The Untold Story

Ajay needed a haircut badly. He had been postponing it for a couple of weeks, but it wasn't bearable any longer. He went to the saloon outside the campus gates - to get rid of the nuisance!

The saloon was smaller than his room in the hostel, half of it maybe. It was run by a father-son duo. There was a radio playing Hindi and Bengali music. It also had a rusty old fan. Listening to it for some time could put one to sleep. Ajay liked the place. He had been coming here even after a saloon was opened in the hostel complex. He loved the ambiance. It had nothing special in it. Silence the radio and this place could have been anywhere across the country. It was this universality of the saloon that endeared it to Ajay. 

When Ajay went there that day, there were two more people waiting. Ajay didn't mind. He rested easily on the wooden chair kept outside the shop. He sat observing the people going about their daily chores. The laundry man, the shopkeeper, the butcher and everybody else. He could sense life - something which he felt missing within the campus gates. 

It was Ajay's turn now.  Ajay seated himself in front of the mirror and offered himself into the hands of the barber, The barber was an artist now. He would shape how Ajay looked over the next few days in a matter of a few minutes. "Dada, keep it short" Ajay said before closing his eyes, trying to absorb the sound of the rusty old fan and grab a nap while the artist was at his work. 

Two minutes into it, the power went out! The fan stopped its lullaby. Ajay woke up, feeling the Bengal heat build up within the shop. "Babu, how about a story while I go about the job?" the barber asked. Ajay agreed, since it would divert his mind from the sweltering heat. 

"Babu, you know the Ramayan, right? I will tell you a story from the Ramayan that is widespread in our community. But then, I don't think people from any other community would have heard it. You will realise why they haven't once I am done with the story" the barber said, moving the pair of scissors and comb expertly over Ajay's head

"Ram was married to Sita and they lived happily. All of us know that. One day, Dasharath decided to announce that he would name Ram as his successor to the kingdom of Kosala. He consulted his rajguru & ministers and fixed a date for the announcement. There wasn't any media in those days where you could make a statement and it would be relayed all over the country, was there? So, he wanted quite a large number of people to be part of the ceremony where he would make the announcement before deciding the date of coronation. 

"A day before the day of the public statement, he sent for the "royal hairstylist", whom we shall call just the barber! The barber was getting the "royal" instruments ready - a pair of golden scissors, razors and combs of various sizes - when the scissors broke! He perceived it as an omen. He rushed to the palace with the broken pair of scissors. On meeting the king, he said "My Lord! The royal scissors broke this morning. They have been in the family for generations, since the time my great-great-great grandfather was the hairstylist to the royal family. It had never happened thus. I fear bad things, My Lord! I request you to put all plans on hold for the present and consult the rajguru again. Forgive my impudence, My Lord!"

"Dasharath was angered. How could an ordinary barber order the king? In a fit of rage, he ordered the beheading of the "royal hairstylist". The barber pleaded that he meant the well-being of the royal family and the king reconsider the decision of going out with the announcement on the decided day. All of it fell on deaf ears. Dasharath was in no mood to listen. There wasn't anybody else to listen to those pleas either. The barber was beheaded. His head was put on a spike and paraded, to warn others of what comes out of impudence" the barber said, moving the razor along Ajay's neck. Ajay felt a sudden chill and became all stiff!

"The news of the barber's death reached his widowed mother. She cried her heart out. People who were there to console her needed somebody to console them as well! It was a heart-wrenching scene. 

"Oh Almighty! If your existence is true, hear me out. On this day, I curse Dasharath, the one who murdered my son. Fate shall snatch his sons away from him. He shall die a painful death when they are far away. He shall die longing to see them!" Uttering these horrifying words, the lady collapsed, not to get up ever again." The barber was now massaging Ajay's neck and shoulders.

"We all know what happened after that, right? In almost all versions of the Ramayan, Dasharath's death is attributed to a curse by Shravan Kumar's parents and not the royal barber's mother. Why? Because people deem it a shame to acknowledge that a king was killed by the curse of a low-caste woman. Dying because of a Brahman's curse is "cool" but not from any low-born. God-damn prejudices!" The barber removed the apron that was put on Ajay in the beginning of the hair-cut. "Twenty rupees, babu" he said, brushing Ajay's clothes. 

"Dada, is this story true, or did you make it up?" Ajay asked, paying the money.

"Of course I made it up. But then, why shouldn't it be true? Goodbye, babu" the barber said, turning his attention to the next customer. 

The fan started whirring again...