The Retribution

by Shankar Kashyap

  The temple had grown in size to when his father had started it all those years ago. They had bought the property next door and converted it into a function hall big enough for weddings with two hundred guests. Dev had set up a social club of sorts where youngsters and unemployed Hindu youths could come and spend time. He had managed to get some local artists to teach youngsters Hindi language and Indian music. He had even managed to sign up some kids to learn Sanskrit under the tutelage of his elder brother Kishen. The temple was thriving in all directions.

  Bowing down to the pressures of the local Gujarati community, a Temple Committee had been set up to oversee the functioning of the temple, much to the disappointment of his father, Ramcharan.

  “I built this temple with my own two hands only to be snatched away by strangers.” He grumbled when Kishen told him about the move. “Where were all these people when we were struggling to keep the lamp lit in the temple?”

  “I know how you feel father.” Kishen had replied. “But, the council pays an endowment towards the upkeep of the temple every year and we need the money to maintain the running of the temple now. We can’t rely on donations by the people anymore.”

  Ramcharan sighed. “I know son. There is no faith among the people anymore. Most of the businesses from Belgrave used to be so generous in the past. These youngsters nowadays want to spend their money on expensive cars and holidays. God doesn’t exist for them anymore.”

  It had taken some time to convince Ramcharan that they would not be losing “control of the temple,” but instead gaining some help to run it. He had finally agreed reluctantly to go along with the plans for election.

  “Don’t expect me to be there for the elections.” He had said before retiring to his bedroom that night. Kishen had felt sorry to see the back of a stooped figure of his father walk slowly away from him.

  Nathuram Godse was thrilled when he was appointed the secretary of the Temple Committee. He took the office like duck to the water. Dev was surprised to see some serious interest among some youngsters in the election of the office bearers. The young guy who was appointed to committee, Vasudev Batra, seemed familiar to Dev. But he could not place him. He was a young man of thirties, full of energy and self-opinionated. Dev remembers the first meeting of the committee where Vasudev was quite vociferous in his opinions, particularly about the sanctity of the Hindu religion in general and that of temple in particular.

  The words “sanctity” kept ringing in his ears for many hours after the meeting. He was quite certain that he had seen Vasudev somewhere before. There was something he had said during the meeting that convinced that he had seen him somewhere before. It bugged him all evening and even on the way to Quebec that night only to forget after the first few minutes of opening the first bottle of the poppers.

  Playboy of Asian world

  The temple was more crowded than usual. Men and women were standing around in groups and there were heated arguments going on. Dev stood up at the side of the altar and picked up the microphone. The disturbance of the speakers was quite loud from the cheap speakers the Gujarati Radio inc had installed. But it had the desired effect. Everyone stopped talking and Dev said,

  “I think we are all here for prayers and we should concentrate on those first and discuss the issues of the day after prayers.”

  He had always been extremely articulate and knew how to get attention of people. No wonder he had been made the Secretary of National Council of Hindu Priests at the young age of thirty five years old. His charisma had not gone down over the years. In fact, he had become increasingly popular. He had made a connection between the older Gujarati population with their rigid views and the younger generation with a more modern outlook on life. He could easily identify with both the groups without even attempting. The young thought he was cool as he would wear designer jeans and smart casual shirts and go out with them to the clubs and bars after the aarti. He spoke their “lingo” as it were. He did the prayers in English so they could understand. He spent time to explain what he was doing during any of the ceremonies. This impressed not only the younger crowd but also some of the older ones who had never had the proceedings explained to them at any time. He was one of the most popular priests among all the temples in Leicester.

  His father led the prayer that night and Dev stood in the background helping. At the end of the prayers, he signalled everyone to sit down and took the microphone.

  “I know that there is a lot of disquiet among our people. The Leicester Haymarket Theatre have advertised the opening of their controversial play.” Everyone started to speak together and it was becoming a pandemonium. Younger hot headed ones wanted to take sticks and “burn the theatre down for blasphemy.” The theatre had announced the opening of a play called “Krishna Lila – A Play boy of Asian World.” The connotation of their god, Krishna, considered by many to be the ‘supreme god-head’ to be some sort of a ‘Play boy,’ was abhorrent to, not only the Hindus but also the Krishna Consciousness sect of Leicester.

  Dev continued, “This is exactly the type of reaction they are expecting. And, it will not help. If you let me continue, I can update you on the state of play today.”

  There was an immediate silence from the gathered devotees. His brother Kishen spoke up.

  “Dev has been speaking to the Theatre Company on all our behalf and let us hear what the outcome was.”

  “Thank you.” He said to his brother and turning to the crowd he announced, “I have had a meeting with them and tried to persuade them to stop the play being opened next week. Unfortunately that is not possible due to financial reasons. The company apparently has spent a vast amount of money so far and they are not prepared to shelve it at this late stage. However, they are offering to change the name of the play.”

  The noise that started was tremendous. Everyone was speaking again and Dev’s vice despite the loud speakers was being drowned. The younger ones started a loud chant in praise of Lord Krishna and clap their hands in rhythm. It was gathering momentum and reaching a crescendo when Dev’s now elderly father walked up to the main bell of the temple hanging from the ceiling in front of the deities, slowly with a walking stick and started to ring loudly. The huge brass bell could drown any noise. The crowd started to quieten down again.

  “If you continue to behave this way, we will not get anywhere. Will you please let Dev finish what he has to say?” Dev’s father was almost pleading now.

  “Thank you father. Yes, as I was saying. However, they are prepared to change the name to ‘Krishna Lila : A Play of Asian World.’ I am sure you will all agree that it is a more appropriate title. We all know of the childhood pranks of our Lord Krishna and is of course a ‘Play of the Asian world.’ I have not agreed yet with the management until I get the approval of our devotees. Now, what do you say?”

  The crowd was very quiet for a minute and then one of the elders at the back stood up and said,

  “Pandithji. If you think it is appropriate, I have no objection to that.”

  As others started to speak again, Dev raised his hands and continued.

  “I know how these big companies work. They would have invested a lot of money into the project. If we keep objecting and make a lot noise with demonstrations, placard, disruption and general mayhem, we will play right into their hands. That is exactly what they want. A lot of free publicity. More people would want to see the play which has caused such a controversy and it will be a hit. I am sure you agree that is not what we want. We want the teachings of Lord Krishna to take centre stage, not some smutty interpretation of profit mongers.”

  That appeared to hit the crowd and there was a lot of nodding of heads and general agreement. Dev smiled to himself and looked at his father and brothers. There was an imperceptible nod of satisfaction. The three of them knew that Dev had agreed that a change of name would be sufficient to pacify most of the Hindu population of Leicester. There had been several demonstrations with large placard decrying the Haymarket theatre compan
y and the police were in force outside the theatre. The main actress Parminder Nagra and the director Nona Shepherd were asked to use the deliveries door instead of the stage door to enter and leave the theatre.

  Next day there was a telephone call from a BBC reporter. She wanted to interview Dev. He agreed with one condition. That he has to see what was going to be shown on TV.

  That evening, a young girl called Tanuja Solanki turned up at the temple with a cameraman. The interview took about an hour.

  “What is the one message you would want sent out with this bulletin?” She asked.

  “It might be correct according to the producers in the Haymarket Theatre and people who wrote this play, but we have to also make sure about what messages we are giving out to people at large.” Dev had said. “We must think of the sensibilities of the community as a whole.”

  “The producers maintain that they are only portraying the Rasa leela of Krishna. What do say to that?”

  Dev’s face became very serious as he spoke.

  “Those poems were composed as a metaphor for his love of people. You have to take the essence of the theme and not take the story literally. It portrayed the mutual love of people and Krishna. Unfortunately the world has changed and such love is seen in a smutty view point. It was never meant to be and never been portrayed as such in our scriptures.”

  The strength of feeling in his answer took the reporter by surprise. The interview on the local news helped calm many of the people in Leicester and a potential conflict was avoided. The play opened to muted response with a few people demonstrating outside the Haymarket theatre with placards and very little news coverage. The play itself petered out after a few shows because of poor attendances.

  That was not the first time Dev was on the TV, but it was still exciting for his mother, Meera Ben. She would tell anyone who was prepared to listen to her to watch her son on the TV. It was the following year when one of the gay clubs in London decided to open its doors with the name of Kali. Dev lead the petition against the club successfully and even went to the Parliament to stop the club’s name.

  When the local Member of Parliament, Fred Homuz found out about his Good Samaritan act towards the eastern European refugees, he asked Dev to join the interfaith group to help stabilise the harmony between several religious groups including Christians, Muslims and Jews.

  It was several weeks later when he eventually had a chance to see the young boy again.

  “Thank you for your advice last night.” He said.

  Dev could not understand. He had not seen him for a while.

  “You are welcome.” Dev replied, still unsure of what he was talking about.

  “Your advice on the phone was very helpful. Now I can understand what is happening to me.”

  It suddenly clicked. It must have been one of the callers on the Asian Gay helpline he was manning the night before. He had spoken to a few, but could not really recognise his voice over the phone. Dev smiled and felt his heart beating faster.

  “Why don’t we go into the back office and have a quiet chat?” Dev said touching the young boy’s elbow and leading him into the room at the back of the temple.

  “What is your name?”

  “I am Ankush.”

  “Nice to meet you Ankush.” Dev continued as he got the young Ankush to sit on the chair facing the window. “There is nothing to be ashamed of or worried about who you are. We spoke briefly last night over the phone. You can tell me everything and I can help you.”

  The story was all too familiar for Dev. Born in a staunch religious family, with severe set of rules for behaviour for both the young boy and his sister. They were accompanied everywhere they went and there was always a chaperone for everything. They were essentially muzzled from birth. Elder of the two siblings, he wanted to rebel against the authority of his parents, who were “suffocating” his feelings and emotions. He had only begun to realise he was not like other boys in his school very soon after reaching teenage years. He was strongly attracted to a boy in school, who unfortunately turned out to have a girlfriend of his own. That had come as a blow to him and he was torn between letting his parents know or ignore his primal urges. He was so desperate that he had considered taking his own life. He did not know who to turn to until he saw the little poster in the community hall he had gone for a birthday party.

  Dev was warming up to the Ankush as he spoke. They talked in the room for a while and agreed to meet up again outside the temple. It was Sanju all over again for Dev. His rendezvous at the care centre office became quite regular and his visits to the Central Motors was almost completely stopped. He would still frequent the Quebec and enjoy the poppers and dance away till the early hours of the morning.

  His charisma and influence at the Council and Stuart’s entrepreneurial skills had paid off and they owned three care homes now. Two in Leicester and one in Milton Keynes. Money was rolling in. He would be seen driving everywhere in his silver BMW, which became his pride and joy. He was seen flaunting designer jeans and watches in the clubs after finishing work at the temple most nights.

  He clicked extremely well with the younger crowd within the temple with his modern ideas and excellent command of English and his ability to explain the rituals to both the young and old in a language they could understand. He could slip from Sanskrit to Gujarati to Hindi to a colloquial English with aplomb.

  Sheena

  Sheena was slowly settling in at her job in Leeds and was climbing the career ladder... The routine of coming home on Friday night and driving back on Sunday night in her new car was almost clockwork. Dev would spend the weekend doting on his wife like any dutiful husband. She would accompany him to the temple for the ritual havan on Sunday afternoon and they invariably went out for a movie or a dinner on Saturday night. This routine continued for more than a year.

  Dev was surprised to find her car parked outside their little terrace house on George Street on a Thursday night when he got back from the Quebec quite late. Panic set in as soon as he saw it. He fumbled in his pockets to get his keys out and nearly dropped them in the gutter outside. As he entered the dark house the lights came on and Sheena was standing in the sitting room door with one hand high up on the door frame.

  “It is two o’clock in the morning.” She said in a matter of fact voice. “You were not in the temple tonight. Vijai didn’t know where you were. You did not pick up your phone either.”

  Dev came forward to give her a hug. She pulled back out of his reach. He looked sheepish when he said, “There was a meeting of the association and a dinner afterwards. One thing led to another. I did not realise the time. You know how these things go. Once they start to talk, you can’t stop them.”

  He was quite surprised at the ease with which the story came out. Sheena was quiet as she turned and went inside.

  “Come on sweetheart. It is so nice to see you. I wasn’t expecting you today. It is a such a pleasant surprise.”

  “I bet it is.” The sarcasm did not go unnoticed by Dev.

  “Your eyes are blood shot and you have a foul smell on you. What kind of place were you in?”

  “You must believe me Anju. You can call Nathu Bhai if you want. He was with me all the time.” He hoped she would not call Nathuram Bhai, the secretary of the Hindu Society. He kicked himself for not using Stuart’s name. He would have covered for him with no questions asked. Sheena did not say another word as she went upstairs to the bedroom. He could hear her footsteps on the stair and the bedroom door shut. There was suddenly a deathly silence as if a heavy downpour had stopped. She had not raised her voice and there was no tantrum. But the effect was equally as loud. He took his phone out of his pocket. He noticed that his hands were shaking. He managed to switch the phone on after the third attempt.

  “Shit!” He swore under his breath. There were three missed calls from Sheena and two from Vijai. He had kept the phone on vibrate in his jacket pocket, but had not felt it while he was dancing away. He was quite high on �
�poppers’ too. He had emptied an entire bottle that night. It was a wild night indeed. He had taken a boy to the little house on Harrison road and he was exhausted when he had finished with him.

  The house he had bought on Harrison road needed plenty of work. He had hired some builders to get the house back in shape so that he could rent it out. He had managed to get upstairs completed and they were working on downstairs with a new kitchen. He was quite pleased with the way the three bedrooms looked now. Sheena had been busy choosing fittings and paint during the weekends she was in Leicester. It was coming along quite well and he was hoping to have the house ready soon. The three bedrooms upstairs were all done up and had been put to good use frequently by Dev. The two of them had put in a lot of effort to choose the furniture for the bedrooms. He wanted them all in wood to remember his days in Kenya. Sheena had put her foot down for the furniture for sitting room and insisted on sumptuous sofas. They were yet to be delivered. There were a couple of old green settees left by the previous owners – made of synthetic material and stained beyond recognition.

  “I want them to be comfortable and warm. Wooden furniture is ok for a warm country like Kenya. Not very good for this cold country.”

  When he went upstairs to bed, Sheena was already asleep. He could not get any sleep that night. He tossed and turned till finally falling asleep with sheer exhaustion in the early hours of the morning. He was woken up by the front door slamming shut.

  “Anju. Is that you?”

  There was no reply. He got out of bed and went downstairs to check. There was no sign of Sheena. He looked out of the window to see her car was missing too. He looked at the clock. It was still 8’O clock. ‘Where could she have gone at this time of the morning?’ He thought about the previous night and started to sweat as the panic set in. He picked up the phone and dialled Nathu Bhai. There was no answer. His panic got worse and he was sweating profusely. He was not sure what to do. ‘Has she gone to meet Nathu Bhai?’ He knew very well Nathu Bhai would not cover for him. He had never forgiven Dev for beating him in the Hindu Society election. He was the senior figure in the society and felt that it was unthinkable that anyone would oppose him in the election. He had made his displeasure quite clear from the start. When he was beaten by what he thought was a young upstart, he was furious.