by Harish Bhat
Rahul could feel himself levitating. He saw the coffee cup on the cane table going farther and farther away, initially a sharp image, but hazy after a few seconds. It then looked like the cup was being taken away by Pooviah or by someone else with a red and white turban; it did not really matter because within a few seconds he too was deep in sleep.
He woke up almost immediately, not in Cottabetta Bungalow or his familiar room in Mumbai, but in some place that looked like a very small café. There were people around him who looked like they were Japanese, seated on low wooden tables, speaking in Japanese and drinking coffee. The entire place smelt of coffee. Neha was there too, sitting by his side, her left hand resting softly on his lap. On the wall was a beautiful painting of a monkey on a horse, with Mount Fuji in the background. A lady in a red and golden kimono came around with white coffee mugs on a lovely looking oval wooden tray.
As the bright red of her dress approached them, she spoke in highly accented English. ‘Welcome back, Rahul-san and Neha-san. Will you have your usual coffee today?’ She then bowed before them. Are we in Japan? Rahul thought.
How did this Japanese woman know their names? Where were they, really? Always best to clarify matters before doing anything, thought Rahul. ‘Thank you, gracious lady,’ he said, bringing up his best manners and bowing in reciprocation. ‘Can you please tell me where we are now?’
‘This is your favourite café, Rahul-san, the Mayaso Coffee Shop,’ the woman replied, taken by surprise. Then, she chose to add, ‘Your guests just called me. They will be arriving shortly and have been apologizing profusely for the delay.’
Rahul quickly decided that he must play the part, which appeared to be the only productive path forward. ‘Yes, of course, gracious lady,’ he responded, ‘we will wait patiently for our guests. And we will have our usual coffee now. We love the coffee here; it is so different from what we get at home.’
She served them their coffee in the white mugs. When they sipped a little bit, they felt the same nutty aroma and mild walnutty taste coming back immediately. That plantation monk must actually have been from Tokyo, and if this was RG’s story coming true, then great things would happen soon. This time around there was also an underlying almond-like flavour, which Rahul immediately recognized as a hallmark of very carefully roasted coffee.
*
Their guests arrived within a few minutes. They were two Japanese gentlemen, both completely bald and wearing rimmed spectacles. They bowed, apologized profusely for being late and then bowed again. ‘Rahul-san, we were held up because of a bad motor accident near Black Gate. We are so sorry, really. But now we are here and ready to talk to you. I am Takahira Yamamoto and this is my brother, Shinko Yamamoto. We are here just for you.’
Yamamoto again! Rahul looked at them startled. This name again? It was a splendid title—pedigreed Japanese name for sure, he had no doubt about that. But how was it that the inventor of the mattress springs and these two bald men had the same name? And then there was the coffee monk who also had a Japanese name, Saito. So many Japanese were suddenly entering his life. It was truly odd. Was this the effect of those magical coffee beans, or did it have something to do with RG?
At this point, Takahira Yamamoto spoke again. ‘We will talk to you, Rahul-san, and give you all the information you need, but not here. It cannot be done here. This is a very crowded café and people are always eavesdropping. We will take you to a nice, private place just down this road. We will take you to Yanaka-reien. There we can speak amongst all the happy spirits and silent graves.’
Rahul and Neha quickly exchanged glances, now with increasing concern. Happy spirits? Silent graves? Where were these Japanese strangers preparing to lead them?
As if on cue, the other Yamamoto, Shinko, spoke. ‘Yanaka-reien is our sacred cemetery, my friends. Good things invariably happen there. You will find graves and black cats—and tons of good luck. We will be alone amongst many dead people. There we can speak our minds freely.’ Then, suddenly, he changed the tone of his voice. ‘We must go now. People are watching us closely. Anything can happen here.’
Alarmed, Rahul and Neha stood up immediately and followed the brothers to Yanaka-reien. They walked in complete silence. As they approached their destination, they first spotted many green trees and then a small sign that marked out the graveyard. Rahul and Neha were taken aback to see how well-maintained the place was. No weeds here, but lots of well-tended trees and bushes, fresh greenery all around and broad winding roads going deep into the heart of the huge graveyard. It was almost like a beautiful park with much foliage. And then, right in front of them were hundreds of tombstones, all looking well-rested.
Shinko Yamamoto spoke again, but in a very low voice that was respectful of their surroundings. ‘Rahul-san, this is Yanaka-reien, which translates to Yanaka Spirit Park. We have brought you here with a purpose. This is the final resting place of more than seven thousand great spirits. This park covers over twenty-five acres. If you get lost here, it is difficult to find out exactly where you are, so please do not leave us and wander away. Now, look around carefully before we begin speaking and tell me what you see.’
They looked around. Some of the graves appeared to be ancient by the look of the stones and the blackish moss on them. Some others looked modern with very vibrant designs adorning them, which are generally not associated with the dead. Most of the graves were topped with beautiful flowers, arranged in very pleasing patterns. A number of cherry trees lined the road ahead, their branches waving slowly in a warm welcome. A mild afternoon sun peeped through these branches, casting its soft shadows on some of the tombstones. Just ahead of them, a black cat with sharp green eyes crossed the road and went on to sit near a grave in a grassy spot that it seemed to know very well. As it sat close to the gravestone, its body appeared to relax immediately. Reaching home does that to us all, thought Rahul.
He spoke to the Yamamotos, holding Neha’s hand the entire time. ‘I see a beautiful graveyard. Extremely well maintained. This must be the best kept graveyard in the world. Actually, it is more like a wonderful garden that we can roam around in to calm our nerves.’ Neha, whose anxiety was shooting through the roof amidst all the perplexing and sudden drama, wondered at the irony.
‘What else?’ asked one of the Yamamotos.
‘I see total peace and quiet. The sort of peace that comes with deep, well-rested sleep.’
Both the gentlemen nodded vigorously and replied together, quickly, virtually in one voice, with a heavy Japanese accent, ‘That’s absolutely correct, Rahul-san. That’s exactly why we brought you here. Now, listen carefully. In this graveyard lies Yoshinobu Tokugawa, the last shogun of Japan. He was a great and imposing man. Let us take you to his grave.’
They walked a little and stopped near a grand section of Yanaka-reien, fenced off from the rest of the cemetery. The grave inside was beautifully crafted with smooth granite and topped with small, white stones. They looked in through imposing metal gates that were shut.
After a few minutes of silence, during which they admired the grand grave, Shinko resumed speaking, ‘Yoshinobu was born in 1837. He was the fifteenth and last shogun of the Tokugawa shogunate. He was the sole Tokugawa shogun who did not step into our capital city of Edo. Something like that would have been unthinkable before him. He carried out many urgent reforms, including a massive cleaning up of the government. He also won fierce battles as commander of the Imperial Palace’s defence. But in 1867, he resigned as shogun and handed power back to the then emperor. What happened after that is more interesting, which is actually the subject of our story here and why we have brought you to his grave.
‘After his reign as shogun, Yoshinobu led a quiet, calm and happy retired life. He pursued many interesting hobbies—archery, hunting, cycling, photography. Yes, his photography skills were quite renowned and many of his photographs have been published too. But of all these interests, Yoshinobu pursued with most passion his love of coffee. The last shogun of our land
had an extreme love for coffee.’
Rahul’s ears immediately perked up at this, and he listened intently.
‘What is not commonly known, Rahul-san, is that Yoshinobu was actually the first Japanese to taste and savour coffee. So you could say that he was the man who brought the taste of coffee to Japan, the original inspiration for Mayaso Coffee Shop, which we have just left, and thousands of other cafés that we love today. He indulged in coffee on a daily basis and voiced his opinions on the drink quite vociferously. When he was shogun, he obtained the best and most flavourful coffees from across the world and served them to his guests. In 1867, when he hosted delegates from Europe at Osaka Castle with a magnificent banquet, he brought the meal to an end with a most delicious cup of the beverage. This special coffee was talked about for many months and days. The coffee beans he had used were unique and secret. Some even say they were magical.
‘Then, well before he died, what Yoshinobu did will surprise you. To preserve this special coffee for future generations, he shared the secret of these special beans with just one person, a Japanese monk called Saito, whom he knew very well, a sort of personal drinking partner if you will. A few years later, Saito vanished from Japan. We have read that he went away to India, to your great country, and planted this special coffee there in a beautiful area near the western mountains where coffee grows abundantly. He was never seen in our country again.’
Rahul and Neha looked at each other. This was totally surreal—RG’s story about the Japanese monk and his magical coffee, the old woman and her magical pink coffee beans, and now this. Rahul was starting to get really worried now; nothing seemed to make sense except that it was obvious that all of it was connected in some strange way. What magic had brought them here, to this distant graveyard in Tokyo, to the grave of a shogun they had never heard about before?
Shinko Yamamoto continued. ‘Yoshinobu lived life to the fullest, well into his grand old years. He was a very fit man who, until his very last days, went about hunting, shooting and cycling with a lot of energy, discipline and passion. Legend has it that the main reason behind his fitness was the mattress he slept on, a very firm bed that kept him so sprightly. This special bed kept his back absolutely intact, very flexible and in mint condition, even with all that arduous physical activity, which sadly cannot be said for many people these days. All this is spoken about, Rahul-san, but we will never know for sure. What we do know is that my father, the respected Yamamoto, was inspired by Yoshinobu and this legend of his fabulous, flexible back, to invent a special spring technology for firm beds that specially protect the back. He spent seven years perfecting this great invention, working all by himself. He said to us, to me and my brother here, that this spring is designed in such a beautiful manner, such a unique mechanical way, that anyone sleeping on these beds will keep their backs wonderfully flexible and relaxed forever. And he gifted the first bed made using this technology to Yoshinobu himself.
‘We have also heard rumours that our father was secretly in touch with Yoshinobu’s spirit after he died, and that the dead shogun actually served as his mentor and guide. During one of these séances with the dead, Yoshinobu also spoke to our father about a great treasure that he had once owned, which he wanted to leave to our father for all his services. He said he had locked away the treasure and entrusted this task to a monk, but that monk had run away with the keys. We gathered this must be none other than Saito. Our beloved father told us bits of this story from time to time, but he did not live to tell us the entire tale. He was so focused on further developing his new spring technology that it consumed his entire life. He worked at his laboratory day and night, until, one day, he suddenly collapsed and died. What wonderful technology he created and constantly improved and perfected, which is now used so widely for the firmest and best beds across the world!’
Rahul’s jaw dropped as he tried to comprehend all this. His mind was spinning.
Shinko spoke again, bringing his story to an end, ‘We were guided to meet you here today, Rahul-san, and to share this story with you. Now, let us all pay our respects to Yoshinobu Tokugawa at this peaceful grave of our last shogun.’
They bowed and stayed like that for some time. A greyish-white cat appeared from nowhere and looked at them intently. ‘That means good luck,’ said Takahira Yamamoto. ‘When a grey cat looks at us like that, it means that we will find the treasure that we seek in life. Yes, we will surely find it, Rahul-san. Here, take this small coin with you as a token of good luck and a cherished memory of this very famous grave.’ It was a small round brass coin with a hole in the centre and Japanese markings. Rahul could not see it clearly. He pulled out his wallet and put the coin into it without a second thought. They then bowed to each other, the sort of deep bows that the Japanese simply love.
After that, the Yamamoto brothers did not say a single word but walked them out of Yanaka-reien, back to Mayaso Coffee Shop, on the same road, below the same cherry trees, in complete silence. Rahul and Neha walked slowly, reflecting on the strange story they had just heard.
On reaching the Mayaso Coffee Shop, the two bald Yamamotos left instantly. The same waitress came around and offered them the same black coffee in the same white mugs once again. It was the same nutty flavours that they could recognize well by now. They slowly sipped the coffee. For a minute, Rahul and Neha looked deep into each other’s eyes and liked what they saw there—reflections of a future that looked nice and fuzzy and forever. Then they held hands softly and fell into a deep, very deep sleep.
8
When they woke up, they were back on the cane sofas in the verandah at Cottabetta Bungalow. There was no trace of Mayaso Coffee Shop or anything remotely Japanese. The sun was setting over the coffee plantations, splashing orange hues over the green canopy in front of them. Their empty cups of coffee were right in front and their minds felt calm and relaxed. Neha turned to Rahul.
‘Rahul, I dreamt we were in a graveyard in Tokyo. Do you think it could be a hallucination? Or did we really visit Japan? Oh my God, whatever it was, I am so glad that you were with me.’
‘I dreamt exactly the same thing, Neha, and I am so happy you were with me too. That old lady’s coffee is having an effect on us. I think RG is right. Those beans have magic in them.’
‘Rahul, did we meet two bald Japanese guys called Yama-something? Is that true as well?’
‘Absolutely yes, Neha! The Yamamoto brothers, the bald and bespectacled sons of Yamamoto, the inventor of the famous and unique bed spring. We did meet them and they took us to the shogun’s grave. I think this meeting was arranged by someone—but I don’t know who—for a very good reason. This was good magic with a purpose. Now I think I have with me the storyline for a brilliant advertisement for Nippon Springlove. I was searching for it and now it’s come into my head. Haroon will love this. Oh yes, I know he will love it.’
That very evening, after a nice, quiet dinner of Coorgi pork curry and rice (it was spicy and had to be tempered with some yoghurt at the end), Rahul sat at the old writing desk in the bungalow, opened his laptop and began writing his story for the Nippon Springlove film. He typed furiously like a man possessed.
EXTRA-DARK BATTLEFIELD: NIGHT SCENE
HARUTO, Japanese male (mid-thirties to early forties) tall, fit, muscular, neatly trimmed royal beard and clad in royal armour, has his katana drawn out. He is on a horse and has a banner attached to it. There is total darkness, with a tinge of red behind him.
Haruto does not blink, his eyes are fixated on his goal—right in front of him. He has an excellent posture and a serious demeanour. As he raises his sword, a horde of soldiers, garbed in armour inferior to his, ride out on their horses—all in majestic slow motion.
In a series of quick cuts we see the following:
Haruto wields his katana at the enemy from atop his horse.
Haruto, now on foot, elbows an enemy soldier who rushes towards him.
Haruto stands tall above the opposing warrior, who falls to
his knees, witnessing his defeat right in front of him.
Haruto plants his banner into the soil and looks gallant and determined in front of his army.
CUT TO:
INT. CASTLE CHAMBERS—NIGHT
Royal paintings adorn the stone walls of the gigantic room. A goze (minstrel), sitting comfortably in a corner of the room, sings and plays a beautiful song on a koto.
Three concubines, young and voluptuous, walk into the room, in front of a weary yet happy Haruto. They are dressed in beautiful silk kimonos—pink, red and blue. He smiles at KUNIKO—dressed in pink—and she smiles back coyly.
INT. HARUTO’S ROOM—NIGHT
A large, handmade painting of Mt Fuji and a four-poster bed greet Haruto as he walks into his royal room. He smiles after entering.
CUT TO:
Three complete sets of armour, the same as what Haruto had donned in the battlefield, stand tall as our protagonist sits on his comfortable mattress and pats it twice. He takes off and looks at his headpiece, the last bit of armour he had on, with satisfaction. He lies down for a moment on the mattress, just to feel its fabulous comfort and fit.
The camera pans to reveal the back of his body, now in a sleeping posture on the mattress. His spine has adjusted very well, the mattress has adjusted perfectly to the contours of Haruto’s body. As Haruto sits up, cools down and relaxes—his narration starts here—in Japanese, with English subtitles at the bottom.