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The Nomad Learns Morality

Short Stories

Tomichan Matheikal

To
Radha Soami Satsang Beas
Especially
Dr Pranita Gopal

OnlineGatha The Endless Tale

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INDEX
S. NoContent
1- Ahalya
2- Sarayus Sorrow
3- Snakes and Ladders
4- The Autumn of the Patriarch
5- The Original Sin
6- Children of Lust
7- The First Christmas
8- War and Love
9- Barrel Life
10- And Quiet Flowed the Beas
11- Worship
12- Scholar, Politician and Priest
13- Lifes Journey
14- Galileos Truth
15- Caliph of Two Worlds
16- The Saga of a Warrior
17- Aurangzeb too Dies
18- Under the Peepal
19- Maya
20- Destiny
21- The Devil has a Religion
22- A Ghost and a Secret
23- Mayank Passes
24- Michael and the Witch
25- Sacrifice
26- Coma
27- The Lights Below the Darkness

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Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star

The Nomad Learns Morality
BMW
Pearls and ... Bullies
Anna, I Miss You
The Queen of Spades

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Ahalya
I knew you would come to deliver me from my
stony existence, Ahalya said touching Ramas feet.
Im just a means, Rama said with an
understanding smile. Deliverance is ones own
choice, not given by somebody else.
But your touch sent grace flowing through my
being. I could feel it. I felt the stone within me
melting away. The lightness of my being now
brings me bliss untold.
Ahalya was living in a granite cave ever since the
intercourse she had had with Indra, the lord of
Svargaloka. Gods can transform your life in either
way, she realised. Here is a god who liberated her
from the monolith that weighed down her
consciousness, a monolith that was put there in her
consciousness by another god.
She had become a monolith after Indra visited
her that day when her husband, Sage Gautama, old
man with wrinkled skin and matted hair, had gone
to fetch the materials required for his religious
oblations. Indra looked like Gautama; he had
disguised himself as Gautama. Gautama without
wrinkles. Gautama whose hair was more scented
than matted. Gautama whose eyes exuded the
inviting intoxication of lust.
Ahalya felt her youth moistening and longing for
intoxication. She succumbed to the temptation

pretending that the man who was doing it was

indeed her husband.
When the disguised Indra left having satiated his
lust, the real Gautama stood before Ahalya whose
body was still recovering from the tremors it had
experienced.
I thought it was you, she said sheepishly to her
husband.
Rage flared in Gautamas eyes. No mother
mistakes her offspring whatever disguise they may
come wearing. No woman mistakes any disguise
for her husband. Disguises are our conscious
choices, thundered Gautama. I curse you for this.
Curses are our conscious choices, so is grace,
said Rama. Every error is an invitation to see our
reality better, to realise where our consciousness is
and where it can be. When we refuse to reach out
to the potential of our consciousness, a curse befalls
us.
Yes, I refused to reach out, reflected Ahalya.
Reach out to the deepest core of my being. I even
failed to stand up to my conscience. I deluded
myself totally.
All curses are self-delusions, she thought Rama
was saying. Every deliverance is a perception and
an acceptance of truth. Ones own truth. Truth
cannot be anyone elses.
Rama was walking away. In his consciousness
was arising a flame, a flame that would test the truth
of another woman in a few years to come, the

woman most beloved to him, the woman most

chaste... the woman whom he would have to
consign to a fire test for the sake of delusions.
Endless human delusions.

10

Sarayus Sorrow
He sat down on the bank of the Sarayu with
a heavy heart. The palace of Ayodhya stood
silhouetted against the setting sun. He could hear a
cry rising beyond the scarlet horizon like the
subdued rumble of a reluctant thunder.
He wanted her, to be with him till the end of
his life, to be his lifes ultimate meaning. But she
had refused to undergo yet another fire test.
How many fire tests will be required before
my husband can trust my fidelity? There was fire
in her eyes as she asked that question. But it was a
subdued fire. Like the fire inside a volcano.
Its not I who suspect your fidelity, he
explained. You know the people of Ayodhya.
They think any woman who has spent even a single
night in the abode of another man is sullied. And
you know how many nights you spent in the abode
of a rakshas.
He was torn between conflicting desires.
He wanted her, body and soul. His subjects loved
him, no doubt. Some of them even adored him.
Such love is impersonal, however. There is nothing
like the love of ones beloved. Had Ravana indeed
not touched her? Can a rakshas be so good at heart?
Are the people making unnecessary allegations and
demands? Hadnt she already proved her innocence
by jumping into the fire that Lakshmana had ignited
at her insistence?

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People dont like to see others living in love, he

thought. They like strife and dissidence. The
excitements of love are too dreary for the rank and
file. They want war when they are bored with the
mundane affairs.
And I? What do I want? He asked himself.
Whose love do I value more? My beloveds love
that is as pure as the snow in the Himalayas or the
love of my people that melts away when the sun
shines?
He found it difficult to make a choice.
Commitment makes certain inhuman demands,
he thought. You have to give up something if you
want to gain something. Which shall I give up? Do
I dare? Do I dare to listen to my soul?
The sky grew darker than usual. The clouds
came rolling like black rakshasas. They began to
rumble. Like a tiger that was waking up from its
slumber. Lightning flashed. One after the other.
They set the sky on fire. They roared. The roar was
far from being subdued. It terrified him. It terrified
the earth. And the earth split into two. He felt the
tremor beneath his feet.
The night passed giving him tremulous
nightmares.
Valmiki visited him the next morning. Bhumi
has received his daughter back, he said. Your sons
are with me. They should be growing up in the
palace. What sin have they committed? Or do you
wish to bestow on them your guilt?

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From his palace he could see the Sarayu flowing.

Her waters were sullied because of the previous
nights rain.
What can I bestow on anyone? He asked
himself. Except guilt, maybe.

13

Snakes and Ladders

When Rama and Lakshmana sat down to play
snakes and ladders, Manthara told them, For every
ladder you climb, remember theres a snake waiting
to swallow you.
Some snakes will swallow you even before you
climb any ladder, Rama realised years later. If you
are a potential climber, snakes are more eager to
swallow you because they know swallowing is
difficult once you have actually climbed.
My ladders were removed even before I reached
them, thought Rama. First Kaikeyi, then Ravana,
and then the very people of Ayodhya, they all took
away the ladder just as I approached it. I took
revenge on Ravana, but did I regain my Sita? So
what use was it all? I ascended the throne of
Ayodhya. For what? To see Sita walk into the
flames?
You lacked the courage to stand up to people,
said Lakshmana. You were more concerned with
your image, the facade of the Maryada Purushottam.
Lakshmana was chagrined when his role model and
hero consigned his wife, the most chaste woman, to
the flames in the name of agni pariksha just to gain
the applause from the gallery. You never protested
though you knew deep in your heart that your
ladders were being pulled away unjustly.
Unnecessarily, in fact.

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What would I have achieved by protesting?

Rama countered. Kingship? Do you think I was
more interested in kingship than in the happiness of
Kaikeyi Ma?
But your passive acceptance of Kaikeyis
demand killed our father. When you proffered joy
to Kaikeyi you brought deep sorrow to many others
in the family.
Both snakes and ladders are essential, brother, to
complete the game.
Granted that. Lakshmana was thinking. But why
do the deserving people encounter more snakes than
ladders? He was watching helplessly and
remorsefully Sita Devi being swallowed by the
earth.

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The Autumn of the Patriarch

Draupadis question struck his heart like a
poisoned arrow. Do you really believe that you are
a selfless person?
Bhishma, the Patriarch of two kingdoms, the
most venerated of all the Kauravas and the
Pandavas, stood speechless before a womans
question. Women played more role in his life than
he would have ever wished. In spite of his
renowned vow that he would never let a woman
enter into his life, women forced their way into his
life.
It all started with a woman. She was the
daughter of a fisherman-chieftain. Rather, adopted
daughter. In reality, she belonged to the celestial
realms. She had the gracefulness of a mermaid and
the fragrance of musk. No wonder Bhishmas
father fell madly in love with her. It was that mad
love which made a terrible demand on Bhishma.
He vowed that he would never marry, that he
would never have any offspring. A great sacrifice.
A noble sacrifice that made his reputation as the
selfless patriarch of the kingdom. That sacrifice was
the demand made, indirectly though, by Satyavatis
father who wanted his grandchildren to inherit the
kingdom. Otherwise what would be his daughters
position in the palace? He loved his daughter as
much as he loved himself.

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That daughter, the same Satyavati, would later

tempt Bhishma. When her son died leaving his
young wives childless, Satyavati asked Bhishma to
produce offspring through Ambika and Ambalika.
It took more than the strength of his vow to
overcome the temptation laid before him. Ambika
and Ambalika were two of the most charming
women he had ever seen. It was he who won them
by defeating all other kings during her
swayamvara. It was he who made them the wives
of his step-brother. He had converted the
swayamvara into a raid, in fact. He could do that
because he was Bhishma the Selfless One.
Satyavati, dont you realise that I a man, a man of
flesh and blood? He wanted to ask her. No, he
didnt ask. He was Bhishma, the Great. Great men
are not supposed to have the desires of ordinary
people. Bhishma had conquered all such desires.
Bhishma was not an ordinary man.
But Draupadis question remained stuck in his
heart like a poisoned arrow. She had not asked it
with rancour. It came from her helplessness and
dignity. Was there pity too? Did she pity him?
Pity his life whose greatness was built up on
illusions conjured up in the name of dharma?
What had he done to Amba, for instance? Amba
was the sister of Ambika and Ambalika. He,
Bhishma, had carried her off too to become the wife
of his step-brother. He mercilessly ignored her
pleas. She had told him that she was in love with
Salva, the king of Saubha. Salva had fought

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valiantly too for her. But what did he, Bhishma,

do? There was no place for love in his world of
conquests. The selfless patriarch who knew not the
meaning of love. Draupadis arrow quivered in
Bhishmas heart.
What is the meaning of
selflessness devoid of love?
Ambas husband didnt want as a wife a woman
whose heart was with another man. He let her go to
the owner of her heart. But the self-respect of kings
is much more demanding than their love for
women. You have been polluted by another mans
touch, declared Salva. You cannot be my wife.
She pleaded with him. No man had touched her,
she avowed solemnly and passionately through tears
that flowed down her sweet cheeks. Tears on such
cheeks would have melted any ordinary man. But
kings are not ordinary men. Amba was driven out
of the Saubha palace.
She returned to the Kuru palace. No, dont ever
dream of being my wife, said the Kuru king. He
refused to accept the counsel of Bhishma too in this
regard.
You marry me then, Amba turned to Bhishma
with a firmness that could have come only from
desperation.
Who, me? Bhishma was shocked. How dared
she? Didnt she know who he was? Bhishma the
Great. Bhishma the Great cannot marry.
But the beautiful woman had shot an arrow into
the tranquillity of his heart. He had to order her out

18

of his sight once and for all before the ripple in his
heart would become a turbulence. Are you really
selfless? Draupadis question wiggled in his heart.
Why dont you at least see the adharma of what
is happening here? Draupadi demanded throwing a
contemptuous glance at Yudhishtira. Which son of
a king would wager his wife? Which man can
wager his wife having lost himself first?
Whom did you lose first, yourself or me? She
turned to her husband who had lost the game of
dice.
Yudhishtira sat sullenly. Draupadi looked her
other four husbands. They diverted their gaze from
her.
What is a woman? Draupadi asked herself. A
commodity for men to buy and sell as they please?
This man, the great patriarch, the selfless one,
hadnt he done the same with other women too?
Dharma is too subtle, my dear, declared
Bhishma, I am unable to resolve your question in
the proper way.
Truth is simple, returned Draupadi. But
dharma is subtle.
Bhishma could not reply. Rajneeti has its own
dharma. She could not understand that. Can she
understand the silence of all her husbands, brave
warriors as they are? The first loyalty is to the
king. Their king had lost himself. He had lost them
too. He had lost her too. That is the dharma of
rajneeti. If Yudhishtira answered her question, if he

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said, Yes, I lost myself before I lost you, a serious

question would arise: Does a woman cease to be
the wife when her husband loses ownership over
himself?
No, my dear Draupadi, Bhishma heard him
muttering to himself. No. You are raising a
question that is not easy to resolve. Are you a
queen first and then a wife? Or are you a wife first
of all? What is a wifes dharma?
Dharma. The patriarch had no answers. Which
is greater: dharma or love? Well, he had renounced
love, hadnt he? At any rate, what has love got to
do with a kshatriya?
The patriarch could not find words to speak even
when Duhshasana started pulling out Draupadis
sari. He was contemplating dharma and rajneeti.
One day he would have to make a great sacrifice
for the sake of the same dharma. He would
sacrifice himself. Somewhere far away, Amba was
re-creating herself in the fire of never-dying
vengeance.
Women, thought Bhishma the patriarch, Bhishma
the Great. Women make dharma mysterious.

20

The Original Sin

The question is how qualitative you want your
life to be, said Satan.
True, replied Eve. In fact, this life is quite
boring.
This is not the only life thats open before you.
What youre now doing is to live like animals. You
and Adam are just like the elephants or the goats or
the fish or the birds. You wake up in the morning,
search for food, eat, rest, mate in the season and go
to sleep.
What else is there to do? wondered Eve.
Thats precisely what Im going to teach you,
Satan beamed with a kind of glee that could exist
only in the hell. Imagine that you combine this
animal life with the consciousness of the spirits.
Satan paused. Eve had begun to imagine. But
her imagination got stuck on the word
consciousness.
Mind, thinking, awareness... Satan tried to
explain. Eve stared at him blinking in ignorance.
See, the life of a pure spirit is boring too; more
boring than that of the animals. The animals can at
least eat and mate. The spirits cant do even that.
But the spirits possess a higher level of awareness,
consciousness, by which they know much more
than the animals do, they understand more, they can
give meaning and purpose to their life...

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Eve began to understand.

For example, Satan continued. Now you mate
with Adam only when mating is a physical
requirement you feel in a particular season and that
is meant to produce offspring. But with a higher
level of consciousness you will understand the
delights of sex, mating not for reproduction but for
delight. You rise above nature and its ways. You
acquire culture...
Satan was bored of his existence as a spirit. He
wanted fun. Adam and Eve were the best creatures
of God who could be the subjects of his experiment.
God was bored of life in the heaven. What was
there to do except listen to the angels singing
Alleluia all the time? God did not prevent Satan
from carrying out his experiment.
God and Satan were relieved of their boredom
when Eve accepted the apple offered by Satan. An
exhilarating feeling overpowered Eve when she bit
into the apple. It frothed in her brain. It became an
intoxication. Her brain was dancing. Adam could
perceive the change in his mate. Eat this and your
brain will dance too, said Eve.
The intoxication aroused their spirits. The
aroused spirits understood their bodies differently.
Now the mating of the bodies had a new
dimension. They mated again and again. Mated
until it exhausted them. And they glided into sleep.
When they woke up they looked at each others
bodies in a different way. They felt ashamed of

22

their bodies. Their spirits knew shame. Their

spirits knew sensual delights. Their consciousness
was evolving.
God watched them with amusement. Satan
watched them with inquisitiveness.
Gods
amusement would eventually become grief. Satans
inquisitiveness would eventually be inherited by the
offspring of Adam and Eve. The inquisitiveness
was the original sin.

23

Children of Lust
Self-righteous fool that I am! Lot beat his chest
and lamented. His cries rose to the heavens,
Yahweh! Forgive me, forgive me.
Lots sin was manifold. Lust and incest. He
copulated with both of his daughters. His
daughters children would not be his grandchildren
as it should have been. How disgraceful! The
mountains off Zoar echoed his laments.
Lot had fled Sodom because of its immorality.
The people were like pigs wallowing in filth: they
wallowed in sex and sensuality. Bored of the
women, the men of Sodom sought and found their
delights in male bodies. Left to themselves, their
women too discovered their own delights: in the
bodies of each other. Bodily pleasures. Of the
unnatural kind. Damnation. Death.
The wombs of Sodom cried to the heavens for
seeds to germinate. The heavens heard the cries.
Yahweh opened the gate of the heavens and told Lot
to move out.
You have been a temperate man, said Yahweh
to Lot. You did not forsake the ways I had
ordained for humanity. So shall I save you from the
perdition that is about to fall on your land and its
men and women as well as their offspring.
A dream. A dream of a man who wanted
something more than the body and its pleasures. A

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dream of a man who wanted to dream of the

heavens.
Dreams of heavens can lead people to caves. Lot
wanted to save his daughters from the evil world.
He took them out from the world. To a cave in a
mountain off Zoar.
Caves narrow down dreams, however. Caves
shrink ones horizon. In the cave Lot saw only his
daughters. There was nothing else to see in the
cave. Young daughters. Beautiful daughters.
Daughters who should be married off. Where are
the men who deserve to marry them?
The soil longs for seeds even in a desert. Ova
need fertilisation by spermatozoa even in a cave.
Especially in a cave.
When will we get husbands to fill our wombs
with children? lamented Lots elder daughter.
When will we get men to love us? lamented
Lots younger daughter.
We are doomed to die in this cave, they said to
each other as they hugged each other. Their breasts
met with the softness of each other. Sodom rose in
their groins like a volcano ready to burst. The heat
of the volcano scorched Lots veins.
Lot took out the wine from the cask to quench
the thirst of his veins. The wine flowed in his
veins. Wine mellowed his veins. Wine infuriated
his sperms. Infuriated sperms long to fertilise. Long
to mate. Long to meet a mate. Sodom had killed
meeting and mating. Wallowing in slush had taken

25

the place of meeting and mating. There is no life

without meeting and mating. There is no life where
the sperm is spilled like swines swill. Where the
ovum is thrown out with rags that had been stuck in
the foulest places.
Lot said, Come my beloved. Lie with me. Let
my sperm meet your ovum. Let there be life.
Lots wife was not there to heed his invitation.
She had been turned into a salt pillar. She had
defied Yahwehs orders.
But Lots girls had heard his mourn. They took
off the rags that had been smothering their stinking
bodies. Let our bodies find liberation. Let there be
life. They said.
They lay on either side of their father.
The night passed. Sodom was burnt out totally
by the volcano. But life was stuttering in the
wombs of Lots daughters.
Oh Yahweh! What have I done? lamented Lot
standing on the mountain outside his cave looking
up to the heavens. I wanted a moral world. I
wanted morality. Oh Yahweh! I have spurned a
brood of vipers. Children of lust. Oh Yahweh!
Yahweh proclaimed a Promised Land to Lots
offspring. Lot dreamt on. Lots dreams crossed the
Jordan river. Beyond all rivers. Beyond all oceans.
Lot dreamt of a world where his morality would be
in practice. In practice. A world of dreams.
Dreams of a caveman. The Jordan formed a few

26

ripples which died out soon. The dream of the

caveman continued. In scriptures. In the same
Arab Land. Dreams. Dreams. Dreams of the
children of lust. Oh Yahweh!

27

The First Christmas

I had seen greed of all sorts. My ancestors had
told me about the various kings and conquerors who
crossed the mountains and the seas out of greed for
land and its riches, for power and wealth, or for
sheer adventure.
The usual varieties of princely greed failed to
enchant me. My parents were disappointed in me as
I did not grow up as a prince was supposed to.
Caspar will be no good, I heard my father tell my
mother once, he gazes at the sky more than is good
for a prince.
My greed was for knowledge. I wanted to know
everything that lay beyond the horizon. I wanted to
know what the stars knew. I became a star gazer. It
was thus that I noticed a unique star in the sky. Was
it a dream or an illusion? I was not sure.
Sometimes I could not distinguish illusion from
reality. The star invited me to leave the cosy
comfort of the palace and explore the world beyond
the horizon. Thus it was that I started my long, long
journey, across the Himalayas, through Persia and
Arabia, through lands that smelled of dust and lust.
It was during that journey that I came across two
wanderers similar to me: the Persian Melchior and
the Arab Balthazar. Melchior said that he had seen
a star too which marked the birth of some special
person. Balthazar joined us later and we all moved

28

on, braving the mountains and deserts, the heat and

the cold.
The world went on with its usual activities of
finding food, conquering lands, vanquishing other
people, mating and reproducing, killing and
plundering, building and destroying.
Following the star, we reached Bethlehem. The
star invited us to enter a cave where we saw a
newborn baby. The moment we saw the baby, we
felt a pang within. Melchior and Balthazar shared
their experiences with me later. We all had an
experience of tragedy. Was it another illusion,
another dream?
In my dream or illusion, I saw the childs future.
He would grow up becoming increasingly
discontented with humanity. With humanitys
greed and envy, dissimulation and treachery,
diseases of body and mind, ignorance, falsehood...
I am the light, he said meaning that each person
had to be a light. But people refused to understand
him. I am the way, he said and people chose to
misunderstand again. He sought to liberate them
from the evils that oppressed their being. They
made him their Messiah and demanded miracles.
Frustration was his destiny.
Melchior saw him covered with blood at a tender
age in his youth.

29

His ways crossed in Balthazars visions. Cross

purposes? Or wooden crosses? Balthazar was not
sure.
We looked at the sky. The star had vanished.
But the regular constellations continued to occupy
their positions in the galaxy. The Hunter and the
Great Bear were all there. We longed for another
special star.

30

War and Love

You are so capable of loving. Yet why do you
fight and kill men? Briseis asked.
Fighting is not my choice, said Achilles having
planted a passionate kiss on the ruby lips below
Briseis lilac eyes. Her eyes resembled those of a
gazelle, serene and pure. I inherited it from my
father and his father and all the ancestors. One
cannot wish away ones ancestral inheritance.
I wish you could, said Briseis wistfully. She
had lost her husband, father, mother and three
brothers in the war led by Achilles people. She
was delivered to Achilles for the nocturnal pleasures
of the days warrior.
Achilles looked at her as the soldier dragged her
along and threw her on Achilles bed in the tent.
The gaze and the grace of the gazelle charmed
Achilles instantly. He sat beside her on the bed and
wiped away the blood from her ruby lips. But the
lips still shone like ruby. He smelled her hair.
You a royal? he asked.
She refused to reply. He took his towel,
squeezed it in the water basin and wiped away the
signs of masculine assault from her silky cheeks.
You are as beautiful as Helen, he murmured.
Helen was the cause of the war. Her beauty was
the cause. Or was it? Her husband, Menelaus, was
a man incapable of love. He knew only to fight and

31

kill. To conquer. He too had inherited war in his

veins. Helen wanted love. She wanted to grow old
with her man and not live in the palace like a
priestess in Apollos temple.
Women, mused Achilles. Strange creatures.
They make us mad. They make us love and they
make us fight. I killed this womans husband, her
parents and brothers. My men did. Whats the
difference? And here I am now falling in love with
her.
Achilles continued to kill the men of her
kingdom during the days and he made love to her in
the nights. As days went by, as war and love
followed their usual daily and nightly cycles, love
was becoming more interesting to Achilles. He
longed to stop the killing and return to his own
kingdom with his love.
This is what women do to men, spat out
Patroclus, Achilles cousin and his bosom friend.
Patroclus walked out with Achilles armour and
helmet when the latter was in bed savouring love.
The army followed him.
Achilles armour could not save Patroclus.
Please dont kill Hector, pleaded Briseis as the
news of Patroclus killing by Hector transmuted the
passion in Achilles veins. He is my cousin.
He killed my cousin, Achilles gnashed his
teeth.
How many cousins, how many husbands,
fathers and brothers have you killed?

32

Achilles did not wait to answer. He had

answered that already. Days ago. Kings fight for
land, fame or the booty, he had told her.
What do you fight for?
A thousand years from now, he said, people
will speak about Achilles.
A thousand years from now even the dust of
your bones wont remain, she reasoned.
Thats why, he said. Thats why.
How much should the women sacrifice for
satisfying the egos of men? The question grew in
her heart and became an unbearable burden. It
suffocated her. We are toys in the hands of men;
they play with us to soothe their tired bodies and
minds.
Achilles, her new husband, was fighting with
Hector, her old cousin.
The sun had set long ago. Achilles had not
returned. Briseis went to the fortress. She could
already see flames engulfing it.
Achilles lay dying waiting for the flames to
approach him and become his funeral pyre. Briseis
took his head in her lap and held him close to her
bosom.
We will meet again, he murmured. In
Elysium.
Why couldnt we create the Elysium on the
earth? The answer lay dead in her lap.

33

Barrel Life
Im going to die, declared Diogenes. He was
96.
By the time you reach the age of 96 you will
have acquired the wisdom to know when to die.
You can have such wisdom even earlier. Depends
on what life taught you. Rather what you cared to
learn from life.
Diogenes was on a street in Athens. Dying. The
street was his home. When the weather was too
good outside he chose to get into a barrel.
Somebody had gifted him that barrel.
Why somebody? Greece was mad enough to
understand the madness of Diogenes and appreciate
it. But Greece was not mad enough so that
Diogenes was prompted to declare with the
certainty that comes only to the votaries of Apollo
and Dionysius that Most men are within a fingers
breadth of being mad.
It takes a wise man to discover a wise man,
declared Diogenes with the same ApollonianDionysian certainty when Xeniades of Corinth
bought him from the slave dump. He had been sold
as a slave by one of the administrators of Greece
who wished to get rid of his ravings from the
country.
What slave work do you want me to do for
you? asked Diogenes when he had been bought.

34

Be a teacher to my children, answered

Xeniades with the insanity that matched the wisdom
of Diogenes.
It was 4th century BCE. Insanity was not too
common except in the Greek Civilisation.
I cant live in such luxury, declared Diogenes
when Xeniades offered him a comfortable room
with a comfortable bed.
The streets were where Diogenes belonged.
Your choice, said Xeniades who was another
votary of Apollo and Dionysius. But permit me to
give you a gift, he said presenting a barrel to the
teacher of his children. A big clay jar. Shall I fill
it with wine? Xeniades asked. No, let it be my
home, answered Diogenes.
When he found pushing the clay barrel around a
boring job, Diogenes lit a candle and walked around
in the broad daylight. One sane Greek fellow dared
ask him, What are you searching for?
Human beings, answered Diogenes.
When human beings failed to condescend with
their apparitions in the great Greek Civilisation,
Diogenes withdrew to his barrel and lay down in it
more comfortably than he had hoped to.
It was then Alexander the Conqueror came along
to visit him. The emperor wanted to meet this one
man who had not bothered to pay homage to him.
What made him so special? Alexander wanted to
know that.

35

Why do you go around conquering so much?

asked Diogenes. If you want to see what costs
money and what does not cost anything, go there.
He pointed towards the building nearby. It was a
brothel, Alexander the Great realised with a smirk.
What can I do for you? asked Alexander.
Just move away. Youre blocking my sunlight.
Alexander understood what made Diogenes special.
The sun too penetrates into secrets, but it is not
polluted by them, said Diogenes to the children of
Xeniades, his students.
Diogenes died. The mad Greeks said that
Alexander the Great too died on the same day.

36

And Quiet Flowed the Beas

The Beas sparkled like molten silver with the
gentle touch of the morning sun. It could not
assuage the mutiny that was mounting among
Alexanders soldiers, however.
How long and how far? Coenus, the general of
Alexanders army, raised the question. We have
come a long way in search of some mirage. We
have bathed in the Tigris and the Indus, played in
the Nile and the Euphrates, sailed across the Oxus
and the Jaxartes. We breathed the air of deserts,
mountains, steppes and fields. We trudged miles
and miles, thousands of miles. Of victory, booty,
glory and novelty, weve had our fill.
Alexander looked into Coenuss eyes. He saw
longing in them. Longing for wife. For children.
Father and mother. No harlot can ever replace the
touch of the wife. No victory can match the smiles
of your children. Eight years. Theyve been away
from their homeland for eight years.
But we are conquerors, said Alexander.
Conquest is our way, our life, and our truth. There
is no retreat for a conqueror. Extricating yourself
from your victories is almost impossible. It will be
like letting the ground slip away beneath your very
feet. The new friends we made will review their
allegiances the moment we begin to retreat.
Nobody wants to befriend a loser, a weakling. The
old enemies will return with vengeance, the moment

37

you are on your retreat. We have only one way, one

direction, onward march until our death.
Death, spat out Coenus. You are incapable of
love. So you speak so lightly of death. You wont
ever understand the meaning of the sparkle that
lights up the eyes of Roxana whenever she sees
you. You are filled with your own self. A huge
Ego, thats what you are.
Alexander smirked. Was Achilles a mere ego?
Is Zeus an ego? I am the Lord of the earth. Or will
be soon. I have brought more than half of the earth
under my feet. I will conquer the rest too.
For what? Coenus stared into the Beas that was
acquiring a penetrating sheen as the sun rose higher
in the sky. Move out of my light, the world will
repeat what Diogenes told you.
Alexander remembered. He visited Diogenes
because unlike the other great teachers in the
country that one man had refused to pay homage to
Alexander the great conqueror. He wished to make
his visit dramatic. Histrionics is part of the
helplessness of a conqueror. Which wish of yours
can I fulfil? asked Alexander standing majestically
before the philosopher who had even refused to
stand up from his reclining position on the ground.
Dont block the sunlight, was his insolent
answer.
If I were not Alexander, I would be Diogenes,
said Alexander to Coenus as they moved away from
Diogenes.

38

Im not Diogenes, roared Alexander when

Coenus reminded him again of the master of the
mind. The roar struck the Beas producing ripples. I
am Alexander, Alexander the Great. I dont turn
back.
A murmur arose among the soldiers. Alexander
could feel the murmur rising to a crescendo in his
veins. He went into his tent. And sulked there for
three days thinking that Coenus would come and
ask for pardon. But nothing happened.
So Alexander came out from his sulk. And
accepted defeat.
Alexander the Great is
vanquished. Only once. By his own men.
But Alexander the Great wont go back. Theres
no retreat for Alexander the Great. We will take a
different route, ordered Alexander. We will sail
down the Jhelum and the Indus. To the Arabian
Sea. The great oceans will take us home.
The oceans will rage for Alexander the
Conqueror.
The Beas flowed quietly.

39

Worship
Nebamun was determined and nothing could
deter him now. Now was his opportunity. Antony
had gone back to Rome being summoned by
Caesar. Cleopatra would be alone. Nebamun could
offer her his heart. Offer his heart to the goddess of
love whom age cannot wither or custom cannot
stale that was how one of Antonys commanders
described her the other day.
Let her trample upon his heart if she so chooses.
Nebamun was the devotee and Cleopatra was the
goddess. The goddess can choose what to do with
the devotee and it is the bounden duty of the
devotee to obey, to make whatever sacrifice the
goddess demands.
He stood outside Cleopatras royal chamber
waiting until she came out.
Your Majesty, Nebamun drew Cleopatras
attention when she was about to pass him by as if he
never existed. Queens dont pay attention to
ordinary soldiers even if they stand in places where
they are not expected.
Yes, said Cleopatra staring at him. What do
you want? Why are you standing here outside my
chamber?
I wish to speak to you alone, said Nebamun.
What about?

40

My hearts deepest desire. A devotees most

fervent prayer.
What do you mean?
You are my goddess, Your Majesty. I am your
devotee standing before you with a supplication. Be
merciful enough to grand my wish.
Cleopatra stared into his eyes before ordering her
maids to leave them alone.
What is your wish?
I have been worshipping you with my whole
heart and soul. Please grant my wish to worship
you with my body.
Cleopatra was too stunned to decide whether to
flare up or laugh out.
How dare you? This is intolerable audacity!
You call it audacity, Your Majesty, but I call it
worship. Im your devotee; youre my goddess.
Their eyes met again. Determination and
devotion were overflowing in Nebamuns gaze. His
body language was a queer mixture of those of a
soldiers and devotees. A unique combination. A
rare lover. Cleopatras eyes began to sparkle with
mischief.
I will grant your wish, she said to Nebamun
whose heart skipped a beat. But on a condition.
What do conditions matter to a devotee?
Nebamun waited eagerly.
You wont live to see the next morning.
What does the next morning matter to a devotee?

41

Cleopatras chamber opened itself to Nebamun

that night.
There was a strange shade of crimson in the sky
when the sun rose the next morning from the Red
Sea. The executioner reported that Nebamun died
without an iota of regret. Rather, said the
executioner, I have never met a man who seemed
more contented than that.

42

Scholar, Politician and Priest

He is a mere scholar, he can never rule the
people, declared Napoleon Bonaparte as he signed
the dismissal of Pierre-Simon Laplace as the
Minister of Internal Affairs. Six weeks in power
and what has he contributed? thundered the
Emperor.
He sees subtleties everywhere,
conceives problems instead of solutions and thinks
in terms of infinity and infinitesimal.
Laplace was happy to be out of power. He never
wanted any political power in the first place. But
the Emperor wanted the most intelligent people to
be in the government. What has power got to do
with intelligence? Laplace did not ask that
however.
In the solitude and peace of powerlessness,
Laplace perfected the Newtonian solar system.
Mediocre people wish to become stars on the earth.
Intelligent people wander among the stars in the
heavens. Newton was one such star who lived
among stars. But even he needed a divine
hypothesis to answer certain problems in his
scientific model. Laplace pushed God out of the
scientific model.
The news reached Napoleon. The scientist was
summoned.
The Emperor wants to see the toys, thought
Laplace. By toys he meant the orrery, the

43

mechanical model of the solar system, that he had

made.
Wheres God in the model? demanded the
Emperor as he watched it with some curiosity.
This model does not require that hypothesis,
said Laplace.
But God is the ultimate hypothesis that explains
everything, exclaimed the Emperor wondering
how Laplace could dismiss such a valuable
hypothesis so casually.
The cosmos does not require God, Laplace said
to himself. But Emperors require Him. All those
who seek to subjugate human beings in one form or
another require Him. Science does not need God.
Yet when he reached home, he concluded the
letter to his son by writing, May God watch over
your days. Let Him be always present to your
mind.
God is the eternal law, the law that governs the
cosmos. The law of gravity is God. F = ma is
God. These laws dont play politics. They dont
hanker after power. They dont subjugate anyone or
anything. They liberate, in fact. It is only man and
the man-made gods that subjugate.
Ah! We chase after phantoms. He murmured
to himself many times.
Laplace allowed one such phantom to give him
the last rites as he lay dying a few years later. The
phantoms needed to prove that the scholar and the
scientist was a believer in religion and God. The

44

priest who gave the last sacrament to Laplace

proclaimed the pulpit while delivering the Sunday
sermon, Laplace died uttering the words We chase
after phantoms. My dear people of God, Laplace
died denouncing science and its discoveries as
phantoms....
But Napoleon the Great knew better. While he
awaited his end on the island of Saint Helena,
Napoleon the Emperor-no-more said to General
Gaspard Gourgaud, I often asked Laplace what he
thought of God. He owned that he was an atheist.
The scholar died. His lifeless body was given all
the ceremonies which the scholar would have found
amusing had he been alive. Would he have
protested, however? Could he? After all, what is a
scholar vis--vis the Priest and the Politician?

45

Lifes Journey
I will soon be thrown into the mass grave along
with the naked corpses of the other soldiers. I am
Colonel Chabert, not just an ordinary soldier,
Colonel Chabert who led a whole regiment of
soldiers to many a victory for none other than
Napoleon himself. I have been famous when the
blood still ran in my veins reddening my cheeks
with the zest for conquests. But now I am no more
than a body going to be thrown into a mass grave
with very ordinary bodies.
Death makes you a mere body. All bodies are
equal and ordinary. What makes you different is
life, your life.
My last battle was the toughest. The Battle of
Eylau. Our brave French soldiers met the equally
brave Russian soldiers in the most inclement of
weathers in Arctic conditions. The fatal wound I
received runs from the nape of my neck to just
above my right eye. You can still see it. My blood
stopped running through my veins. There was little
blood left for the veins to carry.
No wonder they thought me dead.
The distance between life and death is just a
moment. The other day I happened to watch a man
with grey hairs but a face suffused with vitality
buying apples from a wayside seller. The man
looked as if he would live another twenty years,
hale and hearty. Just as he picked up his basket of

46

apples and got on to the path again, he staggered a

little and collapsed. He was dead in a moment.
Marshal Murat dispatched a whole battalion, no
less than 1500 horsemen, to rescue me when I lay
wounded and dying. Napoleon himself sent two of
his best surgeons to save my life. Napoleon needs
me, I know. Every conqueror admires brave
warriors.
Heroes admire heroes. Have you ever noticed
that? Its only the weak that harbour petty feelings
like jealousy and distrust. I didnt say heroes love
heroes. No, love has nothing to do with it. Its
admiration. Its an acceptance of the others
abilities and skills. Napoleon admires even the
youngest of his soldiers provided he is brave.
I can feel life oozing out of me. I will soon be
dead. And thrown into the mass grave, another
body among many bodies. Body. Thats what I
will soon be.
Nothing. Thats what I will be a little while from
now. The body will vanish, eaten by the soil and its
maggots.
The whole rugged path I travelled from the time I
was born is visible to my minds eye as I lie giving
up my soul. Every life is a journey. When you are
born, a road is also born. Your road. The road that
you will travel inevitably. It is up to you how you
choose to travel that road. You can simply walk
along without noticing whats on either side. You
can choose to kick away the pebbles on the way and

47

beat down the brambles on the sides. You can

admire the fragrance of flowers and the music of the
birds. You can conquer the lands on the sides. You
may even erect barriers on the road, your road!
Whatever you do, in the end, you will be a body,
lying dead on some cold mountain, ready to be
forgotten. Dont count on the memories of people
whom you consider beloved. Love has little to do
with life.
Other people have their roads still
stretching ahead and they have to travel it
inevitably. They cannot mourn your death forever.
Even Napoleon will be a body one day. To be
buried and forgotten.
My spirit is giving up. I can feel it. I can see the
end of my road. Oh, how pathetic! Like the
culmination of the French Revolution!

48

Galileos Truth
Generally speaking, truth has been suffered to
exist in the world just to the extent that it profited
the rulers of society. [Barrows Dunham, Man
Against Myth, 1947]
And yet it moves, mumbled Galileo as he
walked out of the Inquisition Chamber having
accepted the punishment imposed on him for
upholding the truth.
The earth is not the centre of the universe.
Galileo had argued. The sun was the centre of the
solar system. The earth moved round the sun. The
earth was just another planet like many others.
Your teaching explicitly contradicts the Holy
Scripture, said Cardinal Bellarmine. You run the
risk of being branded a heretic and being burnt at
the stake. We exhort you to abandon the
mathematical
hypothesis
completely
and
unconditionally. You will not hold the opinion that
the sun stands still and the earth moves. You will
not henceforth hold, teach, or defend it any way
whatever, either orally or in writing.
The Scripture! What do these people understand
of the Scripture? Galileo had despaired of trying to
make the religious leaders understand that the
Scripture was poetry to be interpreted for the sake
of bringing the truth to the people in a way they

49

could understand. The sun rises from and sinks into

the ocean. That is poetry. But that does not mean
the sun actually moves. Didnt Copernicus say the
same thing? Yet wasnt Copernicus a doctor in
canon law? Didnt Augustine exhort the Church to
avoid making decrees about the physical world lest
they be overturned by new knowledge? And wasnt
Augustine a saint of the Church?
The purpose of the Bible is to teach how to go
to heaven, while science teaches how the heavens
go, Galileo had argued.
The scientist drew the attention of his religious
leaders to Anaxagoras who died two millennia ago.
In 467 BCE Anaxagoras pointed at the meteorite
that had fallen and raised the question: What do the
authorities want me to say now? Will they permit
me to say that the stars up there which are
worshipped as gods are actually inert rocks like
this?
If the Scripture is the divinely revealed truth,
why does it contain so many contradictions? Is
truth the expediency of the authorities?
You are inviting the wrath of God upon your
head, Galileo, said the Inquisitor Cardinal. God
finds you vehemently suspect of heresy. You are
questioning the word of God. Unless you abjure,
curse and detest your opinions, God wont be able
to save you from the stake.

50

How helpless is God! Galileo suppressed the

thought. If God is so helpless, what can one say
about the mortal man?
The mortal man abjured, cursed and detested
what he knew was the truth. He remembered
Bruno, the man whose tongue was imprisoned by
the same Cardinal Bellarmine before his body was
burnt at the stake and works put on the Index of
Prohibited Books. When Bruno was burning on the
stake in Rome, Shakespeares Hamlet was
wondering on a stage in London: To be or not to
be, thats the question.
To be, decided Galileo. To be. He abjured,
cursed and detested the truth. To Be.
Your recantation saves your life, Galileo, said
Cardinal Bellarmine solemnly. But we cannot give
you any more liberty. You will not teach anymore.
You will not appear before the public. We place
you under arrest.
How long, O Lord, will you hide your face from
your people? Galileo asked God like the Psalmist.
Arouse Yourself, why do you sleep, O Lord?
The heavens were silent. But they moved,
Galileo knew. The bodies up there, they moved.
To Be.

51

Caliph of Two Worlds

His smile could quell a mob or raise an army.
The charismatic Usman dan Fodio was a holy man
whom the Sultan of Gobir (later Nigeria) brought
into his kingdom in order to make the people more
religious. Bringing a religious person too close to
your life can be like taking the snake lying on the
fence and putting it in your pocket. At least thats
how it turned out to be in the case of Yunfa, the
Sultan of Gobir.
William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor
Coleridge had just brought out their Romantic
Manifesto, The Lyrical Ballads, ushering a poetic
revolution in England. The bloodcurdling violence
of the French Revolution had given birth to a whole
series of reforms implemented by Napoleon. In
Africa, Allah was beginning to bring light in quite
another way.
There is no God but Allah, Usmans voice
reverberated in the streets and highways. All ways
are impure except those shown by Allah. Usman
denounced the ways of the ordinary people as evil.
Suddenly almost everything became evil for the
ordinary people. Usman decided what was holy and
what unholy. Usman decided when people could
smile and whey they should weep. Usman decided
what they could eat and drink. Usman became the
law. All laws come from Allah, Usman declared.

52

Allah appeared to me in a dream, he told the

people. All the prophets of the past stood on either
side of Allah. And Allah told me, I anoint you as
the Messiah of Africa. You are the forerunner of the
Mahdi, who is coming soon along with Jesus to
initiate the cosmic struggle against the Antichrist.
The end of the world is near. Teach your people to
repent and turn to Allah if they are to be redeemed
on the Day of the Judgment.
Listening to their Messiah, the people swayed
like palm leaves caught in a desert wind. The dust
storms conjured up bizarre shapes of the Antichrist.
The world was going to end, believed the people.
Like the children of Hamelin who followed the pied
piper, the people flocked behind the Messiah.
The Sultan was not very pleased by this
usurpation. Who is more powerful: the sultan or the
maulana? The answer depends on who you are or
on whose side you are.
Sometimes the maulana has to be got rid of if the
sultan is to save his throne. The sultan began his
conspiracies. An earthly kings conspiracies may
not be powerful enough to eliminate a gods
representative.
The maulana became the commander of an
army. The religious followers became political
warriors. The line between politics and religion is
an illusion that can be shifted in any direction as
required by the occasion.

53

Win the war, Usman told his warriors, and

you will get seven towns filled with dark-eyed
maidens each one of whom being served by ten
thousand slaves. Win the war and you will embrace
those dark-eyed beauties for seventy years. You
will do it again and again until you are tired. You
will have no other work, save the play of delight.
Usmans warriors stood erect with their swords
unsheathed. Lust both spiritual and temporal
dilated their veins and maddened the neurons.
Armed with that intoxication, it didnt take much
time for Usman to decapitate the sultan. Usman the
holy man became Usman the Caliph.
The successful warriors demanded the promised
dark-eyed maidens and seventy years of delight.
The Caliph became the holy man once again, Wait,
children, wait. The final reward is in heaven. Wait
until your time.
They waited. People always wait.

54

The Saga of a Warrior

When they killed my husband, it was the spirit of
undaunted daring and unfailing love that was
murdered.
You romanticise the love that Shahjahan bore for
Mumtaz because he erected that mausoleum called
Taj Mahal in memory of his supposedly unfailing
love for Mumtaz. But Mumtaz was just one among
the many wives and concubines on whose bosoms
Shah Jahan expended his lust night after night.
Your historians will romanticise the heroism of
many a ruler just because they went far and wide
marauding and massacring.
My husband may find no place in such histories.
But he was a genuine hero and romantic lover, a
rare combination. He fought the battles of life more
bravely than any conqueror. He loved me
passionately, more than any Mughal emperor loved
any of his women.
Yet the universe conspired against him just as
mediocrity conspires against the genius. He was
subjected to so many deaths. Deaths in life.
Khusru, my beloved, was also the beloved of the
greatest Mughal emperor, Akbar. The strong love
the strong. The genius loves geniuses. Akbar loved
his grandson, Khusru, more than he could ever love
his own son, Salim. But Salim succeeded his father
to the throne through a heinous conspiracy against

55

my husband. That was the first assassination of my

husband by the universe.
Murad and Daniyal, Akbars younger sons, had
killed themselves at tender ages with their addiction
to opium. Salim too was an addict and remained
one till the end of his wretched life. But the opium
did not kill him. You could see death in his eyes.
There was weakness in his eyes. And the weak are
cruel. Salim was cruel beyond imagination. The
weak
are
manipulative
too.
Cunningly
manipulative.
Salims weakness craved for power. The weak
love political power. He led many a revolt against
his own father, only to realise bitterly that he was no
match for the great Akbar. His mother, Man Bai, a
shrewd woman who wanted to rule the empire
through her only surviving son, killed herself when
the court had become a snake pit of conspiracies.
She chose her younger sons way to death: opium.
She had learnt the bitter truth that her elder son was
no better than the younger ones.
But she was wrong. Salim did become the
emperor. Ironies accompany the royal life just like
the plague accompanies filth.
It was not Salim who manipulated the events at
the time of Akbars death, however. After Man
Bais death, Akbars senior wives wriggled in the
pit like snakes in the mating season. They mated
with the ministers and commanders. Intrigues
flourished in their wombs.

56

Akbar was in his death bed like a new born

infant. Where did his glory go? Where did the
power vanish? Oh, Akbar the Great, where did your
greatness disappear?
The women came impregnated with schemes to
Akbars death chamber. They whispered in his
ears. Their words were poison. The poison
transformed Salim into Jahangir.
One of the first things that Salim did after
becoming Jahangir was to order the imprisonment
of Khusru.
Salim imprisoned his own blood. Opium flowed
in his veins. Khusru was confined to a gloomy
chamber in the palace, with me as his only
companion. The weak and cruel Salim ruled the
country, while the real hero walked restlessly in a
little chamber with only his wife to utter words of
consolation.
And then began the next assassination of Khusru.
Jahangirs sycophants started rewriting history.
They wrote the most vile things about Khusru.
Khusru became a characterless man in their
chronicles. They wrote that Khusru had inherited
the deficiency from his mother. Hadnt she
committed suicide? Hadnt his two brothers killed
themselves with opium?
History is replete with blunders written by
sycophants.
Khusru stopped calling Jahangir father and
started addressing him as bhai, brother.

57

One day Khusru requested Jahangir bhai to let

him visit his grandfathers tomb in Sikander near
Delhi. Jahangir was never intelligent enough to
understand Khusru and so the permission was
granted. Soon Khusru reached Lahore along with
his supporters. Many leaders of the Chugati and
Rajput clans extended their support to Khusru.
They knew that Khusru was worth a thousand
Jahangirs.
But Jahangir acted with a swiftness that could not
have been expected of an opium addict. Dilawar
Khan was sent to Lahore to deal with Khusru.
Dilawar reached Lahore from Agra in just eleven
days; no mean feat, it should be said. A 50,000strong army was deployed in Agra to encounter
Khusru and his supporters.
Finally the battle took place on the bank of Ravi.
It was raining cats and dogs and the soldiers fought
in a soup of mud.
Khusru was defeated. His soldiers and
commanders were impaled alive on stakes erected
on either side of the streets. Hundreds of brave men
writhed in agony on the stakes. Their blood made a
pool in the streets. Khusru was led along that pool
of blood, forced to see his men dying in worm-like
wriggles. Even the Sikh Guru, Arjan Dev, was
executed just because he had blessed Khusru while
he was on his way to Lahore. Poor Arjan Dev, he
was just fulfilling a courtesy.
Your cruelty is directly proportional to the
weakness of your character.

58

Jahangir was not satiated with all that cruelty.

He asked a soldier to pierce Khusrus eyes with a
metal wire.
Khusru did not utter a sound as the metal wire
nicked his vision like an ant eating into a piece of
cake. Bit by bit. Slowly.
Khusru was then thrown into a dungeon. With
me as his only companion.
Jahangir soon felt remorse. Or was he trying to
gain some popularity among the people? He knew
how much the people admired and loved Khusru.
He asked the royal physician to restore Khusrus
vision. The physician tried his best. Khusru did not
regain his vision, but he could just see shadows. I
was his abiding shadow. The other shadows that
came and went could not be trusted.
Khurram was one such shadow. He was
Jahangirs son too. Unlike his father, Khurram was
brilliant as a general of the army and very
ambitious. When Jahangir asked the royal
physician to restore Khusrus vision, Khurram knew
that the old mans heart was too weak for an
emperor. What if he handed down the empire to
Khusru?
The empress Nur-Jahan was another shadow in
Khusrus derelict world. There was no love lost
between her and Khurram. She was both suspicious
and afraid of him. In order to keep Khurram far
from the throne, Nur-Jahan hatched a plan.

59

Marry my daughter from my first marriage, she

told Khusru. She is still beautiful like the melons
in our garden. She sparkles like the waters of the
Yamuna. In return for this marriage, Ill give you
freedom. Nay, Ill give you power. Yes, you will
succeed to the throne after His Majestys reign
comes to an end. Who can offer you a better deal
than this?
Khusru knew that the promises were not hollow.
Nur-Jahan had the sagacity to carry out the
necessary manipulations in the court.
Why dont you speak? asked Nur-Jahan. Say
something.
You may leave us, was Khusrus answer.
I want an answer immediately, said Nur-Jahan
imperiously.
I refuse to have any woman other than this in
my life, said Khusru hugging me close to him.
Is that your final decision? asked Nur-Jahan
rising imperiously.
Final and irrevocable, said Khusru imperially.
Nur-Jahan did not waste time. She plotted and
manipulated. She conjured and contrived. Finally
Khusru was handed over to Khurram.
Khurram became Shahjahan.
Shahjahan ordered Khusru to be transferred to
Burhanpur in the Deccan. And there, far away from
the people who adored Khusru as a hero, they killed
him. They attacked him in the middle of the night.

60

Khusru drew his sword and fought like a warrior

unto the last.
My warrior is dead. My hero is dead. Let
Shahjahan live and rule to his hearts content.
And erect mausoleums to perpetuate the
memories of his banality.
Now I am an old woman. Every wrinkle in my
skin carries the memory of Khusru, still afresh.
History in brief:
1600 1605 : Salim (Jahangir) led many
revolts against Akbar
May 1605
: Man Bai commits suicide
28 Aug 1605 : Akbar dies Khusru is 18 years
old
2 Nov 1605
: Salim anointed emperor,
assumes the name Jahangir
15 Apr 1606 : Khusru escapes to Lahore
27 Apr 1606 : Battle between Khusru and
Jahangir
1616
: Nur-Jahans conspiracies and
Khurrams ascent
Jan 1622
: Khusru is killed
The citizens were appalled to hear about
Khusrus murder and there were loud cries for
vengeance. Jahangir was more angry with Khurram

61

for concealing the murder from him than for the

murder itself. In order to placate the people,
Jahangir ordered Khusrus body to be exhumed and
brought to Allahabad where a magnificent
mausoleum was erected next to his mothers. The
place has since come to be called Khusraubagh. In
the story, I have telescoped the time between
Khurrams struggle for power and his becoming the
emperor Shahjahan.

62

Aurangzeb too dies

I came alone and I go as a stranger. I dont
know who I am, nor what I have been doing.
Azam listened. He knew his father, Aurangzeb
the Great, was blabbering on his deathbed.
Everybody blabbers on the deathbed. Everybody
blabbers in old age.
I conquered. I defeated. For what? Aurangzeb
continued holding on to Azams hand. Azam was
the legal heir. But in a family with six official
wives and their sons. Forget the daughters, they are
born to be wives and son-bearers. Sons fight. Sons
make the rules. Sons conquer and rule.
My father is dying, realised Azam. All my
siblings will fight for the throne.
Fighting is all that they had learnt. Is there
nothing more than fighting that life can offer?
Aurangzeb asked himself lying on his deathbed.
Too late to learn lessons. Its only when you lie
down helplessly, unable to fight, unable to put on
the armour, you realise the futility of all.
How many temples did I demolish? How many
people did I kill? All for the sake of conquering
some land. And what did I gain?
I ruled. I ruled almost the whole of what can be
called India. What did I gain?
Im sick and dying.

63

You must die, thought Azam. I should get the

power. You die and I become the next emperor.
No, my son. The larger the emperor, the more
the enemies. Keep your ambitions low. The crown,
the country, and the glory. They mean nothing.
You are dying, old man. Die. Die in peace.
The Empire is dying, my son.
Im the Empire, responded Azam. People are
fools. Any fool with ambition and heartlessness can
be a ruler. And I am not a fool. At least I know
how to kill. At least how to conquer the gods of the
others.

64

Under the Peepal

It was years since I had met Siddhartha. When I
heard that he was sitting under a peepal awaiting
enlightenment, I was curious. I embarked on the
metro train that would take me near to Kapil Vastu
Estate.
Kapil Vastu Estate was a huge complex
developed by Siddharthas father, Shuddhodhana
Gautama, one of the most successful industrialists
of neoliberal Hindustan. Profit is the dharma of
the trader, was Shuddhodhanas motto. He had
graduated from the London School of Economics
before doing MBA from Harvard University.
Siddhartha and I were classmates. Not that my
father could afford to send me to the same public
school as Siddhartha. Since my father was
Shuddhodhanas personal assistant and a close
confidante, the business magnate decided to put me
in the same school as his own son. Probably, it was
his way of monitoring his son indirectly.
Siddhartha showed little interest in academics or
co-curricular or extra-curricular activities. He came
and went back by a chauffeur-driven airconditioned car. The school was centrally airconditioned. Siddhartha didnt have to see the
world outside. But he longed to see it, I think.
Shuddhodhana was alarmed by his sons
increasing melancholy contemplativeness. He
decided to do some cleaning up. Starting with the

65

library, he removed all serious literature and filled

the shelves with books of Sidney Sheldon and his
Hindustani avatar, Chetan Bhagat, as well as other
such stimulating writers. Burn all the books by
intellectuals
and
subversives,
ordered
Shuddhodhana.
Bring
in
our
classics
likeKamasutra and Arthasastra.
Nothing worked. Neither the ancient classics nor
the ultramodern metro reads stimulated Siddharthas
soul. It hankered after something that all the
fabulous wealth of his father could not buy.
In the meanwhile, I completed my postgraduation and teacher training and became a
teacher in a fully residential school which occupied
me body and soul round the clock. I was not aware
of what was transpiring in the walled world of Kapil
Vastu Estate. But when the news of Siddharthas
contemplation under the peepal tree reached me, I
applied for a casual leave from school and rushed to
meet my old mate, son of my benefactor.
The ten feet massive steel gate opened before
me. I still had some contacts with people inside,
you see.
There is death, I learnt, Siddhartha told me.
Human life is wretched. There is illness. There is
much evil. The air-conditioning is an illusion. The
Estate is an illusion. He went on to give me a long
lecture. All desire is evil, he said. He was going to
found a new religion, he said, to help people
overcome desires. Live without desires and attain
nirvana.

66

Can you arrange one nirvana for me free of

cost? I asked. After all, I was his closest friend at
school. He could do me this simple favour. It was
then I noticed the book lying near Siddharthas
meditation mat.
Whats this? I was stunned. Youre reading
Dostoevsky? I picked upThe Idiot. This is as
outdated as Das Capital by those two nuts.
Sitting under the peepal tree with Siddhartha
Gautama, I became enlightened. Nirvana is living
out of joint with time.

67

Maya
Her face made my heart skip a beat. Was it
really her? I had not met Maya for over thirty
years. But the perfect symmetry of her thin but
mysteriously seductive lips could not have escaped
me. I was walking up towards the Hanuman
Temple on the Jakhoo Hill in Shimla when the
perfect symmetry on a wrinkled face beneath a
silver shock of fluttering hair hit my heart like a
perverted arrow of Kamadeva. She was wearing a
saffron
robe.
A
rosary
of
fairly
huge rudraksh beads lay on her breast. The fire in
her eyes had not burned out yet though melancholy
was threatening to overpower it. She had entered a
narrow trail from the main road.
Maya, I called.
She halted but did not turn back. I called the
name again. This time she did turn back to look at
the person who had uttered a sound that she did not
apparently want to hear. I walked closer to her.
She stared at me. I smiled.
Sam! She said concealing her surprise with
practised expertise. Why are you here?
As a tourist, I said matter-of-factly. But I
seem to have struck a goldmine, I ran into you.
I assured her that I was not searching for her at
all. Our encounter was a pure coincidence. But a
lucky one, I added.

68

I followed her to the hut where she said she lived

all alone all these years.
Maya was my classmate in college during our
undergraduate years. Indira Gandhi had declared
Emergency in the country. Maya opposed the
Emergency with all the spirit of a true Marxist.
Well wishers warned her to be cautious. Many
people who had questioned the Emergency had
already disappeared under the sycophantic reign of
K. Karunakaran. Nobody knew what happened to
the arrested. Its better to die on your feet than live
on your knees, Maya dismissed the friendly
warnings. I was always struck by the way her
beautiful lips moved when she spoke passionately.
Whenever she spoke I would occupy the front row,
not to listen to her but to watch her vivacious lips
whose movements rivalled the gracefulness of a
Bharatanatyam dance.
I wish I could hang on to your lips more than
metaphorically, I once told her half in jest.
What do you mean? Her eyes burnt into mine.
Just a kiss, nothing more, I was not
intimidated.
She caught my head in both her hands and
planted her lips on mine. More than a flirt but less
than a commitment, the kiss was the first and the
last physical contact we ever had and its sweet
shock remained in my veins like a restless neuron
for many years.

69

My marriage is as fixed as my destiny, she told

me immediately after the kiss so that I wouldnt
nurture any illusion. A family commitment.
As soon as she graduated she married Rajan
Namboothiri, an eccentric scientist at ISRO,
Trivandrum. A few years after the marriage, Dr
Namboothiri gave up his job and became a pujari at
the local temple. He spent all his time reciting the
Vedas and the Upanishads and teaching the
meanings of the shlokas to whoever cared to listen.
His family members blamed Maya for the situation
though nobody knew how she was responsible for
any of it. Eventually Maya vanished.
Varanasi, Haridwar, Badrinath..., Maya spoke
in a voice that was uncharacteristically subdued. I
searched for meanings. Or joy. I dont know what.
Finally I reached here. Away from crowds and the
noise of spirituality.
Rajan Namboothiri passed away last year, I
said. She looked at me but without any particular
emotion. His life was consumed by the scriptures.
I left him because I could not accept what he
was doing, she spoke after a long silence. I
accused him of escapism. Finally I became just
what he had become.
Do we become what we hate? I asked without
realising what I was doing.
Love and hate, virtue and sin, revolution and
counter-revolution, all poles vanish when you arrive
at the truth of Param Brahma.

70

She paused and then said, Please do not visit me

again. Please do not tell anyone about me. I want
to be alone.
I knew I had to keep the promise. Maya had
planted a renewed neuron in my veins and it would
continue to be restless for many years.

71

Destiny
What are you thinking of so deeply? Anita
asked her husband as they were walking up the
narrow street leading to the school where they were
going for an interview for teaching jobs. The bus
that took them from the suburban rail station had
dropped them at the foot of the hillock that was
majestically crowned by the school building.
I was thinking of our destiny, answered
Sridhar. Ive just a few years left for retirement.
You have a few more years. And here we are
hunting for a job.
What is in your destiny, no one can take away.
What is not in your destiny, no one can give you.
She laughed glumly. She was repeating exactly
what Sridhar had told her the other day when she
grieved the death of the school where they both had
been working for years.
Their school was founded by an industrialist. He
now wanted an amusement park in its place. The
city needs relaxation, he argued. People who were
not very kind to him said that the school failed to
bring in as much profit as an amusement park
would.
Sridhar shared his wifes gloomy laughter. This
street strangely reminded me of my village and my
walks to my school and back home, he said. Wild
shrubs and brambles with carefree flowers on the
sides. No traffic. Only the hum and buzz of some

72

insects and the rustle of the leaves. Rustic serenity

of kongini blooms.
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and
waste its sweetness... Again Anita was teasing him
by quoting one of his favourite lines from Thomas
Gray.
I was thinking whether we could give up this
job hunt, return to our village in Kerala and settle
down there. Sridhar ignored her taunt which was
actually meant to liven up his spirits.
Im ready, she looked at her husband eagerly.
But we can only return to the place. Not to the
time.
Sridhars heart was roaming the streets of the
village of his boyhood days when Anita asked him
what he was thinking of so deeply. His memories
had conjured up pictures of farmers pedalling the
water wheel, women carrying water in pots
balanced on their heads as well as hips, children
throwing sticks to fell mangoes from the trees...
Ready to let go the water wheel when a howl for
help rises in the air, let go the pots and sticks...
Letting go.
Destiny can only move forward? Sridhar could
not make out whether it was a statement or a
question.
What is destiny? he asked his wife in return.
Who shapes it? The industrialist who converts a
school into an amusement park or the economist
who computes the worth of human life in figures of

73

profits and losses or the Man-god who draws the

Lakshman rekha for human potential or the
politician who dangles all of them and us on puppet
strings?
Sridhar and Anita had reached the school. You
stand outside, the security guard ordered looking at
Sridhar.
But... he explained that he was a candidate too.
The guard looked at Sridhars grey hairs and
laughed. At this age? Moreover, he chuckled,
only ladies.
As Sridhar fiddled with his smart phone while he
waited outside for Anita to come after her interview,
the ring tone sang John Lennons lines: There's
nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to
be.

74

The Devil has a Religion

Its not only the gods but the devils too have
specific religions, Maria realised when she saw the
devil appearing on her husbands face fifteen years
after she had seen it the last time.
Fifteen years ago, one nondescript autumn
afternoon in Shillong, Philip came back from the
school where he worked as a mathematics teacher
and declared that he had resigned from his job.
Maria was stunned though she had known deep
within her all the time that this was coming.
Reverend Father Joseph Potthukandathil, the
Headmaster of Saint Josephs School where Philip
taught, had been rubbing up Philip in the wrong
way for a long time, years in fact, assuming that it
was every Catholic priests canonical burden to
bring the lost sheep back to the fold. Philip not only
refused to accept the priests gospel but also cocked
a snook at it by guzzling peg after peg of brandy
sitting in the Marbaniang Bar that stood just a
hundred metres away from the church where the
priest who dreamt of himself as the Saviour of all
the lost sheep in his parish was celebrating the
Sunday evening mass.
When Father Joseph did not succeed in his
pastoral efforts vis-a-vis Philip-the-black-sheep, he
enlisted the support of the entire parish. He got
them to treat Philip with contempt. Make him
realise that the devil has conquered his soul,

75

preached Father Joseph to his faithful flock, and

treat him like a street dog so that he will feel the
thirst for Our Lords grace in his fiendish soul.
Praise the Lord! Alleluia! responded the faithful
flock.
The more Father Joseph and his faithful sheep
tried to induce in Philip the thirst for their Lords
grace, the more Philip drank brandy slouching in
Marbaniang Bar. The efforts of the priest and his
parishioners eventually succeeded and the lost
sheep became a street dog before evolving into a
devil. Devil, for Maria. Not for the people in the
parish.
When you lose in the marketplace, you come
home and boost your ego by beating your wife.
Maria whimpered first, sulked later, shrieked in the
end. You are a devil. Father Joseph is right. The
devil has conquered your soul.
The drunken Philip staggered near to his
shrieking wife and raised his flaccid hand which fell
on Marias cheek with a force that surprised even
Philip. The new strength sent some blood rushing
to his brandy-sodden cheeks. Maria saw an
apparition of Father Josephs devil on her husbands
face and ran away in terror.
Father Josephs devil had left Philips soul by the
time he woke up the next morning. Im sorry, he
said to Maria planting a gentle kiss on the cheek
that borne the brunt of his devil the previous
evening.

76

Why do you drink? asked Maria with fond

longing. When you dont drink youre such a nice
person.
Philip didnt know what to say. How do you
survive in the world of Potthukandathils without
some defence mechanism such as brandy? He
didnt articulate the thought, however.
In the evening he came home from Saint
Josephs School and declared, Were going to
Shimla next week. Start packing.
Maria shrieked, sulked and whimpered.
They had very little possessions. One thing that
the ascetics and the alcoholics have in common is
paucity of material possessions. It was not hard for
Maria to pack up the possessions. What was hard
was thinking about the future that lay ahead.
Shillong to Shimla. What difference will that
make? One hill to another. The conversion had to
take place within, inside the soul, she remembered
Father Josephs refrain. Nothing had changed
inside Philip. The faithful flock continued to sing
alleluias to the Lord.
An old friend of Philip had arranged a teaching
post for Philip in Shimla. Life carried on. Not just
as usual. Much better. Far better, realised Maria.
She did not feel the need to go to any church. There
was peace in their home. Joy came trickling down
in the simple forms of an ordinary life uninterfered
by priests and their gods.

77

Marias contentment received the most brutal

shock when Philip came home one day from school
reeking of whisky. He used to drink a peg or two
occasionally and Maria had no objection to it. But
this was different.
Hes here, mumbled Philip when she asked
what made him drink like a fool.
Who?
Potthu-kandathil. Father Joseph had been
transferred as the parish priest in the church near to
the place where Philip and Maria lived.
So what? Why should we bother?
Why bother? Philip looked at her. She saw the
fury that was rising to his face from somewhere
deep within. The fury darkened his face. It
replaced the soddenness of the whisky. Why
bother? he asked again. Do you think I have
forgotten it all? The damned priest and his faithful
flock running after the lost sheep?
Maria watched in terror Philips face contorting
fiendishly with hatred.

78

A Ghost and a Secret

A few years ago, I was holidaying in Kerala.
One of the many journeys found me reaching the
sleepy little town nearest to my home late in the
night. The last bus to the village had left three
hours ago. A couple of auto-rickshaws waited
languidly for weary passengers. I was not weary
and I decided to walk. The few drinks I had just
had along with a light dinner roused up the romantic
spirit in me. I thought of the winding village road
lined with a variety of trees on both the sides.
The sound of cicadas kept me company as soon
as I left behind the lights of the town. There were
very few street lights. Fireflies danced mirthfully
teasing me. The moon shone brightly in the sky and
the beams filtered through the leaves of the trees
casting weird patterns on the road. Occasionally a
dog barked from some veranda and then went to
sleep again.
The village cemetery lay a few hundred metres
from my home. As I passed by the cemetery I saw a
figure standing in the middle of the narrow road
bathed in the moonlight. It did not move at all. The
whisky was still playing with the spirits within me
and I felt unusually enthralled by the moonlight.
Hi, I said. Nice moonlight, eh? Whisky has
this magical ability to strip one of inhibitions.

79

Hi, the man responded. His voice sounded

metallic. I continued to walk but was stopped by
what he said, What are you searching for?
Nothing, I said. Im going home. He came
and stood right in front of me. It was then that I
noticed his face. It was positively ugly. Menacing.
Diabolic. Or maybe I was mistaken. Was it anguish
that distorted his face thus? Pain can warp ones
facial features beyond our imaginations.
I smiled at him. I have this habit in my genes. I
smile at almost anybody and everybody. I can
smile at stones too.
Arent you frightened? he asked.
Well, should I be?
I am a ghost.
Oh, glad to meet you, I stretched out my hand
for a friendly shake. He reciprocated with a growl
that revealed his misshapen teeth.
I am a ghost, he repeated.
I suppose you are. Can I help you?
You are supposed to be frightened of me.
OK, if you wish ... Im feeling frightened. I
tried my best to look frightened. I had a strong
belief in those days that no creature on earth could
be more dangerous than human beings. I didnt
know how an immaterial spirit could be dangerous.
If you are not frightened then what use am I as a
ghost? he said that more to himself than to me.

80

Is frightening others the only purpose in the life

of a ghost? I asked.
Ghosts are used to that. Used to people being
frightened. If you dont feel frightened by me, then
I must feel threatened by you.
Why? That was a strange logic but it struck
me as quite rational.
One beings fear is anothers sustenance.
Why dont you go to sleep just like other human
beings who are...? I changed the topic intentionally
though I couldnt bring myself to use the word
dead. Why do you walk around instead of...
Im searching.
For what?
I dont know. Thats why I need your help.
How can I help you to find out what youre
searching for?
All my life I was searching.
Not knowing what?
He did not answer. Isnt life a futile search? I
wondered.
Whats it like ... after ... I didnt know how to
put it.
After death, you want to say?
Exactly. I patted his back to alleviate the pain
possibly caused by the word. His back felt like icy
mist. We had sat down on the low wall that
separated the cemetery from the road.

81

I dont know, he said rather helplessly.

Unless I end my search, I may never know. He
paused a while and then said, But theres
something I can tell you that youll find interesting.
The secret of happiness in life. It has something to
do with search.
Tell me, I said without concealing my
eagerness.
He groaned. Somewhere a cock had crowed.
Kalan kozhi, I said to myself. The crow of the cock
at an unusual hour in the night is a herald of the god
of death, according to the folklore in the village.
I have to go now. Come tomorrow night. I will
tell you the secret. He vanished in a moment.
I forgot the whole incident the next morning and
failed to keep the rendezvous in the night. But the
night after that the crow of the Kalan kozhi
reminded me of the ghost. I got up from bed and
walked towards the cemetery. And waited for the
ghost. He did not come.

82

Mayank Passes
Mayank had been through countless admission
tests. The worried look on his mothers face had
become a source of guilt for the little boy.
Im sorry, mom, he consoled his mother. He
didnt know what else to say. The way she looked
at him with so much pity in her eyes made him feel
guilty, guilty of being alive, guilty of having been
born.
Mayank was lucky that his father was so busy
with his job in the city that he lacked the luxury of
the time for worrying about his son. Otherwise how
would he bear to see two dear faces carrying an
endless worry named Mayank? Mother was a
teacher in Ananda Vidyashram which belonged to
Phenomenananda Baba and faced the threat of
extinction.
Mayank was a class 3 student of Ananda
Vidyashram. But when the new session started
there were only a handful of students all together in
the school. Phenomenananda Baba was not
interested in running the school. The school was
started by his great, great grandfather, Anantananda
Baba, as part of his ashram so that wholesome
education would be provided free to the children of
the locality. The Babas who succeeded brought
about various reforms in the school according to the
needs of the times. The regular rise in the fees,
removal of certain facilities and closing down of

83

sections were some such reforms. Now the school

itself faced demolition because Phenomenananda
Babas increasing number of rich devotees required
parking space for their cars. Mayanks mother did
not want her son to be left in the lurch halfway
through the academic session. So she sought
admission for him in any of the reputed public
schools in the city.
Mayank failed in every admission test. Each test
seemed to add a new wrinkle on his mothers
forehead. Each test carried his mother to more and
more idols in the temple complex of
Phenomenananda Babas ashram. Mothers purse
became lighter; the temples donation boxes were
the gainers.
When the letter from the hundredth school came,
Mother said, No, we wont open it here. Well
take this letter to the temple and open it in front of
the gods. Mayank, his head weighed down by the
guilt of being such a burden to his mother,
accompanied Mother to Phenomenananda Babas
temple complex. The myriad gods waited to be
appeased. Mother went from one to the other
offering prayers and aratis, tears dropping down her
cheeks, the smoke of hope rising from the lamp in
offertory tray. Mayank followed her with folded
arms.
Having appeased all the gods with whatever was
in Mothers hands including the last coin in her
purse, Mother opened the letter from the Hundredth
Public School.

84

A ray of light descended on her face. The gods

and goddesses were now pleased with them. She
hugged Mayank. Didnt I say the gods were
kind?
A monstrous bulldozer was droning along
through the gate of Ananda Vidyashram.

85

Michael and the Witch

Michaels nights were haunted by the woods.
The woods were vanishing from real lands. They
were encroached upon by people who knew how to
bribe elected leaders. Thus residential apartments
and health resorts replaced the woods. Godmen and
Ammas replaced the tree nymphs and the elves.
The woods were lovely, dark and deep. Michael
had no promises to keep or miles to go before he
could sleep. In fact, sleep had deserted him.
Nymphs and elves haunted his nocturnal
wakefulness. The woods beckoned him.
Not all the forests were swallowed by human
greed. Michael lived at the edge of the greed. His
village was yet to be sold to builders and
developers. It would be sold soon, however. An
Adventure Park would replace the village.
Michael drank the last bit of the distilled brew
left in the bottle, mounted his cycle and went off
whistling all the way to where the builders and
bulldozers had not reached yet. The moon was
shining brightly in the midnight sky boosting the
brewed intoxication in his veins.
He parked his cycle outside the huge wall of the
last reach of development and walked into the
woods. A peacock shrieked a welcome. You can
experience life as a terror or you can experience it
as a wonder, said the peacock. Michael pinched
himself.

86

Who are you? Michael asked looking at the

stooping old woman who appeared mysteriously in
front of him.
Viola, the witch, she said with a grin that had
no match with anything that Michael had seen
hitherto.
Why do you witches insist on looking so
horrible? asked Michael.
If we dont look horrible will we be witches?
Havent your poets and story tellers given us our
shapes?
Cant you change them? I mean the shapes, not
the poets and story tellers. Michael knew it was
easier to convert rocks and monsters than poets and
novelists.
How will you recognise us if we change
shapes?
Try and see, said Michael as if identity had
nothing to do with appearances.
You are funny, said the witch.
OK, be my guest. Smile a bit.
The witch decided to cooperate. But her smile
was terribly warped.
Michael felt pity for her. You need my help, I
think. He held her close to him and planted a very
affectionate kiss on her lips.
Hey! What are you doing? We are not
characters in some fairy tale. Do you think youre

87

some princely knight turning an ugly witch into a

princess charming with a magical kiss?
Youre already looking better, you know!
exclaimed Michael.
True, Im feeling better, said the witch.
So Im your princely knight!
But Im no princess charming. She shammed
coyness.
Youre still pretending, thats why.
It takes time to change really.
Whos asking you to change?
You!
I only told you to feel better.
Will you come tomorrow too?
If it will help you feel better, I will. But
eventually you wont need me. Why dont you
walk with me to the edge of the forest? I have to go
home now.
And they walked. Whistling mirthfully. Talking
like old friends who had met after a long time.
You know what? said Viola when they reached
the edge of the forest. I feel like leaving the forest
and coming to live in the city.
Oh, no! Michael didnt know what to say.
After the initial hesitation born of shock, he said,
When I entered this forest the peacock told me
something.
Viola waited to hear it.

88

You can experience life as a terror or you can

experience life as a wonder.
Viola liked that.
Good night. Sweet dreams, he planted another
gentle kiss on her lips.
Violas was still wondering which to choose:
terror or wonder.

89

Sacrifice
Im going. Umar said without looking at
anyone. Without looking he could see the tear
drops welling in the eyes of his wife and the
relatives who had come to his home either that
morning or the previous evening.
His wife had been forcing him to take at least one
more person along with him. He was going for the
first time to such a faraway place. Srinagar was at
the other end of the country. It was a long journey
from Ernakulam to Jammu Tawi by train and from
there by bus to Srinagar. Umar wanted to be alone
all the way.
Allah! He let out a small prayer as he
embarked the Jammu Tawi Express.
Sitting near the window he looked at Faisal who
was standing on the platform. Faisal had come with
him to the railway station. He wanted to be with
him till Srinagar and back.
Let me bear this pain myself, Umar had told
him.
It was not his pain alone, Umar knew. It was the
pain of a family, a community, a society. It was the
pain of mankind itself. And the pain was caused by
his son, Rahim.
Why did Rahim do it?
Umar could not
understand that.

90

Rahim had a diploma in electronics and was

fairly well employed in a firm. Umar was planning
his marriage when he began to notice certain
changes in his son. He was becoming moody and
melancholy. He started coming home very late in
the nights. He refused to answer his parents
questions about his delays. Faisal said that Rahim
was seen with some strangers on many occasions.
But Umar could never find out more.
Umar was a dealer in nutmeg. He would go
from house to house in the villages and buy nutmeg
from the households. He processed the nutmeg and
then sold it to the wholesale dealer to earn his profit.
He bought nutmeg from Hindus, Muslims,
Christians and anybody who had nutmeg to sell.
Nutmegs have no religion. In all the thirty-five
years of his job as a nutmeg dealer no one had ever
bothered about his being a Muslim. He was a
Muslim just as somebody else was a Hindu or a
Christian.
But Rahim had changed all that.
Umar lay on his berth thinking about Rahim, his
only son. About broken dreams. Broken hearts.
Until he slipped off into sleep.
His sleep was disturbed by nightmares. He saw
his son standing with a machine gun. He saw his
son firing bullets into the breasts of innocent people.
He heard the screams of the victims. He saw human
blood flowing like a river.
He saw Rahim
swimming in that river. Or was he drowning in it?

91

When he woke up in the morning the train was

standing still at a railway station. A newspaper boy
came along and Umar bought a Malayalam
newspaper. The lead story was about the riots in
Bihar carried out by young men who were
protesting the attacks by Raj Thackerays men on a
group candidates who had gone to Mumbai for a
railway recruitment test.
Why is everyone fighting against everyone else?
Umar wondered. He could not understand it. He
was familiar with the gentle sway of nutmeg
branches in the soothing breezes that wafted
through villages. Was the breeze anyones private
property? Would people start fighting for the
breeze?
The journey from Jammu Tawi to Srinagar was
like a pilgrimage.
I am a pilgrim, Umar thought. A pilgrim whose
sacrifice will be made.
Umar managed to find out the office in the
address that had been given to him by the police
officer in his hometown.
We want you to identify a dead body, the
police officer in the Srinagar office told Umar. It
is the body of a terrorist who was killed in a shootout. There is a suspicion that it is your son.
Umar saw the body.
Why did you, my son? Umars heart sobbed.
Yes, it is my son, Umar said in the little Hindi
and English that he knew.

92

You can take the body for the last rituals.

Umar looked at the officer for a moment.
No, Im not taking it.
Forgive me, son, Umar said in his heart, I cannot
pollute the soil with your hatred.

93

Coma
It was a phone call that Tony had never
expected.
Tony lived in the remote fringes of the country,
in a village called Shella in the MeghalayaBangladesh border. He taught at St Edmunds
Senior Secondary School there. Father Lawrence
de Mendez had offered him the job as an English
teacher in the senior secondary section as soon as
he had completed his post-graduation from NorthEastern Hill University, Shillong. It was difficult to
get qualified teachers in the remote areas of the
state, and Tony had imagined that as the reason for
his appointment without such formalities as the
interview.
Later on he came to suspect that through his
appointment Father Lawrence was trying to curry
favour with the Provincial, Father Varghese.
Father Lawrence was not quite happy with his
posting in what he called "the end of the world."
He wanted a transfer to some place that was "in
contact with civilisation."
Tony was a nephew of Father Varghese and the
latter was a little worried about the young man's
"character development."
"Something's not quite all right with Tony,"
Father Varghese confided in Father Lawrence
during one of his rare visits to Shella. "He is very
immature, childishly egotistic, and very moody

94

too. I think he'll be a failure in any profession. He

will not even survive in a proper town, forget about
cities."
Father Varghese thought that Tony was not
cultured enough for civilised societies. A part of
his being, "a major part, I should say," was still
untouched by any sense of refinement. "Maybe, he
will fit in a remote village like this," concluded
Father Varghese.
Father Lawrence thought, or appeared to think,
for a while and said, "There's a vacancy for an
English teacher here in our school. But there's also
a local candidate available. I can overlook the local
candidate if you desire so."
What he said about the local candidate was not
entirely true. It was not entirely false either. There
was a girl from the village who had just postgraduated along with Tony. But she was not
interested in teaching in a school, that too in "a
god-forsaken village."
Tony was not aware of all this. He was merely
given to understand that a job was available if he
was "genuinely interested."
He was not sure whether he was genuinely
interested. He knew that he was not interested in
studying any further and hence a job was the next
natural thing to do. And a job was being offered to
him on a platter. The place really didn't matter.
"One hell is as good as any other" must have been
what Tony thought.

95

Tony was a greater success as a teacher than

what Father Lawrence or Father Varghese had
bargained for. The students enjoyed his frolicsome
ways (which the Fathers, obviously, regarded
"clownish"). Tony was a failure "as a human
being," according to both the Fathers.
Father Lawrence thought Tony was sub-human,
"more like an animal than a man."
"He lives by his instincts," thought Father
Lawrence. "No thoughts about tomorrow, no
thoughts about what's beyond here and now. That's
how animals live."
Tony's life in Shella acquired a routine,
however. As soon as he got his salary in the
beginning of the month he would catch the single
bus from the village to Shillong and return in the
evening by the same bus, a few bottles of whisky
and a few books in his bag. When the whisky was
exhausted in the course of the month, Tony would
take recourse to khiat, a local brew. A similar kind
of pattern emerged in his eating habit too. The
month would begin with dohsiar, chicken, and end
with dohjem, the cheapest non-vegetarian dish, in
the tiny eatery of the village.
Father Lawrence, like most Fathers of the
Church, possessed the quality of omniscience in
matters related to his proteges (or victims, as the
case sometimes would be). And omniscience
comes with a great responsibility: 'the burden of the
omniscient', you might say, the burden of having to
set matters right. Father Lawrence religiously took

96

upon himself the burden of reforming the brute in

the imperilled soul of this God's creation called
Tony. And he got the sanction for his missionary
zeal from his Provincial.
Father Lawrence counselled Tony in the subtlest
ways possible. The intelligent do not respond
positively to overt counselling, Father Lawrence
knew. (Of course, Father Lawrence thought Tony
to be intelligent.) When his overtures failed to
achieve any palpable change in Tony's character,
Father Lawrence sought external help. Father
Cyriac from Cherrapunjee parish was brought to
Shella to deliver a fiery sermon on the seven deadly
sins of lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and
pride. Father Lawrence was quite certain that Tony
possessed most of these deadly evils which slowly
but surely drag one's soul to eternal damnation. He
had tested Tony in many ways to find out the
magnitude of his soul's degradation. For example,
wrath. Tony was quite short-tempered. Or greed.
Wasn't it sheer greed for alcohol that drove him to
Shillong every month and later to the local
brewery? Gluttony was concomitant with that
greed. (To be fair to Tony it should be said that he
really didn't eat like a glutton. He ate whatever was
available and what his wallet could afford.) His
refusal to attend the church on Sundays along with
the other faithful was traced to his pride. And
envy? Tony's refusal to admire the goodness in
others and his deep-rooted cynicism were the
evidence of his envy. The only deadly sin that he

97

was yet to fall into was lust. Father Lawrence had

tested Tony on that score too. He had asked a few
"reliable" young girls of the village to seduce
Tony. They didn't succeed, however. Father
Lawrence ascribed that to an infantile narcissism
because of which Tony couldn't escape his own
inflated ego. "Oh, my God!" sighed Father
Lawrence, "what a Herculean task have I taken
upon myself!"
Tony's perception of the whole matter, however,
was quite simple. He thought that Father
Lawrence 'Demented' was on a Father Var-goose
chase. So he joined the game in a spirit of frolic
sometimes. For example, when he was asked to
attend the Sermon on the Seven Deadly Sins, he
did attend. When he was asked to make his
confession to Father Cyriac, he agreed. Father
Cyriac didn't seem quite satisfied with Tony's
confession, though. He let out a profound sigh
when Tony had finished enumerating his sins and
answered in the affirmative to the question: "Is that
all?"
Close on the heels of Father's Cyriac's profound
sigh came the message from Father Lawrence that
Tony had a phone call.
Tony was surprised. No one had ever phoned
him during the one year he had spent in Shella.
The call was from his home in Kerala.
Tony's eldest brother, Mark, had suffered a
severe stroke. There was internal bleeding in the
head. The doctors succeeded in removing the clot

98

but Mark was in coma. Nothing could be said

definitively about his condition. Tony was asked to
rush home.
It was the end of the month. Tony's wallet had
already witnessed khiat and dohjem. Father
Lawrence gave him an advance from the next
salary and Tony started the long and tedious
journey from Shella to Shillong to Guwahati to
Ernakulam to Paramedu.
As the Guwahati-Thiruvananthapuram Superfast
train dragged itself sluggishly across the breast of
the vast country called India, Tony remembered his
brother Mark's achievements in the short period of
his life.
Mark had failed in class 7 three times before he
decided to bid goodbye to school. He then joined a
timber dealer as an assistant. Soon he became a
timber dealer himself. In a few years' time Mark
went on to become a successful real estate dealer.
He soon became the owner of a few noted rubber
estates. Then he expanded his business to the
construction sector. His first major construction, a
gargantuan multiplex, was under way when the
stroke put a brake on his apparently relentless
forward march.
When Tony reached the hospital Mark was still
in coma. The conqueror was now lying helplessly
in his bed, a lot of life-supporting equipments
attached to his body.
Tony went out of the room to the balcony. At
some distance he could see a whole vast area of

99

lush green vegetation in this God's Own Country

being marauded by huge bulldozers. The hoarding
said: 'Welcome to Eden Apartments - Your
Ultimate Paradise on Earth.'
Tony looked beyond. His eyes were searching
for the signboard of a bar, his ultimate paradise on
earth.

100

The Lights below the Darkness

Ms Shikha Bhat finally got what she had yearned
for a long time. She would have got it without so
much labour, though.
No one had realised the ultimate futility of
human endeavour better than Father Benedict. He
seldom took pains to achieve anything in life.
Whatever he had achieved so far had happened
quite naturally. Just like a river gathering, along its
meandering, whatever it contained.
No one can take away whatevers in your
destiny; no one can give you whats not in your
destiny, Father Benedict used to say.
Destiny had been quite generous with Father
Benedict. At least, thats what he thought. He was
a lecturer in English at the prestigious Christ King
College.
The students found his lectures
mesmerising. They also regarded him as a paragon
of human qualities. Father Benedict had reasons to
be a contented man. In the evenings destiny
benignly bestowed upon him two pegs of whiskey
and a few Gold Flake cigarettes. Father Benedict
was happy. If he wanted he could have more than
two pegs of whiskey per day and more cigarettes
too. But that would be like teasing destiny,
challenging it to play with you. Thats a dangerous
game which can wreck you. Antony and Cleopatra
committed that mistake. They crossed the limits
demarcated by destiny.

101

Ha ha ha
No, no one was laughing at Father Benedicts
theory about destiny. It was old Mr Jain taking his
usual evening walk in the garden near the lecturers
quarters. Mr Jains son, Rakesh Jain, was also a
lecturer in the English department.
Old Mr Jain let out quite a few loud laughs while
he walked in the evenings. Who was he laughing
at? Father Benedict had asked him once as he joined
him in his walk for a short while.
Old Mr Jain stopped leaning lightly on his
walking stick and looked at Father Benedict.
Laugh and the world laughs with you, said Old
Mr Jain very gravely. Dont you feel like laughing
when you hear me laugh?
Eventually Father Benedict found out that Old
Mr Jain started laughing this way after attending a
seminar that some Art of Living group had
conducted in the college auditorium. They were
told in the seminar that those who laughed lived
longer.
Old Mr Jains laughter was very
mechanical, though. Just a series of has. Like the
sounds produced by an old car that has ignition
problems.
On another occasion Father Benedict asked Old
Mr Jain how long he wanted to live.
Someone has told you that story about the Art of
Living seminar? That was Old Mr Jains response.
Isnt that right?

102

The Art of Living seminar gave me an excuse.

Old Mr Jain laughed. That was not the mechanical
laugh, though.
Father Benedict made it a habit to exchange a
few words with Old Mr Jain every day during the
latters laughter-punctuated evening walks.
Father Benedict has discovered the right
company, remarked Ms Shikha Bhat. She was
sitting in the canteen with her friend, Ms Ritika
from the Commerce department. He cannot spoil
an old man.
Do you mean to say spoiling old men is your
prerogative? retorted Father Benedict who was
sitting on the adjacent table, The Brothers
Karamazov open in his hands.
Keep your rotten tongue to yourself.
Wars of words were frequent among the
members of the English department. Literature is
about human passions. Maybe, thats why the
English lecturers were all quite passionate about
almost everything they said or did. Currently
passions were running very high because the post of
the Head of the Department had become vacant and
there were, apparently at least, three contenders to
the post.
The previous HoD was asked to leave. Passions
were the reason again. He could not control his
passion for a girl student. Married though he was
and with two adolescent children too, his passion
for the young girl overwhelmed him. He sent her

103

the amorous lines of John Donne and Andrew

Marvell by SMS. When the poor girl could not bear
the weight of the antique love any more she took the
matter to the principal. Father Lawrence, the
principal, was not only a stickler for rules and
decorum but also a man of high moral scruples.
The lines of Donne and Marvell, which he read with
considerable difficulty from the tiny screen of the
mobile phone, sent shock waves through his spine.
Father Lawrence refused to accept Father
Benedicts explanation that the poets were part of
the literature syllabus taught in the class by the
HoD. The HoD was given the last and final
warning. But love is blind. It heeds no warnings.
The waters of loves passions will overflow, if not
burst, the dams of warnings. To cut a long story
short, the HoDs chair became vacant.
Christ King College belonged to a minority
community.
Hence it enjoyed certain legal
privileges. By one such privilege Father Benedict
could become the HoD though Dr Rakesh Jain and,
to some extent and by certain twists of the
regulations, Ms Shikha Bhat had better claims to the
post than Father Benedict.
The rumours on the campus said that Ms Shikha
Buttocks (as she was called by some of her
perverted students behind her extraordinarily
protuberant backside) claims to the post were
limited to her hobnobbing with certain people in
power and rubbing against their limbs the
prominently protruding organs of her body which

104

was otherwise well-shaped by the treadmill. That

was not entirely fair to her, however. She knew by
heart the whole of Websters Duchess of Malfi and
was an expert on feminist literary theories. She
believed that all men were like Ferdinand and his
brother the Cardinal, greedy for wealth and power
and intolerant of women rising to positions of some
significance.
Though Dr Rakesh Jain was the genuine
candidate for the HoD he was not interested in the
post. He was having troubles with his daughter who
was studying in class 12. A few months back she
had won the Star Singer competition conducted by a
popular TV channel which entitled her to a crore
rupees. The judges of the competition were the
people who watched the programme. They voted
for the singer whom they considered the best on the
mobile phone connections given solely by the
company that sponsored the Star Singer programme.
Dr Jain knew that his daughter, Mallika, had spent a
huge sum of money for canvassing votes. She even
provided people with new mobile phones just to
vote for her. Worse, she offered herself as a
savoury dish to many of her friends who canvassed
passionately for her and eventually won her the Star
Singer title and a crore rupees.
Dr Jain, a pure vegetarian and a conservative,
was unable to digest his daughters ultra-liberal
tastes which spread in diverse directions after she
became an icon for the youth in the city. The
evenings found her in the Hard Rock Caf with a

105

group of boys, her breath stinking of tequila. When

she returned home late in the night her Tommy
Hilfiger T-shirt bore a strange mixture of body
odours and her Gucci handbag concealed many a
secret.
Dr Jain became more and more moody and Old
Mr Jains laughs became more mechanical and less
frequent.
Father Benedict does not deserve to be a
lecturer, let alone the HoD, declared Ms Shikha.
Hes a disgrace to the teaching fraternity, I mean
teaching community. She had an aversion to the
word fraternity as it carried a masculine flavour.
What makes you think so? The principal
wanted to know.
Hes an alcoholic.
Have you ever seen him drunk?
But everyone knows it.
Has anyone ever seen Father Benedict drunk?
You cant ignore peoples opinions. They also
say he smokes a lot.
Im afraid, Ms Bhat, your ears are a trifle too
selective.
Nowadays theres another rumour too.
I hope you have not originated it.
Father Benedict has some unholy alliance with
Mallika Jain, the Star Singer, said Ms Bhat
ignoring Father Lawrences taunt. The girl was

106

seen coming out of Father Benedicts room on more

than one occasion by many people.
Many people go into Father Benedicts room
and they come out too. Whats wrong with that?
But Mallika and her father are not like other
people.
Her father? Father Lawrence was visibly
shocked. No one would point an accusing finger at
that man.
How can you appoint as HoD a person who
allows his daughter to be a slut?
Father Lawrence looked into the eyes of Ms Bhat
for a while. Then he said, Good day, Ms Bhat.
Ms Bhat met Ms Ritika at the latters residence in
the evening. Having condemned the principals
arrogance in unequivocal terms, she said to her
friend, Let him see, one day Ill be sitting on that
chair, the principals chair.
Perhaps you shouldnt have levelled such a
serious allegation against Father Benedict, said Ms
Ritika. Everyone knows Father Benedict is a good
counsellor. Hes only trying to help out that girl.
Yeah, may be, but counselling can turn in any
direction at any time, you see. Or we can make it
turn. She winked an eye. If you keep gunpowder
and a matchbox close by, it neednt take very long
to start a conflagration.
But Father Benedict is a wet matchbox, dear.
They laughed. They chattered.

107

When I came in I saw you booking an air ticket

on the Internet, said Ms Bhat. Going places?
Keep it to yourself, Im going to New York.
Wow! Just you? Whats the idea?
To bring an ingenious gift for my husband on
our twentieth wedding anniversary.
Hey, Im dying to know, tell me.
Plastic surgery. To tighten it. Hubby says its
become too loose. And in New York now theres a
procedure, they can make it absolutely virgin!
Another miracle of science!
Ms Bhat, like many other people, was aware that
there were too many men in Ms Ritikas life. Her
husband was a rich industrialist who had to spend
many nights away from home - for business-related
reasons, he said. He loved the body massages
provided by pretty nubile girls in the spas of elite
resorts.
When Ms Bhat returned to the lecturers quarters
Father Benedict was walking with Old Mr Jain in
the lawn. Counsellor with his grandfather-in-law,
she mumbled to herself with a twisted smile.
Dont worry, Father Benedict said to Old Mr
Jain, Mallika will understand. Give her some
time.
Father Benedict didnt want to tell the old man
that his grand-daughter had started experimenting
with drugs. The old man had already lost even his
mechanical laughs.

108

I doubt, Benedict, said Old Mr Jain. Shes

coming to you merely because we all force her. The
fact is she remains obsessed with herself.
Obsession with oneself is the beginning of ones
doom, Father Benedict was delivering his lecture
on Antony and Cleopatra to the final year students.
When Antony said, Let Rome in Tiber melt, and
the wide arch of the rangd empire fall! Here is my
space, he was ignoring the whole wide world
outside his own lust. And where did it lead him? In
his own words, to Ten thousand harms.
Ten thousand harms.
Mallika was slipping into ten thousand harms.
Mr Jains moods were becoming unpredictable. Old
Mr Jain had lost his laughter and now he was losing
his evening walks; his health was deteriorating
rapidly. Ms Ritika was in New York getting her
hymen reinstated. Like Cleopatra destiny had
infinite variety.
Father Benedict drank his second and last peg of
the day and lit his last cigarette of the day. He
opened The Brothers Karamazov.
Remember, young man, unceasingly, that the
science of this world, which has become a great
power, has, especially in the last century, analysed
everything divine handed down to us in the holy
books. After this cruel analysis the learned of this
world have nothing left of all that was sacred of old.
But they have only analysed the parts and

109

overlooked the whole, and indeed their blindness is

marvellous
Tomorrow Ms Shikha Bhat will be officially
appointed the Head of the Department. Father
Benedict had requested the concerned authorities
not to burden him with any more official
responsibilities. Moreover, destiny seemed to be
holding out many more important positions in store
for Ms Bhat.
Father Benedict closed the novel, got up, walked
to the window and looked out. Darkness had
enveloped the sky. He could see the powerful
beams of the headlights hurled by the vehicles that
rushed and screeched on the road at some distance.

110

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star

The first thing that Rohan noticed when he
entered the campus of New India Public School was
a network of cables and wires. Telephone wires,
Internet cables, TV cables and intercom wires
dangled in the air mingling effortlessly with one
another. Above them all lay stretched tight and
rather majestically the electric wires.
Wires played a vital role in New India Public
School. In the hostel they did play an undeniably
vital role as Rohan realised within a few days. As
soon as the Supervisor, Mr Rathode, left after
making a perfunctory but imperious announcement
through the PA system that it was the lights-off
time, all lights would go off, for some time at least,
and then the wires would come alive. There was a
frantic rush to the switchboard by the students who
wanted to charge their mobile phones. Mobile
phones were forbidden to the students in New India
Public School, a fully residential school for boys
for overall development of your childs
personality. But every student seemed to possess a
mobile phone. At least, in Rohans dorm everyone
except himself and Rishi had one. While the mobile
phones were being charged the students busied
themselves with various tasks such as peeling
potatoes and slicing them for frying finger chips or
getting Maggi two-minute noodles from some
hidden stores; all in the dim light of the night lamp.

111

All the while there were wires dangling from the

ears of the students, wires connected to miniature
MP3 or MP4 players tucked safely somewhere in
their bodies.
Multi-tasking, Devesh said to Rohan.
Learning to do many things simultaneously is the
secret of success.
Whats this strange smell coming from your
mouth? Rohan asked Devesh.
Want to try? Devesh dug his hand into his
pocket and pulled out a golden sachet.
Whats it?
Paan Parag. Paan ka oblivion and parag ka
elation. Try a little.
But, Rohan was stunned, this is not good.
He wanted to say not allowed, but he knew he
would be ridiculed if he said it.
Devesh laughed and said to the others, Hey,
listen, know what? Paan Parag is not good, says
Rohan the goody-buddy.
Good is bad and bad is good, buddy, said
Aditya. Aditya was an extremely stout boy, all of
six feet in height. Rohan always felt intimidated by
him, by his sheer size.
Give him a dose of your kick, Aditya, said
Naveen.
Want it, baby? Aditya asked.

112

Take it easy, man, said Rishi, dont give him

too many shocks at one go. Rishi was lying in his
bed which was next to Rohans.
Rishi was a small boy and Rohan liked him. He
was amiable too.
Why do they want to kick me? Rohan asked
Rishi feebly.
No one is going to kick you, answered Rishi
very gently. Kick means drinks. Aditya takes a
peg every night.
Peg? Whats that?
Whiskey. You know whats that?
Rohan did not answer, but he knew what whiskey
was: the drink of perverted people.
Rohan came from a small town in Bihar where
his father ran a restaurant. When he completed his
tenth class his father said it was better to study in
Delhi where he would later get plenty of
opportunities for higher studies and eventually
better jobs. Delhi is the place where a boy will
grow into a man, he had added. He had found out
from his friends in Delhi that New India Public
School was an excellent residential school
exclusively for boys, with a totally vegetarian mess.
Walking on the tessellated drive from the main gate
of the school to the office, his father had said to
Rohan pointing to the cross-shaped tiles below their
feet, Rohan, these are the stepping stones to your
success. Rohans eyes, however, were soon lost in

113

the wires that seemed to dangle everywhere in the

air.
Someone switched on one of the lights. Mr
Rathode would now be fast asleep. The boys were
now free to do whatever they wanted. Rohan
noticed that Naveen had disappeared from the dorm
as usual.
Where does Naveen go almost every night?
Rohan asked Rishi.
Rishi smiled. Promise you wont tell anyone.
Ma kasam, promise. Rohan had learnt that
swearing by ones mother was the accepted style in
New India.
Naveen goes to Ms Khuranas residence.
Ms Khurana was one of the teachers. One day
Rohan happened to refer to her as Mrs Khurana and
she, overhearing it, rushed to him and said, Ms not
Mrs, Ms M S is the modern way of referring to a
woman. Mrs is outdated. Never refer to me as Mrs
Khurana. You understand, Rohan?
Rohan understood later from his friends that Ms
Khurana was separated from her husband. Shes
not satisfied with one man, one of the boys said.
Shell be happy to entertain you, Rohan, said
another, you look so innocent.
What does he do there? Rohan asked Rishi
about Naveen.
Well, he likes to eat non-veg.

114

You mean, Ms Khurana prepares non-veg and

serves him?
Maybe, she doesnt prepare it herself, she buys
it from outside probably.
But this is a vegetarian school
that gives you overall development, said
Aditya who was listening to the conversation.
I have noticed that Naveen comes back only in
the morning, just a few minutes before the wake-up
call, said Rohan ignoring Aditya.
Come on, Rohan, said Rishi. When will you
understand?
Rohan did not understand many things in New
India Public School. It confused him so much that
he finally gave a call to his father and asked to him
to take him back to his hometown.
Wait till I speak to your Housemaster, said his
father after listening to Rohans list of woes.
A few days later Rohan was summoned by Mr
Patnaik, the Housemaster.
Mr Patnaik was also a teacher. All housemasters
in New India Public School were also teachers in
the school. In the evenings they spent some time in
the hostels listening to the problems of the students.
Usually the students did not take their complaints to
any authority; they had their own way of settling
scores among themselves. So the Housemasters sat
in their offices for some time after dinner and left
for their residences after taking an occasional round
in the hostel. But Mr Patnaik was different. He did

115

not sit in the office. He sat in one dorm or the other

and chatted with the students for some time. Mr
Patnaik was one of the few teachers that Rohan
began to take a liking to. Rishi had once said to
Rohan, Patnaik sirs one smile is enough for me to
light up my whole day.
Rohan, why dont you come for a short walk
with me? asked Mr Patnaik after chatting a while
with the boys in the dorm as usual.
Rohan was surprised.
Shall I come too, Sir? asked Rishi.
Sorry, Rishi, its a little personal, Im afraid,
said Mr Patnaik.
Your father tells me that you are unhappy in
New India, said Mr Patnaik as the two of them
walked on the long stretch of playgrounds.
Mr Patnaik entered Rohans mind and probed it.
Eventually Rohan laid bare his heart and soul to his
teacher and Housemaster.
Look at these walls, Rohan, said Mr Patnaik
pointing at the wall that circled the campus. Do
you think they can keep all the evil out there, away
from the campus? We are quite far away from the
city, at the end of the city, in fact. Those trees you
see there during the daytime are in fact a jungle
beyond which is Haryana. Does this distance from
the city keep us far away from evil?
Rohan did not quite understand what exactly the
teacher was trying to explain.

116

All the evil lies here, said Mr Patnaik putting

his right palm on his chest just above the heart. Do
you know how much of this vast universe, he
pointed at the sky, is dark matter?
No, sir.
Ninety percent.
An overwhelming ninety
percent. Theres so little light in the universe, so
few stars. Look at the sky.
Rohan looked. A few dots of twinkling light
scattered here and there. The sky in his hometown
had more stars than these, he thought.
From Delhi city you wont be able to see any
stars, said Mr Patnaik as if he had read Rohans
thoughts. But thats a different matter. Here there
are at least some stars visible to us. Why dont you
also be a star, Rohan?
Rohan looked at his teacher confused.
You told me about all the darkness you saw in
the school, at least in your dorm. But there are some
stars even here. Even in your dorm. Rishi, for
example.
Yes, suddenly it occurred to Rohan that Rishi
was quite different from the others. He did not
possess a mobile phone, he did not join the cooking
and eating orgies in the dorm, he did not complain
about anything.
Sir, you mean to say that you knew about all
that was happening in our dorm even before I told
you about them?

117

Mr Patnaik smiled. Rohan did not understand the

meaning of that smile.
Become a star and you wont feel like running
away from darkness, said Mr Patnaik patting
Rohan on the back. Go and join your friends now.
Its by staying with them that you will become a
star, not by running away. Remember, New India
community is a specimen of the society anywhere.
You should grow up into a man in the society, not
away from it.
Our babys got a new daddy, said Devesh as
Rohan entered his dorm.
Did daddy give you milk? asked Aditya.
Rohan felt disturbed by their questions as much
as by the malice in the way they looked at him.
Rishi looked at Rohan and winked. Though Rishis
look was different, it did not console Rohan a bit.
Aditya came and stood right in front, too close to
Rohans face and said menacingly, Look here,
baby, if you tell daddy anything about us well
puncture your balls, is that clear?
Rohan could not sleep. Not because his dormmates were busy with their usual nightly activities
but for some reason he did not know. He got up and
went out. He decided to take a stroll. The safest
place would be behind the hostel where no one
usually went. There were only some trees in that
little area between the hostel and the outer wall of
the school. As Rohan reached the end of the hostel
building he heard some muffled sounds. He stood

118

and listened. It was a strange sound indeed and yet

strangely familiar. Hiding himself behind the wall
of the hostel Rohan peeped. In the dim light of the
moon that filtered in through the leaves of the trees,
Rohan saw one boy standing bent down with his
hands on the wall and another boy standing as if his
waist was glued to the back of the bent boy. The
bent boy was naked below the waist and the
standing boys pyjama was lying at his feet like a
bizarre curlicue. The sound produced by the
standing boy reached a climax and came to a sudden
end. He withdrew himself and pulled up his pyjama.
The other boy too put on his pyjama which was
lying somewhere nearby. Rohan realised that the
boy who had stood bent was quite small, maybe
from class five or six, whereas the other one, Rohan
recognised, was from class twelve.
In a flash Rohan understood the meaning of what
he had witnessed. He was about to turn and go away
feeling revulsion when he heard, Whos that?
Even before he could answer anything Rohan
was caught by the back of his nightshirt.
Why did you come here? asked the tall boy.
I was just taking a walk.
Behnchod! Dont give me that shit. You were
spying on us?
Rohan did not answer.
Listen, fucker, the tall boy said wagging his
forefinger furiously, if you tell anyone what you
saw you wont leave this school with this little dick

119

in any useable condition, understand? And he

snapped his wagging finger on Rohans penis. Get
lost now. Vanish from here and dont show your
ugly mug here anymore.
Rohan did not look up at the sky to see if the
stars were still twinkling. He could feel something
darkening somewhere deep within him as he walked
back to the dorm where his mates would be busy
frying finger chips or cooking two-minute noodles.
Tomorrows Saturday, Aditya was telling the
others. Shall we plan an outing?
Rohan listened. They were talking about jumping
over the wall and going to the city after dinner.
Rohan had already learnt that an auto-rickshaw was
always available if the students wanted to make a
nocturnal trip to the city. All they had to do was
give a call on their mobile phone. Mr Rathode had
already been bribed by Devesh, so he wouldnt peep
into the dorm tonight during his usual round. If Mr
Patnaik came along Rishi would tell him that the
boys were in another hostel discussing the lessons
for Mondays class test.
Hi, baby, said Aditya who suddenly noticed
Rohan. Where were you? Went to drink daddys
milk?
Hey, Rohan, why dont you join us tomorrow?
Well watch a late night movie at PVR Priya,
collect packed burgers and eat them on the way
back. Devesh said. Just fun. And youll grow up a
little too. Why dont you join us?

120

Let me think, said Rohan.

Oye, said Aditya. Thats a good sign. Our
babys started thinking, thinking of joining us.
What do you mean let me think? Rishi asked.
Nothing, said Rohan. Theres nothing to
think. I have decided. Ill go with them.
Im not going, said Rishi. You can stay back if
you wish.
I know, but Im going.
The next day Rishi tried to understand what was
perturbing Rohan. Rohan refused to speak.
In the evening Rohan learned how and where to

jump over the wall, creeping through the barbed

wires that were already displaced conveniently by
experienced wall-jumpers.
Aditya, Devesh and Rohan crept slowly towards the
wall with the barbed wires. Naveen was walking in the
shadow of the trees towards the residence of Ms
Khurana.
Its so dark, said Rohan as he stood outside the
wall unable to see anything for a moment.
Youll get used to it, said Devesh as he held out a
hand to guide Rohan.

Rohan did not take the hand extended to him. He

was not a baby, was he? However, there was
something deep down in his heart that was pulling
him back. But he had to go ahead; this time, at
least. As he sat in the auto-rickshaw that was
waiting at a little distance, his gaze went up for a
moment to the sky. A few stars were still visible.

121

The Nomad learns morality

I happened to be in Kerala when the news of
Cherians murder reached me. Cherian was what I
would call a friend of mine when I was working as a
teacher in Assam. It took some time for me to
realise that he had not considered me a friend,
however. For him I was a kind of entertainment.
He loved to call me to the residential school of
which he was the proprietor, director, manager and
principal. He would give me brandy to drink and
food to eat. And even a place to sleep if I wished
not to go back home. I had none waiting for me at
home and hence could spend the night anywhere. I
was a gypsy of sorts who considered it the sign of
an intellectual to claim a cosmopolitan nomadism
for ones identity. Cherian thought I was a like a
buffoon in a circus troupe: born to entertain, though
I perceived myself a very serious thinker, a
philosopher, and even an intellectual. I put the
intellectual at a higher level because the intellectual
thinks he has a duty to save the world while the
others in the list are less harmful. Entertainment is
sure to follow when there is such a contradiction in
perceptions. Cherian entertained himself with the
buffoonery that emanated copiously from a
personality that was not restrained by any sense of
social niceties. I was, on the other hand, under the
impression that jettisoning social niceties was the
ultimate sign of the intellectual.

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Life teaches us lessons the hard way when we

refuse or fail to learn those lessons from parents,
teachers, religion, and other easy sources of facile
wisdom. Cherian was one of the many people who
taught me those lessons eventually. They taught me
that life was a very serious affair and I could not sail
through it with the facile mirth of a moron playing
in a rubber coracle watched over by parents
standing on the side of the shallow pool. By the
time I learnt those lessons I had become such a
laughing stock in the town that I thought it wise to
put into practice my cosmopolitan nomadism and I
migrated to Delhi.
While I perceived myself as the intellectual with
the potential to provide all kinds of panacea for the
worlds ills, people like Cherian acted as the
Messiahs who redeemed the souls of people like
me. Thats why the news of Cherians murder
made me shudder. He was killed by one of his
workers, James told me.
Bejoy, the worker, was from Assam. He had
come to Kerala along with many others from his
native land in search of jobs. It was not only
Cherians knowledge of Assamese but also Bejoys
nature that brought the young man closer to
Cherian. Bejoy was a soul to be redeemed in
Cherians Messianic vision. Bejoy was what you
would describe as amoral, said James. He was
innocent and crude, like children who were not
brought up properly. He loved the earth and was
earthy. Nothing beyond the earth mattered to him.

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He had some notions about god, however,

James went on. His father had taught him that their
tribe had descended directly from some God. The
tribes celestial flight had descended in Varanasi.
But they soon found out that the flight had landed
on a wrong turf and started moving northwards.
Later many kings and conquerors expanded their
kingdoms and drove the tribal people more and
more towards north and pushed them uphill.
So, Bejoy is a nomad by the legacy of his tribe, I
mused.
Bejoys father had taught him that their people
were always pushed around by someone or
another, James was telling me. First the God, then
the Gaur kings, followed by whom they later called
the plainspeople. Then came new kings like tea
estate owners, oil diggers and business people all of
whom had much to take away from the land and
gave little in return.
Bejoys people adapted themselves to their new
worlds as they descended on them. Probably they
became meek and submissive, said James in the
process.
But there has been a lot of militancy among the
tribal people in Assam in the last three decades, I
pointed out.
True. But militants form a tiny fraction of any
community. What about the majority?
James contended that the majority of people are
peace lovers. Who creates strife, riots and wars?

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A handful of people with political ambitions or

those with criminal proclivities. The majority want
to live in peace. Thats why they keep moving
away from disturbances. Look at the number of
Assamese tribal people in Kerala. Youd be amazed
to see them even in the remote villages of Kerala
doing all sorts of works.
Bejoy was rather peculiar, said James. He did
not differentiate between good and evil. People are
what they are because they are born as what they
are. A man does not become a wanderer; he is born
a wanderer. Thieves are born. So are saints. Some
people may pretend to be religious but may be
thieves at heart. Some may pretend to be atheists
but may be deeply spiritual.
Did Bejoy say such things? I was surprised.
Oh no. Im describing it in my own words
based on my observations of Bejoy and what
Cherian told me occasionally.
Why did he kill Cherian? I was more interested
in that.
Yes, let me come to that. Cherian turned to
religion towards the end of his stay in Assam. He
began to interpret the Bible rather literally and
thought that the Armageddon was at hand. He
viewed
Islamic
terrorism
and
American
counterterrorism as the final war between evil and
good. James paused and then said in a low voice,
People say that Cherian was getting funds from
America to set up his new church.

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New church?
Yes, he founded a new church when he reached
Kerala having sold his school in Assam. The
Church of Revelation, he called it. He built a huge
church building and gathered quite a lot of
followers too. Again, people say that he bought the
followers with American money.
Where does Bejoy enter this story? I was
becoming impatient.
Bejoy did not become a member of Cherians
church much as he was persuaded to. If you believe
in god, youll have to believe in the devil too, he
said something like that.
Amazing, I blurted out. You remember Zorba,
the Kazantzakis character? I knew that James was
familiar with the novel.
I knew you would get that parallel. Yes, Bejoy was
somewhat like Zorba; he had an instinctual dislike of all
theories and theologies. People should not pervert
themselves with such things, he seemed to think.

You understand things, thats your problem, I

remembered Zorba telling his master. If you did
not understand so much youd see things more
clearly.
Bejoy was not happy with the way Cherian was
expanding his church. Cherian was buying up more
and more land. It was something like the conquests
made by the old kings. But the problem seems to
have risen when Cherian wanted to buy up one
particular plot of land whose owner was not willing
to sell it however high a price Cherian would offer.

126

John, the old man, lived alone in a house on that plot.

His children are all in America and they never visit him.
Cherian seems to have tried all kinds of strategies, tricks
and knavery to persuade John to shift to another place.
The old man did not budge. A few months back he was
found dead in his house. It was taken as natural death.
A few days after the death Cherians bulldozer entered
the plot.

Ok, but...
I know youre impatient to know about why
Bejoy killed Cherian.
It seems Bejoy knew
something about Johns death that nobody else
knew. It was not a natural death probably.
You mean... He was done in?
Im not sure. But something went wrong
between Cherian and Bejoy a few days back.
Cherians servants, none of whom understand
Assamese, say that there was a loud argument in
which Johns name was mentioned a number of
times and Cherian pulled out a pistol from
somewhere. The sight of the pistol infuriated
Bejoy. He snarled at Cherian like an enraged
animal and sprang on him before he could even
realise what was happening. It was Bejoy who
pulled the trigger.
No one knows why?
The police will find out, lets hope. But
somebody translated what Bejoy said as he was
taken away by the police. He said pointing at
Cherians dead body, He died because he taught
me morality.

127

BMW
Sheila could not sleep. She turned this way and
that in bed. Her husband was working on his
computer as usual to meet yet another deadline.
Life is about meeting deadlines these days, she
thought as she turned yet again letting the bed sheet
fall off her body. She could never sleep without a
bed sheet on her body, however hot the weather
might be.
Has little Robins angst entered my body like a
ghost? Sheila wondered. Robin was a student of
hers in class 4. Sheila was a teacher in a residential
school. Robin, one of her students, had lost his
usual cheer and grace in the last few days.
What happened to you, young man? Sheila
confronted Robin in the hostel before his bedtime.
The little boy wouldnt speak. He began to sob
instead.
Come on, tell me, whats the problem. I assure
you of a solution whatever the problem.
It took much cajoling and more tenderness to get
words through Robins sobs. They not believe,
Mam... Dad has a BMW, I say them. They make
fun...
So you want to prove to your friends that your
dad has a BMW, is that all?
He has, Mam. You also not believe?

128

I know, dear. I know that your dad has a BMW.

So why dont you ask him to come in that BMW to
meet you tomorrow, the Parents Visiting Day?
Dad too busy, Mam. Only Mum comes. In old
City Honda.
Well get your dad here, said Sheila
confidently though she was not sure how she would
do it.
She dialled the number of Robins Dad on her
mobile phone and he agreed to come the next day in
his BMW. Not a bad dad, thought Sheila who was
familiar with too many dads who would normally
need more cajoling and tenderness than her sons
and daughters.
Robin fell asleep in the cosy comfort of the
woollen blanket that protected him against a chill
that the air-conditioner could cause.
Teachers had no air-conditioners.
Sheilas
husband worked in an air-conditioned office. He
was a manufacturer of computer software for a
reputed firm which worked for Bill Gates. He met
deadlines every night. Sheila met curlicues every
day.
Her husband had finished his deadline. His
computer sang its turn off music.
When can we change our Maruti 800? Dont
we deserve a little better ... comfortable car?
Sheila asked when her husband came to sleep.
Can we discuss that on Sunday? Im tired.

129

Im on duty on Sunday. I work in a residential

school. And we have a residence because of my
job, dont forget that.
Her husband sighed.
Suppose I buy a new car, said her husband.
Where will you go? When on earth do you get the
time to go anywhere?
We can at least show the people that we have a
good car, said Sheila.
Sigh, again.
How obnoxious, these sighs,
thought Sheila.
Darling, said Husband. My job is at stake.
The day I dont meet the deadline, Im dead...
Sheila fell asleep in the cradle of her husbands
elbow. In her dream she drove a BMW.

130

Pearls and ... Bullies

Little Johnny went as usual to his grandma when
he was bored of everything else. Grandma would
tell him interesting stories. Johnny was carrying his
mothers latest pearl necklace that came free with
the saris she had ordered online.
Pearls, said grandmother fondling the necklace.
Shall I tell you the story of pearls today?
Johnny was excited. Do pearls have a story too?
Yes, they do, said grandma. A great story. Do
you want to hear it?
Of course, Johnny was all ears.
Pearls are found inside the body of creatures
living in the oceans, started grandma. Shell fish.
Molluscs. They are extremely tender creatures.
Like the soft boys and girls you may see at school.
Do you see such boys and girls?
Yes, there are some. Johnny agreed.
What happens to them? Asked grandma.
Boys bully them.
Exactly, said grandma. Bullying becomes an
acute problem if you are very soft. The molluscs
are too soft for this world. So the nature gave them
a protection. They have a very thick and hard cover
outside their soft body. If you see the molluscs with
their hard shells you will think what horrible
creatures they are. But, in fact, they are the most

131

delicate creatures in the ocean. So delicate that they

have to live inside their thick shells all their life.
How boring! Exclaimed Johnny.
Yes, agreed grandma. Very boring life. Who
likes to live jailed within thick walls? Everybody
loves freedom. Everybody wants to venture out
beyond ones limits. The molluscs too do the same.
The urge to open up their shells becomes very
strong. And they open up. What happens then?
Some bully comes and bullies, said Johnny.
Exactly. Grandmother fondled Johnnys lovely
cheeks. Bullies abound in the world. Even simple
dust particles can be bullies for a mollusc. Some
such particle enters the shell of the mollusc when it
is opened up. You know, whenever you go out into
the open spaces out there, this is a risk that you run.
Some filth may enter inside you.
Virus, said Johnny. He had a computer class that
day at school.
Yes, viruses are just waiting to enter inside you.
Thats how the world is. And they enter the shell of
the mollusc when the mollusc only wants to enjoy
some freedom in the sea. But any little speck that
attaches itself to the delicate body of the mollusc is
like a thorn that enters your body.
Ouch! Johnny knew how painful it is to have a
thorn in his flesh. He had them piercing his body
occasionally when he entered the rose garden. He
could imagine what it would be like to have one of
those thorns sitting inside your body.
His

132

imagination had not yet been ruined by his school

which would eventually give him rules for
everything including how to read a newspaper. But
Johnny was too young for reading newspapers.
Once the speck enters the shells close, grandma
continued. The shells are a defence mechanism,
you know. But the speck inside becomes a terrible
pain. What do you do when you have pain?
Apply the balm, said Johnny. He had seen
grandma applying the balm frequently in different
parts of her body.
Exactly, said grandma hugging Johnny. The
shell fish applies a balm. It secretes body fluids.
Your father once told me that the scientists call the
body fluids by some names like aragonite and
corichiolin. But the names dont matter. They are
the tear drops of the shell fishs body. The shell
fish cries in pain. And its body sheds tears. The
tears form an enveloping layer round the thorn in
the flesh. But one layer is never enough for the pain
to subside. So the shell fish, the mollusc, continues
to shed tears. More and more liquid layers are
added. These layers become solid as they are laid.
Many, many layers of such pain balm become ...
... the pearl, Johnny completed the story with
brilliance in his eyes.
Yes, said grandmother. Pearls are formed... ok,
you tell me, what did you learn from the story?
We have to cry a lot if pearls are to be gained,
said Johnny.

133

Grandma smiled. Tears were always a part of her

stories. And Johnny knew it in his own childish
way.
Pearls cannot be gained, said grandma
paraphrasing Johnny, without a lot of pain.

134

Anna, I Miss You

When Anna died the light of my life passed
away.
Anna was in love with life. Life was a sweet
music to her and she danced to the delightful tunes
of that music.
It was a dance that led her to death.
Anna was a teacher in the primary section of the
school where I taught for some time soon after my
post-graduation. I was teaching in the senior
secondary section, but I had higher ambitions. I
wanted to join a college as a lecturer.
Stop studying like a student, Mark, Anna told
me one day when she caught me in the staff room
reading a book on postmodernism. You have to
meet the right people in the right way.
Eh? What do you mean? I asked.
You fool, dont you know the basic lessons of
life yet?
Anna explained to me that all appointments in
Keralas colleges are made politically. You have
to meet the right person, make a huge donation and
maintain the contact until the appointment is
finalised. She guided me to the parish priest, Father
Varghese, with whom I already had a fairly good
relationship. Father Varghese led me to Father
Jacob, the bishops secretary. Father Jacob showed
me the list of applicants for the lecturers post and

135

the amounts of money they had promised to pay as

donation. If you can offer more than all these, the
job is yours, but let me know your decision latest by
Saturday. said Father Jacob. Eventually the job
was mine indeed, thanks to Annas timely advice.
When I got the appointment letter Anna came to
me in the staff room during the interval and said,
Come, lets dance. We have to celebrate your joy.
Dance came naturally to Anna at any time. She
grasped me by the arm and dragged me out of my
chair. I danced for the first time in my life. There
was no music; Anna was the music.
That was Annas last dance. As I moved
clumsily holding her hands in mine I suddenly
became aware that Anna was not dancing but was
falling on to me. She collapsed into my arms. With
the help of a few colleagues I rushed her to the
hospital. Her life was saved but her body was left
paralysed from the waist down.
Whenever I visited Anna at her home she offered
me the same gift she always used to offer when she
was in school: a clump of tobacco. I always used to
accept it and do what she did with it: stick it up
somewhere behind the teeth. One day the tobacco
was moist and it smelled pungent. Whisky, she
said with her usual naughty smile. I asked my
husband to soak my tobacco in his whisky. I want
my mind to dance until I die.
Anna had never mentioned death earlier. It
worried me.

136

You wont die, you will get up and dance

again, I said.
John and Jessie have shifted to a rented house.
Anna tried to make it sound casual, but I understood
she was very sad.
John was Annas only son and Jessie was his
wife. It was only about a year since they had
married. Jessie had very clear notions about a
womans rights in this world and a daughter-inlaws rights at home. Im not a servant, she
would say whenever she was asked to help with the
household chores. Even Annas irresistible charm
could not tame the staunch feminist in Jessie. When
Anna became bed-ridden Jessie declared to her
husband, Our duty is to look after ourselves. She
didnt want to live in a house that smelled
perpetually like a hospital. John was too busy to get
into any dispute with his wife busy with his job
and the prospects of an imminent promotion.
Do you feel very lonely? I asked Anna with
some hesitation. Her husband would go for work
during the day and return home late in the evening.
A girl from the neighbourhood was paid to spend
time with Anna after doing the cleaning up jobs.
I am my own best friend, arent I? It was
beautiful to see her usual naughty smile.
But, er, do you feel sad about John and Jessie?
Regrets should have no place in life, Mark.
Throw out regrets and bring in decisions. Ah, about
John and Jessie, see, its their life and they have

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every right to live it as happily as they can. Theyre

happy and so Im happy too. Anna took another
clump of whisky-soaked tobacco after spitting out
what was already in her mouth. Want to dance
with me? She asked offering me some tobacco.
I smiled gently. No, thanks. Im already
dancing with you.
I noticed Anna becoming increasingly
melancholy in my subsequent visits despite the
efforts she made to appear cheerful.
A dance has no value except for the joy and
grace it exudes, Anna said during my last visit.
When its over the audience should be able to carry
that joy and grace in their hearts. Otherwise the
dancer is a failure. The dance is a failure.
The next day when the message about Annas
death came I was delivering a lecture on Yeatss
line: How can we know the dancer from the
dance?

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The Queen of Spades

Only heroic people can absorb constant failures
with nonchalance. Sanjay was no hero and grew
increasingly desperate with each failure. He had
tried out a number of ventures in business and failed
in each one of them without exception. Its not true
to say that he was an utter failure; he always
managed to break even. Recently he developed the
habit of visiting the casino in the city with the hope
of learning the secret of winning at gambling.
There seemed to be no secret in it, he concluded
after many weeks of keen observation. You win or
lose without any pattern. Winning and losing are
haphazard whether in business or gambling, Sanjay
muttered to himself morosely.
It is then he overheard a conversation in the
casino. Somebody was telling a group of listeners a
story about Lakshmi Lalwani, the aged widow of
the renowned industrialist of the last century. In
their younger days, when Lakshmi and her husband
were in Paris, the lady had indulged herself with
gambling in one of the casinos and lost a fabulous
sum. Her husband bluntly refused to pay such a
sum of money in spite of all the strategies employed
by the lady whose charm was a match for her
cunning. When neither the charm nor the cunning
succeeded in persuading her husband to part with
the money required to salvage her honour, Lakshmi
sent for a family friend who had business in Paris.

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If I give you such an amount of money, you will

never know peace in the future, said Albert Ezekiel
the family friend knowingly. So I suggest that you
gamble again and win back your money.
Albert gave her a secret. She had to talk the
casino owner into letting her begin the game on a
loan. Then she had to put her stake on three
particular cards, one by one. He specified the
cards. But you should never again gamble in your
life after this, warned Albert. Lakshmi followed
the counsel and the miracle happened. Her cards
won.
The lady never gambled after that, said the story
teller in the casino. Nor did she reveal the secret to
anyone. Except once. Some thirty years ago one of
her grandsons whom she loved unlike her other
relatives got into a huge debt by gambling. Finally,
when he had no other way, he stood before his royal
grandmother like Shakuntala who had lost the ring
given by her royal lover. The lady relented for the
only time in her life. The man went away with the
secret and won back all that he had lost. He never
gambled again.
Sanjay knew where Lakshmi lived. He also
knew that she was a morose nonagenarian who
never met anyone except in some parties which she
presided over all bedecked with jewels and antiwrinkle creams. There was no honest way of
getting to meet her.
But honesty is not a business persons cup of tea.
Sanjay found a way of entering Lakshmi Lalwanis

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palatial home after he took a few strolls on the

Lalwani Avenue that encircled it. Some trees and
the darkness of the night were his accomplices.
Lakshmi Lalwani lived alone in the palace after
the death of her husband many years ago. People
said that her husband had died because of her
constant nagging. Neither her son nor her daughter
wanted to live with her. Rather Lakshmi did not
want any of them, not even the grandchildren. She
lived with a retinue of maids who flattered her
whims and fancies untiringly and competitively in
the hope of getting as much money as possible
when the witch would die.
Stealthily Sanjay climbed down the staircase
from the Lalwani terrace and walked through some
halls and corridors until he discovered the room of
his sorceress. There she was sitting up in her bed
against a huddle of pillows watching an ancient
Hindi movie on the TV. She flinched on seeing the
stranger but recovered quickly.
Who are you? Why are you here? She asked.
Pardon my audacity, rajmata, said Sanjay with
folded hands. I had no choice but do this. Only
you can save me. He narrated to her the tragic tale
of his life exaggerating it to make it as poignant as
he could.
Tell me the secret, rajmata, devi, so that I can
recover my losses. Otherwise Ill be a doomed
man.

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Theres no secret. Its only a joke, said

Lakshmi both annoyed and amused.
When all his pleading and cajoling failed to
move the lady, Sanjay pulled out a pistol from the
pocket of his trousers and held it straight between
her eyes and said, Your life or your secret.
The lady did not utter a word. Amitabh
Bachchan continued to rage on the TV screen. The
eyes of the sorceress continued to stare without
batting an eyelid. It took a few moments for Sanjay
to realise that she was dead.
Lakshmis ghost haunted Sanjay throughout the
night as well as the next day. But the night after
that brought the real surprise. Lakshmi Lalwani
appeared in Sanjays bedroom in the middle of the
night wearing a white sari and white blouse.
Your secret cards are 3, 7 and an ace, she said
in a guttural voice. But never gamble after this
once.
Lakshmi Lalwani disappeared as easily as she
appeared. You are the queen of hearts, Lakshmi,
said Sanjay to himself exultantly.
Filled with joy and expectation, Sanjay went to
the casino the next afternoon with all the money that
he could gather. He had mortgaged his house in a
bank in order to get the money. He placed his stake
on 3 for the entire sum of fifty lakh rupees he had.
The miracle happened as he knew it would. He then
staked the one crore on 7. Lakshmis secret was

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sterling. Finally the stake of two crore rupees on

ace.
Youve lost it all, said the gambler to Sanjay.
Its not an ace; its the queen of spades.
Sanjay collapsed as he saw the gambler sweep
away his dreams into a leather bag. Before
collapsing, however, Sanjay had noticed one thing.
The Queen of spades on the card had winked at
him. And the wink had reminded him of Lakshmi
Lalwani.

Note: This story is adapted from the novella, The

Queen of Spades, by the great 19thcentury Russian
writer, Alexander Pushkin.

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