mohur….cheats…fooling me. Do I look like an idiot that they give me three pieces of fool’s gold and finish off two of the best and the most expensive whiskey bottles? I am ruined. Pa, sorry”…..George had tears in his eyes.

After wrapping up the evening, George counted the cash. It was over thirty thousand and three golden worthless metal pieces. He put all the money and coins in a box, locked it up before going home for what remained of the night.

Next morning, George went out of the house early as he had not been able to sleep even for a moment as he kept remembering the three crooks of Bengal, their looks, their conversation and their unquenching thirst for whiskey. Across his home was a place where his Great Great Great Grandfather had been put to rest…Captain Charles Eggleston. He wanted to see his tombstone for his father told him often about their lineage and their being of true Anglo-Saxon blood.  He carried with him a bunch of flowers that he kept on the base of the tombstone. He was definitely feeling better and proud now. He decided to take a walk around the cemetery to see who else in his family were laid to rest and to catch up with a bit of history.

George found huge tombstones, some kept well with the names legible, others were in bad state without any trace of who lay there. He was amazed to find some nicely crafted epitaphs….more in the like of poetry which showed the love the family and friends had for the departed ones. As he walked along the huge cemetery, George’s eyes fell upon a strange looking grave which looked more in the shape of a temple. He went closer and saw the inscription….it was Major General Charles Stuart (Known as Hindoo Stuart) 1758- 1828.

George walked further and his year fell on te only grave where a marble figure of the person whose grave was there and he saw the name….Henry Louis Vivian Derozio, teacher, poet and patriot, Mentor of Young Bengal and Friend of the People….Born 18^th April 1809, Died 20^th December 1831.

Things were now becoming clearer to George. Now he had to find William, the third of the night crooks. Having failed to trace his grave, he spoke to the cemetery keeper about the graves of famous people there. The man rattled off many names and he spoke of one William Jones and George asked him to stop. Who was William Jones and where is his grave? The man opened up a book before him to the page containing a picture of an Englishman on the right side and a big commentary written on the left….Sir William Jones FRS FRAS FRSE (1746-1794) a philologist, scholar of ancient India, found co-relation between European and Indo-Aryan languages which he called Indo-European and founder of the Asiatic Society of Bengal in 1784.

George went to the biggest and the best kept grave and admired the man buried therein. Surely a tall man by all counts and fully deserving of the biggest grave. Now the things had become clear to George and he started running out of the cemetery and he reached home and opened the box containing last night’s collection. He quickly pulled out the three coins and saw them against the sunlight….his eyes shown bright as he tried reading the impression on the coins written in Persian….he waited for the neighbourhood jewelry shop to open. He went there and showed one of the coins to the owner there. The jeweler looked in all amazement…. “Where did you get this? This is a gold coin issued by Siraj-ud-daullah, the king of Bengal in the eighteenth century.”

George quickly said that it belonged to his ancestor Captain Charles Eggleston. The jeweler knew Robert well and about his family who had been living in India for over two hundred and fifty years now.… “Keep it safely but if you ever need money and you bring one of these to me, I may just have to sell all the pieces of jewelry in my shop in exchange for it. But I will still do it for this one piece.”

George remembered his father’s last words… “You can make more money than the so called bitcoins.”

SS