It was the end of winter when he came, to the town which was just about a town, a kasba. The festival season was over and there was a listlessness in the air of the main road. It would continue till Holi. People were looking for something to break the monotony. The business in shops was a little slow and would pick up only in March.

He got off the bus on the morning of the show. There were no posters that had been put up beforehand. Even that morning, there had been no loudspeakers blaring out publicity for his show. He came in quietly, with no assistants, and went to the only tent house there. It was run by the one of the five families there that could be called rich. Kailash, their younger son, was the one who usually sat there.

‘I need rope and iron links for a barricade,’ he said softly. ‘And two safed chaddars. And one kanat.’

Kailash looked at the stranger, trying to figure out who he was and why he was here. He had to know everything. That was his nature. ‘What do you need it for?’ he asked in a very casual voice.

‘To make a stage.’

‘Kirtan wale ho? Kahin jagarn hai kya?’ Without waiting for an answer, he added, ‘But you will need more than just a rope and chaddars. What will you do with just one kanat and won’t you need a takhat? Doing this for the first time? Let me tell you what all you will need.’

‘No,’ said the stranger. ‘I know what I want. Just these things, nothing else.’ He said it very politely, yet firmly.

Kailash stopped. He was a little taken a back by this refusal. He was slightly offended but he brushed it aside. He shouted out for someone inside to come and take out the samaan.

And as he wrote out the receipt, he asked, ‘Why, what are you going to do with all this?’

‘I have to put up a circus.’

‘Circus! Where are the rest of you?’

‘There is no one else. Only me.’

‘And animals?’

‘No animals. Only me.’

‘Aisa circus hota hai kya?’

‘Yes. Come at night and see my show.’

‘Tonight? Where?’

‘At the maidan behind the mill.’

‘There? Have you taken permission?’ Kailash bent forward eagerly. He sensed an opportunity here. ‘You need to take permission from Itarsi for this,’ he said. ‘They are getting strict these days. The police will harass you. But I know people. I could get it done for you and you won’t have to run around. You’ll have to spend some cash. Nothing else.’ Kailash’s face was very close to the stranger’s and his voice had dropped.

‘I have permission,’ said the stranger quietly. Kailash straightened and sat back on his chair, his back leaning against the backrest. ‘I have permission from Itarsi. It’s done.’ The stranger’s face was expressionless.

Kailash was not quite sure that this stranger wasn’t, in fact, laughing at the eagerness of his offer. This man had made all these dealings and nothing had reached his ears.

Anyway, he gave the young man his receipt, and asked for an advance. ‘You will have to pay a deposit too.’

‘I will, once I get the material.’

‘The trolley is not here. I’ll get them dropped on the maidan.’ Then he said, ‘You can pay 100 rupees for the trolley. I’ll give you a discount. Nahin to do sau-dhai sau leta hoon. What time do you want it?’

‘Thank you. But I have already fixed with Rambilas for his trolley at four. The tractor will come and take the things from you and bring them to the maidan. If you send someone there, I’ll pay him the deposit.’

He paid the advance and left. Kailash was left wondering and smarting. Three times the stranger had managed to put him down.

Next door was Suresh’s electrical shop. The stranger stood at the counter and asked if anyone was there. A woman came out, wiping her hands.

‘I wanted to rent some things. A sound system with a mike and three lamps and one battery. I was told I would get it here.’

‘Who told you?’

‘Rambilas.’

‘Accha, Rambilas Bhaiiya ne bheja hai,’ she said, her face more welcoming . ‘But he is doing his puja just now,’ she said nodding towards the inner door.

‘I can wait,’ said the stranger.

‘Have you come on the Chawla Bus?’

‘Yes,’ he nodded.

‘To chai pe lo na tab tak. Apne logon ka hi hai hotel,’ she said, pointing towards the hotel across the road. The stranger had got off right in front of it from his bus.

He nodded. ‘I’ll come back in ten minutes.’

He went to the hotel across the road and asked for tea. He sat and waited. Then, as an afterthought, he asked if he could get a kacohri. It was not crisp, but limp and greasy. Last evening’s probably. He ate it folded, dipping it in his tea. From where he sat, he could see that the boy was making the lois for this morning’s batch. They would be ready by 11, when the teachers, hospital staff and the armament factory people started to come in. It was late noon when they did the most business, and then later in the evening.

Ramesh at the counter asked him who he was. He told them about the circus. ‘What will you do it with? All alone you will do a circus?’

‘Oh, it’s all been arranged. You come and see it. At 8.30 in the night.’

‘Arre Rodey! Bhaiyya ko ek aur chai to de re, circus walen hain!’

The three boys from the supply department of the armament factory were sitting there. ‘What circus?’ they asked.

‘The Circus, at 8.30, in the ground behind the mill. Come and see.’

Rodey came up to the bench to hand him his tea.

The stranger asked him, ‘Hath ko kya hua?’

Rodey and he both looked down at Rodey’s hand, which ended in a stump just above his wrist.

‘I used to steal the shells of fired golas from the proof range, to sell. A gola burst in my hand as I was trying to pick it…’

‘A risky way to earn a living,’ said the stranger.

‘We lost our land to the range, so we tried to reap these shells. What else?’ Rodey laughed.

‘He was lucky. It could have blown up in his face,’ Ramesh chuckled.

‘Or in my house, in my child’s hand. It has happened to others… Ass paas ke gaon mein aise adhe adhe bahut hain, sabki sunni ho to din nikal jaugo…’

‘How much could you have got from that one shell?’ the stranger looked at Rodey.

‘Anything from 40 to 200 rupees, depending on your luck.’

Suresh had come out to his shop and was looking towards the hotel. He shouted out to Ramesh. ‘Where is the person who had come for the deck and mike?’

‘Arre! Here he is, this bhaiyya, just finishing his tea.’

The stranger nodded at them and got up. Paid for the tea and kachori and walked across the road to Suresh’s electrical shop. All eyes from the hotel followed him. He stood there at the shop and was seen speaking to Suresh. Then Suresh brought out a deck and two speakers, all of which he put on the counter. Then he went inside and got a mike. For a while, they stood fixing it. Then, suddenly, a song played out from the speakers. ‘Kajrare,’ it crackled in the wind, at first with a lot of unclear buzzing, and then as a clear note. The man got it switched off soon after. He was easily satisfied. Then everyone heard Suresh’s voice saying, ‘Hello, hello, 1-2-3 testing.’ His voice cracked self-consciously, then he cleared his throat and said, ‘Hello, hello, mike testing,’ once again. The man nodded. He stood speaking to Suresh for a few more minutes before moving on. Suresh started to keep the deck down below along with the speakers.

Next, the stranger went to the cloth shop. He wanted two gamchas – he chose the most colorful one – and two meters of ribbon of the sort girls tie their plaits with for school.

‘Do you have black? The broadest that you have.’

‘No, there’s no black.’

‘Koi nahin, give me two meters of red.’

The school season had started and the shop had only the last bits. Laxminarayan was happy to get over with it.

‘So are you new here?’

‘Yes. Just came today.’

‘Just like that? For work?’

‘No. For my circus.’

‘A circus is coming to town?’

‘Yes. First show tonight, at 8.30.’

‘But I haven’t seen any gaddi, people, cages…’

‘What for?’

‘For the circus.’

‘Why do you need that for a circus?’

‘Arre, the animals and the artists… Yahan to koi nahin aya!’

‘But I am here. I will show you the circus.’

‘Just you?’

‘Yes.’

‘How can that be?’

‘Come and see for yourself.’

Laxminarayan was foxed. What was this man saying?

The other customers were two girls from the Tribal Girls Hostel who come to see about a school uniform dupatta – it had a big ink stain that would not go, and could Laxminarayan bhaiyya get it dyed from Itarsi? But they had waited patiently for the stranger to finish his business. They heard all this and giggled. As the man turned to leave, he said to them with a serious and respectful face, ‘Please come. Ask your family to come too.’ The girls giggled more.

Laxminarayan told this story to everyone who came to his shop. There weren’t many who came to buy, but his shop was next to the bus stop, so all those who waited for the bus passed the time talking to him. He usually sat on the bench outside the shop, next to the pan patti, going into the shop only when someone came to buy something.

The stranger then went to the kirana store, for a box talcum powder, two bars of soap, and one packet of glucose biscuits.

‘You are the one who has come for the circus? Rambilas was telling me that you have booked his trolley…’

The amma from Banaspura was buying soap and oil. She too looked up at the stranger. ‘What circus?’ she asked.

‘Arre, this man is putting up a circus tonight. It’s supposed to be very special.’

‘Yes?’ said amma. ‘Arre, we don’t even get to know what happens in this town. Yahan to mantri santri aa ke chalen jayen, and our mohalla won’t even get to hear a whisper!’

‘Arre, now you know Mataram. And even we, right here in the middle of the town, knew nothing about the circus till he came along. Now we can get to know everything directly from him.’

‘When is it?’ she asked.

The shopkeeper also looked at the stranger.

‘At 8.30 in the maidan behind the mill.’

It was getting to be eleven now, and one could hear the muffled explosions of golas being tested.

In this way he went to almost the whole length of the town, asking for one thing or another from people. Once he had made all the arrangements, he walked towards the maidan. The sun had started to move towards the center of the sky. As people saw him walk away from the main road, they started to talk. But surely he couldn’t be the only person in the circus? There had to be more people. Well they would have to see. It couldn’t be – what this man was saying! It couldn’t be a one man circus. Binoo bhaiyya, the peon in the block office, knew a bit more. He had heard of this one man circus in some other village or town. A man had been performing all over their patti.

‘This must be him. I’ve heard he does a good job.’

‘Are there no women with him?’ Ramesh winked over the counter.

Binoo bhaiyya grinned back. ‘Not that I’ve heard of. But we will just have to wait and see.’

By afternoon, he had an assistant. He had asked Suresh and Suresh had said he would send for Pappu. ‘If you are lucky and he has not gone out, he will be just right for you.’

It seems luck was on the strangers side, and so were Rambilas and Suresh.

When Pappu came to meet him at the maidan, he saw the man sitting under the mahua. It had started to get hot in the afternoons. A little shade was always welcome. He hurried towards the man. The man stood up as Pappu approached him.

‘You were looking for someone to help?’ Pappu asked.

Pappu would be employed for seven nights. He would have to report for work at 6. Then, till midnight or after, till the show went on. He would get 100 rupees a day. Was that ok? Pappu nodded. Then the man invited him to sit down and both of them started to discuss the show. In an hour, the man had told him what to do. Pappu was supposed to start the music. He had explained what song from what cassette was to be played when. Pappu had done this before for the orchestra in Itarsi, so he was quick to learn. But Pappu was surprised at the simplicity of this man’s enterprise. The orchestra had seemed like so much tamjham. Everyone seemed so stressed. The orchestra owner complained often that it was cleaning his pockets as well making his hair turn grey. But here was this one man circus. So little and so efficient.

At 8.30, there was a small crowd of people coming to see the circus. Others kept joining in. For someone who had come in so quietly, it was surprising that such a decent crowd had gathered.

All who came were taken aback by the simplicity of his stage. Many had thought that, while he had kept saying that he was a one man show, he must have meant that it was a small show. That he may actually be an artist-cum-manager, who had come in early to make arrangements.

But now the sparse arrangements told them that maybe what he had been saying was true after all. Admittedly, all the other shows that came here were also rudimentary affairs. But still, compared to this, those were elaborate. This one – it was next to nothing. What kind of show would it be, this one man circus? What kind of tricks would he perform? Would they be bored?

Neither a nautanki, nor a full-fledged circus, his stage was just a cordoned-off circle. With rope and iron links. The kanaat had been made into enclosure outside of it – a little room. He used this room to change his clothes. Maybe he would sleep there too, who knows? On one side was the sound system. And lamps on each side, lighting up the circle.

Once the show started the lights shone on him. There was little to distract the audience from anything else. Inside the circle beside him, there was only his cycle. And on the fringe, there was a small mound of things that were covered by the white sheet. Beside it, on a stool, was a framed blurry photograph of someone – no one could quite make out whose. Maybe a guru or an ustad. Even as the crowds were assembling, he spoke into the mike. His voice was not deep. Rather, it was high-pitched – something one would associate with nervousness or excitement, but he hardly looked nervous or excited. He spoke with control. He welcomed all of them to the Circus, and hoped that they would have a good time. He said nothing after that, but kept the mike on the plastic chair, lit a baati in front of the photograph and started to cycle around it.

As the show started, Pappu changed the music and the man started to cycle around with purpose. He took a few circles and then suddenly turned himself back to front, so that now he was cycling facing backwards while the cycle moved forward. He circled a few times that way and the audience, especially the children, clapped. Then he straightened himself again. Pappu changed the tune. He cycled another few circles and then left his hands, clapping to the song with his hand, encouraging the audience to do the same. He was smiling and singing along with the song. It was a local folk song. Most people knew it, so they sang along too. The whole song went on in this way. Then, suddenly, he stopped again with the change of music. He got off the bike while it was still moving, once from the left and once from the right, and got on again. He did it like little dance movements, with grace. The audience clapped once more. As the music changed, he got off the bike and, almost in one fluid motion, got back on the cycle again – this time upside down. So now his legs were steering the bike, placed firmly on the handlebar, while he peddled with his hands. The audience clapped, this time louder and with amazement. This man was good. And getting better. After a couple of circles like that, he got off the bike with almost a half somersault. He landed on his feet and his hands grabbed the handle bar before the bike fell, so the bike and he straightened up together.

He cycled around the ring twice. Then stopped. Pappu changed the cassette. The man put the cycle on its stand and came to the middle of the circle. Now to the new song, one from a popular film, he started to dance like the movie star who had danced to it. The same thrust of his pelvis, the same expression and the occasional leer. It seemed that he had become someone else. The audience clapped to the song. Many whistled and sang out the chorus aloud. At the end of the song, he went around the circle bowing, with his hands folded in a namaste. Sometimes, he would put his hand on his chest and nod his head just like the stars on TV. But mostly he kept them folded in a namaste.

Soon, he was on his bicycle again, hands on the handlebar. Then he stood up straight on the bicycle. When he got back down, he cycled with perfect control, first very fast and then very slow. So slow that it seemed impossible that he didn’t fall with the cycle. And then he was almost motionless. Was it possible to balance a cycle like this? The crowd clapped, but they knew that these tricks were ordinary and they could be done by any child who fooled around with his bike. After showing them the best of the tricks in the earlier part, this seemed average. Good but average.

Then he got down with hands spread and turned around. The loudspeaker was playing a slow, inspirational song. Now Pappu came on stage from under the sheet and took out a gamcha and the red ribbon. The man called two people on stage to tie the ribbon round his eyes. He cycled a few rounds like that. Then he asked Pappu to tie the gamcha over the ribbon. Pappu did so with a flourish. Then Pappu asked two more from the audience to come and check the knots and gamcha. They did. They tightened the knot. Turned him around a few times. One man swung his hand close to his face as if to slap him, but the cyclist did not flinch. They were convinced now that he couldn’t see. With the gamcha secured around his eyes, he got back on his cycle and cycled around. Then he repeated all the tricks, blindfolded. The audience clapped. Louder. Now they realized how he had built up the act. They were very happy.

After this set, he got down once more and danced around to another song. This time, the audience urged him to dance once more, so he danced again. This time, it was a very urban sophisticated song and he danced that too with the expressions, almost wooden, of the original hero. The audience clapped again. Next, he got back on his cycle. Pappu would place objects in his path and he would pick them up. With his hands, with his feet and, in the end, with his mouth. The audience clapped furiously. This was very good.

Then the man started to cycle and dance to the tune while riding the cycle. Pappu had been instructed to switch the lights on and off with this song, so that it created a disco effect. The lights, the music, the cycle and the man on it, all reached a synchrony. It was beautiful to see. The crowd clapped again.

The next day, the audience that came to see the circus was double – the ones who had come yesterday and the ones they had brought along. Now he was speaking to the audience much more. What would they like to see? he asked, knowing that they were familiar with his act. Then he did some new tricks. He put a plank on himself and made someone from the audience cycle over him. Then he announced that, tomorrow, if someone could get their motorcycle, then maybe they could ride that over him too. Then he completed his set.

The third day, there were people from the villages close by. All coming with their cycle lamps flashing on the road. There was light till nine, and after that the whole town would be dark. The only lights on then were focused entirely on the one man circus. This continued for seven days. He had started on a Thursday and on the next Wednesday he announced that the next day would be the last. He would end again on a Thursday.

It was a simple show and almost everybody saw it twice. Some came every night. And his tricks also changed. The basics were the same, but his last set always changed. Once he had lain flat on his back with a plank on his chest and had a cycle go over him. Then next time a motorcycle. He said he could even take a tractor, but no one in town agreed to drive it over him so he said he could not try that trick. Maybe next time, the people would have more faith in him, he said, and he could do that trick too. Once, he got Pappu to get him a bucket of water and had taken a bath on the bicycle without falling off. Everyone was amazed. Every night, he danced to a different set of songs. So, even for the people seeing it again, there was always something new. No one regretted coming back. Some, though, decided not to come for the fifth time. But on Thursday, people came in large numbers. It was the last day.

There was curiosity about him:

Where did he live? In the enclosure of the kanat.

Pappu reported at six, what did he do the rest of the time? Mostly he would be sleeping under the tree.

Food? He had made his own chula and would make his roti and besan. He ate that every day. And a packet of glucose biscuits.

The last performance was great. He danced with vigor and did each and every trick that he had done on the previous days. Again, he lamented the fact that he could not get a tractor. But he broke tube-lights on his head, and also had Pappu break a stack of bricks placed on a plank of wood across his chest. The plank was finally broken on his head. Pappu had, of course, been instructed to display the plank to the crowd so that they could see that it had not been tampered with. Once he had done all he wanted to, the man folded his hands and thanked the crowd for giving him love. Would they want him to do anything special? Some had a few requests. He obliged.

Just when he was about to say his final thank you, Kailash came forward. He placed a 100 rupee note on the ground. ‘This,’ he said, ‘you must pick up. But no part of your body must directly touch either the ground or your bicycle.’ The audience waited. The cycle man kept cycling, then asked for the mike. Pappu ran up to him eagerly. He stood on the pedals, his cycle almost motionless, and spoke.

‘I want to say that I cannot do your trick. Because I am an artist with skills that I have worked hard to develop. I want to say that I am not a chamatkari tantrik or god to be able to do just anything. But there is, however, a simple solution to your problem.’

He cycled to the mound and whipped off the sheet revealing all his props. But he picked up nothing from amongst them. With the sheet clutched in his hand, he cycled towards the 100 rupee note. He dropped the chaddar on the ground and then, in a swift action, left the cycle, got down on the chaddar, swooped up the note, and was back on the cycle again before it could fall to the ground. He cycled as the audience hooted and clapped and presented Kailash with the money. He slipped it in Kailash’s front pocket. He spoke in his toneless polite voice, ‘Yeh kisi nek kaam mein laga dijiyega.’ Then, coming very close to Kailash, he said, ‘It was not so much my solution that won, but I would say it was not a well-formulated challenge. Algli bar thoda aur dimag lagayiega.’ The crowd clapped again. Not at the words, but at the gesture of the money being returned. The cyclist was not greedy for money. They did not clap at the words because they had been spoken softly – only the ones close to Kailash could have heard. Kailash’s face was inscrutable. He took out the note and tried to give it back to cyclist but he couldn’t – the man had cycled away.

Later, he lay the chaddar on the ground. He was thankful for the love that he had got, the appreciation of everyone for his skills and tricks. He was, after all, just a humble kartab dikhane wala kalakar. People could show their appreciation in the form of some donation. That would help him carry on his show. The people could put in whatever they thought was deserved. Some did, some did not.

Some, like the hostel girls, weren’t even carrying money. They giggled as they left the ground. They had an older girl who chaperoned them back. They went chattering among themselves. Hugging themselves against the cold. Already looking forward to falling asleep. It was good while it lasted, but now the walk seemed a bore. Their didi chided them when they complained. ‘And who was it who wanted to come see it all over again? Chalo jaldi. And if I catch any of you not up and studying at five, just watch!’ They giggled again. They were used to her scolding. They just kept walking, stumbling on towards their sleep.

Rambilas was walking home too. His daughter had gone to sleep on his shoulder. His wife was walking beside him. They were both still talking about the show. Kailash, as always, had come alone. He didn’t think it suited the women of his family to come and watch such a show. But then, he was never really alone – there were always a few friends around him. They were all scoffing at the one man circus. ‘Itna dum nahin tha, Kailash bhayyia. Mujhe to do baar mein boriyat hone lagi thi.’ But Kailash wasn’t listening. His mind was already thinking ahead.

The next day, the stranger had returned all that he had rented, paid everyone’s dues, and left by the Davar bus.

Except Kailash’s. Who said that the man never gave him anything but the advance. The town brushed it aside as a malicious lie being spread by Kailash and his cronies because he had been outsmarted by the cyclist. Some who believed Kailash, said that it may have been an oversight by the young man. He must have just forgotten Kailash’s money. He did pay everyone else’s debt, did he not? They were sure that he would come back and pay his dues. Anyway, he had already paid half the money in advance, had he not? And what about the deposit? Kailash insisted that he had not paid the deposit, though he had promised to. So one could not be quite sure.

No one else, however, had any complaints against the circus. Except for the fact that they didn’t know when he would be back next.