My bed was in Sejo Uncle’s room. It was the room at the back of the house. Hardly anyone went there. The other rooms had the usual things—a bed, wardrobe, chairs, a sofa, and clothes rack. But this was no ordinary room; it was peculiar in its way. Entering it would make you feel no one lived there.
But that was far from the truth. The long room had two wooden cots in opposite corners. There was a large window facing the garden. Two small wooden tables stood in the room, their varnish peeling off. Claw marks from younger uncle’s beloved cat were etched into them, leaving white streaks.
The tables were layered with dusty, splotchy plastic sheets. The two cots were covered with thin, torn mattresses. In two corners stood broken wooden cupboards, with dusty, shattered glass panes. Inside, they were stuffed with dusty books and heaps of notebooks and papers on top. The entire room was layered with dust. The bed’s pillows were surrounded by piles of paper filled with scribbles. Sometimes, in the early morning, when sleep broke, uncle would lie down and fill up pages of notebooks. Who knew what he wrote? They were filled with strange symbols and mathematical limits. The entire room looked shabby under a thick cover of dust. Neither mom, aunt, nor grandma could manage to tidy it. The room was crammed with papers, and touching any of it would invite Sejo uncle’s wrath.
At home, uncle was often scolded. He was also rebuked by students and teachers at college. But he didn’t seem to care. His mind was always elsewhere, lost in some mathematical puzzle. He barely took half the classes. The principal had often reprimanded him for skipping them. Under Eldest uncle’s constant scolding, he had recently started going to college regularly. Since the principal was Eldest uncle’s friend, news about Sejo uncle’s behavior always reached home. The students had to finish their course, after all.
There was constant commotion at home about him. If the maid cleaned his room, there was chaos. Grandma would hear his loud, childlike complaints, claiming he couldn’t find anything anymore and that everything had been misplaced. Despite the clutter, he always knew where everything was. Uncle never had to search for which paper came after which.
One day, grandma’s asthma got particularly bad. Sejo Uncle stayed by her side, in her room. Late at night, I had to go to the bathroom. Waking up, I saw a thin man in a vest and lungi bathed in blue light, standing in the room and bowing toward the ground. For a moment, I thought that Uncle’s already quirky mind had finally gone completely mad.
Rubbing my eyes, I sat up to gather my senses. The disheveled man with a bearded face and in a pajama-vest looked at me and sneered, “How can there be any wisdom in this?” Turning, I saw pages of mathematical scribbles flying all over the room. The papers touched the man’s feet, and he kept bowing to them.
I shouted, “Who—who are you? Why are all these papers on the floor?”
He sighed and said, “Don’t ask. I just picked up the glass of water from the table to drink. And there it was—a disaster. The papers underneath started flying everywhere. And when written papers fall to the ground, you must bow to them!”
He kept muttering, “Where have I ended up? This is a trash heap of useless papers.” Then, noticing me, he became more cautious.
I was thirteen; he was thirty-three. Could there ever be a fair fight? Moving the pillow and blanket aside, I grabbed his shirt’s edge and started screaming frantically, “Uncle! Uncle!”
“Where’s Uncle?” The police inspector might have come running because of my screaming, but Uncle gave no response.
He was still in grandma’s room. “Why are you yelling about a thief in the middle of the night?” he asked.
You’re taking everything, and I’ll just sit and watch? I’ll shout a hundred times.
"Of course, you’ll shout if there’s a thief. Just a minute, let me come back from the bathroom," he said, slipping quickly into the bathroom. My courage returned a bit too. I shouted, "Se-jo-uncle! Thief! Hurry and come!" After just two shouts, he came running from the yard, yelling, “Where, where?” with a feather duster in hand.
And that man, the supposed thief, who said he’d just use the bathroom, never came back. I kept waiting, standing there. But the door didn’t open. Eldest Uncle arrived, rubbing his eyes. “Where? Where’s the thief?” he asked.
Eventually, in the chaos, the latch broke as we pushed the door. Sejo Uncle declared, "What had to happen has happened. The thief escaped through the window." It seemed plausible, as two window bars were missing. Sitting on the cot, he clutched his face with his hands, looking distressed. “What will I do? He took my international paper! I had to send it to America in two days. Now I have to start all the calculations all over again,” he lamented.
Helpless, I asked, “But everything is such a mess. How will we know what he took among all these papers?”
Uncle, almost whining, replied, “It’ll take until morning—maybe even afternoon—to sort through everything.”
I reassured him, “He wouldn’t bother stealing your nonsensical math scribbles. They’re worthless to him. He wouldn’t even get a penny by selling them. He must’ve left empty-handed. The thief learned his lesson today.”
Picking up papers from the floor, Sejo Uncle muttered, “But didn’t you think that maybe he had nothing to eat today? Couldn’t even light his stove?”
The one thing Uncle did possess, which couldn’t be stolen, was stored safely in a steel trunk by grandma. It was a D.Sc. degree certificate from Calcutta University in Theoretical Physics. But that piece of paper brought no money. In fact, earning it required him to go half-mad, if not entirely. Grandma often lamented why Sejo had ever pursued higher studies—it took away his sanity. To Eldest Uncle, Middle Uncle, Eldest Aunt, and Grandma, Sejo Uncle was nothing more than a grown child.
Once the commotion subsided, Sejo Uncle lit a lamp and began searching through his papers in order. Eldest Uncle was leaving but turned back suddenly and teased, “Sejo, who’s whining like that— ‘kui, kui’? Who’s so miserable? A dog or a cat?”
Sejo Uncle stopped searching for a moment and listened. Then, cautiously, he started heading toward the bathroom. Sensing a mystery, I followed him, fully awake now. The floor was covered in moss, except for a narrow path leading to the toilet. Walking carefully, Sejo Uncle approached the window without bars and stuck his head out. Holding my breath, I braced for a discovery.
“Hand me the torch,” he said. I ran and fetched the torch from the room. As he shone the light outside, I stood behind, watching his face closely.
Eldest Uncle yelled from behind, “What’s happening? Did you find anything?”
Sejo Uncle turned back and gestured for me to follow him quietly.
When I got there, I saw something strange. Who’s this? What’s he doing here? Uncle asked, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
A faint, trembling voice came from beneath the shadows, “Sir, it’s me.”
“Who’s me?”
It seems saying one’s name is forbidden while stealing. The voice replied, “I, uh... thought I could escape through the window and run away. But I couldn’t. I fell and crashed hard. I think my back is broken,” he groaned in pain.
“Ah, a living thief!” escaped my lips.
Sejo uncle calmly said, “Chitto, an injured tiger should not be attacked. That’s against ethics. First, help someone in need, then judge.”
Eldest uncle grumbled but agreed. We called youngest uncle from upstairs, and the three of us carried the thief and laid him on Sejo uncle’s bed.
The poor fellow was writhing in pain but still managed to complain, “I almost slipped in your bathroom! Who keeps a place like that? The yard and bathroom are so slippery it’s impossible to walk safely.”
Sejo uncle chuckled, “Where would you escape? Danger is waiting at every step!” He began examining the man’s legs and back, pressing here and there.
The thief, almost in tears, muttered, “At least clean your yard and bathroom. All that moss—it’s a death trap if even a drop of water falls on it.”
Youngest uncle agreed, saying, “He’s right. If Chitto slips on that moss, Mom will break our backs with a stick.”
I had slipped in that treacherous bathroom a couple of times myself, but I never mentioned it at home. If dad found out, my visits to uncle’s house would be over.
Watching Sejo uncle’s thorough medical examination of the thief left me, youngest uncle, and eldest uncle in awe. He pressed and checked every area, asking, “Here? Does it hurt here?” Finally, he declared, “It’s injured but not broken.” Gently patting the thief, he ordered his assistant (me), “Chitto, bring the Volini spray and the medical box, quick!”
Even amid the chaos, eldest uncle couldn’t resist a jibe: “Dad wanted you to become a doctor. You’d have been a great one, I see!”
The thief kept pleading, “Sir, I’m Haripada. Please don’t send me to jail. I haven’t stolen anything. I was caught empty-handed.”
Suddenly, Sejo uncle roared, “Quiet! No more talking. You’ve trespassed on my property. That itself is a crime. But now, you’re my patient.” He then turned to youngest uncle and ordered, “Go warm some milk.”
The poor thief couldn’t move. Sejo uncle treated him diligently, applying ointment to his cuts and feeding him warm milk. When morning came, we called a rickshaw, gave the driver some advance money, and sent the thief home.
The thief was so overwhelmed he didn’t know what to say. Embarrassed, he couldn’t even thank us properly. As he left, I noticed Sejo uncle slipping something into his pocket.
“What did you give him?” I asked.
“A few paracetamol tablets and some money for food. He’s a daily-wage earner. He came here and lost everything, including his dignity and his health. At least he should eat something,” uncle replied.
I was stunned. Was this even possible?
Eldest uncle laughed and teased, “Sejo, why did you do so much? He’s just a petty thief.”
Sejo uncle paused for a moment before replying softly, “An ailing patient’s profession doesn’t matter. Taking care of him is the priority. That’s humanity. And I believe in it.”
Eldest uncle, taken aback by such profound words, stood speechless for a while. Then, as he walked away, he shouted, “Well done, Sejo! In the morning, Chitto, bring six jalebis from Haru’s shop for Sejo. Two for me and two for you. Youngest won’t get any; he’s diabetic.”
The youngest uncle, annoyed, made a face and disappeared into his room.