Shamli is my hometown. But it is not the one in Ruskin Bond’s Time Stops at Shamli. Till a few years ago it was a mofussil town in western Uttar Pradesh. When Independence came in 1947, it was a kasbah of some 40,000 souls. It could well qualify as a town, but being in the middle of the wheat-bowl of the country and farmers constituting most of its population, it had retained its character of a kasbah.
Only a handful of houses boasted of electricity, the rest used mustard oil lamps for illumination. Kerosene was scarce in the aftermath of WWII. Puppeteers and magicians would often visit to entertain the people and earn a few rupees.
In 1950 or thereabouts, I, a child not yet 10, witnessed something which few would believe today. It was not the Great Indian Rope Trick but was close to it. Hearing the sound of a dholak, I ran out taking it to be the call of a puppeteer. I was wrong. It was a small group, gathered around a wizened old man who held them spellbound with his tricks and oratory. A small child, about my age, pounded away on the dholak.
Fascinated, I joined the group. A few ordinary tricks later the old man asked the onlookers if they would like to eat a fruit. “Yes,” the gathering shouted in unison. “Would you like a mango?” the magician asked. Another enthusiastic “yes” followed. “Ok,” said the magician, “I will give you a mango.”
Gathering a bit of dust from the lane he made a small heap of it, produced a mango seed from his sack and planted it in the dust. His companion, the child, watered it. The magician was shaking his wand at the dust heap chanting something in a strange tongue. Lo and behold, the seed germinated and growing faster than Jack’s beanstalk, reached a height of six or seven feet in a matter of seconds. Soon a ripe, luscious mango appeared near the top. The magician, still chanting, rose to his toes, reached out, plucked the mango and threw it to the man who had asked for it. The man greedily sucked at it and licked his lips in a gesture of appreciation.
The magician bowed, spread a cloth on the ground, still chanting. The plant shrank as fast as it had grown and vanished in the heap of dust. There was not a person who did not applaud. Coins rained on the magician’s cloth. The magician recovered his mango seed and salaamed the gathering. Holding the magician’s hand the little boy slowly led him away.