by Harish Bhat
HARUTO (V.O.)
I fight many wars, and I win them all. I shoot, I hunt, I lead a very active life. I exercise choices in so many things. For all this, I have to protect my back and body, and make sure they are in great shape. So, for the mattress I sleep on, there is only one choice and no other. Nippon Springlove, developed by my friend and scientist, Yamamoto. The special spring in this mattress keeps my back in perfect shape, relaxed and fit every single day and night.
Haruto now sips tea from a royal, but minimalist, cup and notices Kuniko as she enters the room—slowly and seductively, with a hand fan covering a portion of her smiling face. Haruto smiles back at her as she approaches him.
DISSOLVE TO:
Cut to a panoramic view of the mattress now; graphical introduction of a giant, golden metal spring—it slowly emerges from the mattress as the background turns dark and the lights go off.
DEEP-VOICED NARRATOR (V.O.)
Nippon Springlove. Specially developed and patented by the great Yamamoto in Japan, for the shogun himself. A great scientific leap in mattresses, with a patented spring that totally protects your back and gives you deep and restful sleep, worthy of the warrior in you.
CUT TO BLACK
The name NIPPON SPRINGLOVE and its logo appear on the screen. The logo is in a Japanese-like font. The brand’s byline fades into the screen, right underneath the logo. It reads, ‘Sleep like a Shogun’.
Rahul paused here. He was happy with the way the script had worked out. He loved the line ‘Sleep like a shogun’. He knew right away that this was a winning line. It immediately signalled at the Japanese technology in this marvellous mattress. It also implied warrior-like fitness, for which deep sleep was essential. Also, the line had a very nice ring to it. Sleep like a shogun. Wow! Well done, Rahul. Then, as an afterthought, he added:
The film could possibly end by showing the shogun waking up the next morning, looking very relaxed, patting his mattress and sipping on coffee from a white steaming mug offered to him by the beautiful, graceful, kimono-clad Kuniko. This is an optional ending.
Before he slept that night, he emailed the script to Haroon. ‘Hi, Haroon. Here’s my script for Nippon Springlove. It’s magical. Let me know what you think. Cheers. Rahul.’
The very next morning, even before he could wake up, Haroon’s response was waiting in his inbox. ‘Hi, Rahul. What a superb film, man. It works beautifully for me. I am taking it across to the Nippon Springlove guy at lunch today. I will tell you what he says. I suspect we’ll soon be rich. Enjoy your holiday, shogun. Haroon.’
And then, later that afternoon, came another email from the boss. ‘Hi, Rahul. Mr Nippon Springlove just loved the script. He is raving about it. We drank two beers together and he wanted a third. I think we have a winner. The guy wants to meet you when you are back. He wants to know where this powerful idea came from. He also asked me what concubines were, and we bonded well over this subject because you know that I know this particular topic well enough. By the way, he has reconfirmed that he will give our company a 10 per cent share of the revenues for the next five years in exchange for this advertisement. What a sweet deal, shogun. We will be rich; we will all be rich; I am telling you. By the way, he is also sending us two more Nippon Springlove king-sized mattresses today as tokens of appreciation. Where shall I keep yours, shogun? Haroon.’
And then again, in the evening, came one more email. ‘Hi, Rahul. I am excited. This will make us rich and famous. I have already found a director to make this film, but he needs some time. So, you can extend your holiday if you want to. After writing about the shogun and his concubines, you may want to visit Japan. Who knows what you will find there? I can pay for the tickets. Cheers. Haroon.’ He clearly was a satisfied and happy man.
Behind Rahul, a pair of eyes appeared, somewhat ghostly. It was RG who knew that this adventure had just begun, but he was getting a little worried about where Rahul was headed.
9
The next day, as they were ambling through the coffee bushes, Neha started speaking.
‘You know, Rahul, that entire Japan thing was weird. Those coffee beans have something really powerful and wonderful in them. God knows what is packed into them. I mean, how else did we end up in Tokyo, of all places a graveyard there, and then back here? How is it that both of us went through the exact same story in our dreams, or maybe it was totally real? Can the two of us actually share a dream? Is that physically, or even metaphysically, possible? And that Japanese monk Saito, he is the root cause of all this because he picked up those unusual coffee beans from the shogun and brought them to India, and then the old lady stole some of them and sold them to us. That’s what that other weird guy, that planter’s ghost, told us. Oh! And those weird, bald Yamamotos. Where did they come from and where did they go? We are getting mixed up with too many weird people and things, Rahul. Not a good sign.’
‘I see your point, Neha. It is weird, but it is happening, don’t you see? Maybe both of us, deep down, really wanted a real adventure away from the humdrum of our routines, the sameness of our Mumbai lives. If that’s the case, and maybe it is, then our desire is playing out now IMAX size. We’ve got ghosts, graveyards, old witches who steal and bald men who vanish. What more do you need for a great adventure? And by the way, just by the way, this quick Japan visit also helped me write a beautiful story for the mattress film last night, about which Haroon says the owner of Nippon Springlove is thrilled. Haroon also says we are very rich now because Mr Nippon will pay us handsomely for the film. And he says the owner has also sent me an additional Nippon mattress yesterday. It should come in handy, I think.’
Neha blushed a little and then spoke again. ‘That is brilliant, Rahul. I mean, the film. When can I read the killer script?’
‘Any time, Neha, any time. I wrote it last night, sent it out and immediately fell asleep. But hey, Neha, listen. I don’t think this adventure is really about the mattresses. That too, but that’s not it, really. Somewhere, it is the coffee that is driving us. Just think about it, Neha. It started when I was drinking an Americano at Starbucks. Then the coffee plantation bungalow here in Coorg. The old lady and her pink coffee beans. The story of the drunk coffee planter. Mayaso Coffee Shop, yes, I remember that name, near the graveyard in Tokyo. The shogun who first tasted coffee in Japan. The coffee monk Saito. And, to top it all, a coffee ghost. This is all about coffee, and it is leading us somewhere, Neha. I can feel it in my bones. Everything tends to have a purpose, even if it is so deep and submerged that we don’t see it for some time.’
‘Do you think we can ask RG, the coffee ghost? Maybe he knows something more.’
‘Well, if RG appears any time soon, we will ask him for sure. He is the talkative sort anyway.’
RG was following them as keenly as a ghost could, so he appeared instantly.
‘Hi, Rahul and Neha. Were you asking for me?’
‘Oh! Good to see you, RG,’ Rahul said, startled. ‘You know, we’ve had this weird Japan experience . . .’
‘I know all about it. Ghosts know everything that happens in the corridors they haunt.’
‘But my question is: why is this happening to Neha and me? We’re just visitors here.’
RG paused, sipped from his coffee mug (he never put it down) and narrated a story.
‘Rahul and Neha, everything happens with a purpose in these parts. Saito, who brought the magical coffee beans to Coorg from Japan, lived here on the Edobetta estate which he had founded. He was here until a ripe old age. Local legend says that he lived to be one hundred and twenty-four years old, which is really long even by Japanese standards. He was content, exporting his coffee and meditating before a small golden statue of a smiling Buddha. He was kind to his workers, but he lived somewhat in seclusion. I guess that’s how monks live. He drank like a fish though and I have happily been his beneficiary. Oh! How he loved rum, this old monk. And when he got drunk, he danced just like Elvis Presley. Let me tell you that story later. Now, before he died
, he is rumoured to have revealed a secret, a dangerous but lucrative one, to his housekeeper. I think that’s why all this is happening to you.’
‘What sort of a secret? Do you know what it was?’
‘No, Rahul. I’ve tried to find out, but only the housekeeper knows. He will only share it with the right people. Not with a ghost like me.’
‘How are we the right people, RG? We’re just random visitors from Mumbai.’
‘Saito was, above all, a lover of coffee. When he was drunk on strong rum, he would only talk about all the coffees he had had in life, like how some men talk about all the women in their lives. He would go on and on about a great shogun of Japan, who was his coffee-drinking partner. He spoke about how the shogun and he would sit in a huge castle and taste the finest French roast coffees, strong and aromatic, and powerful brews. He told me that some of these fine coffees also came in from the Dutch settlements in Nagasaki as offerings in tribute to this powerful shogun. And then once, when he was very drunk, he revealed to me that he had with him a great treasure that had been given to him by this shogun. What it is he did not say. But he told me that he would leave this treasure behind to a person who had an extreme love of coffee. Now, I wonder, could that be you?’
‘Well, I do have an extreme love of coffee, RG. You are quite right about that, but am I looking for a treasure left behind by a Japanese monk? Never crossed my mind.’ And then, suddenly, Rahul’s eyes sparkled. ‘But, you know, it has crossed my mind now. Do you know who Saito’s housekeeper was? Is he alive? Can Neha and I meet him?’
‘Yes, I know the man,’ replied RG with a smile. ‘I know him very well indeed. He is old now, walks with a stoop and everyone in the town of Suntikoppa knows him. His name is H. Jerome Pandian.’
10
Let us take a sneak peek at H. Jerome Pandian before Rahul gets to him. Pandian, also known as Jerome Anna to his friends, family and colleagues, is now a sprightly ninety-eight-year-old and easily the oldest man in Suntikoppa. For fifty years of his life, he was a loyal housekeeper and trusted servant to Saito at Edobetta estate.
H. Jerome Pandian’s most distinguishing feature sits on his broad, dark face—a magnificent twirled moustache that has been his pride and joy. While Pandian’s hair now is a light grey befitting his advanced age, his moustache is jet black as though it belongs to someone much younger. Some people say that it is because of his native town of Madurai in nearby Tamil Nadu, which is widely known for men with handsome moustaches. Others say that he grew this moustache at the explicit request of his master, Saito, who associated such grand facial hair with samurais and Japanese men of high status. In fact, one of the photographs that hung on the walls of Saito’s bungalow featured the grandly mustachioed Gaishi Nagaoka of the Japanese military. After his master passed away, Pandian had requested for this photograph, which he had long admired, to be hung on the walls of his own modest house.
Pandian’s moustache must also have been nurtured by the copious amounts of coffee that he drank in Saito’s bungalow for so many years. Perhaps the magical coffee that Saito had brought from Japan and grown here in Coorg had this wonderful fertilizing effect, in addition to all its other unusual effects that we are now familiar with. Pandian loved his coffee, which explains why Saito and he got along so well.
Pandian’s favourite style of coffee was, however, neither Japanese-inspired nor borrowed from other nations. It was the south Indian filter kaapi, in which the thick, rich coffee decoction percolates through a brass or steel filter. As soon as this filtration happened, he mixed this fresh, aromatic decoction with thick, hot milk and two extra-large heaps of sugar, and drank the kaapi through the wet strands of his luxurious moustache. Not once did Pandian deviate from this morning coffee routine. He told his neighbours that this entire process gave him joy and peace of mind at the start of each day.
That day, Pandian was happily engaged in this coffee filtering morning routine when Rahul arrived unannounced at his wooden door, accompanied by Neha, and RG, who was hovering invisibly in the background. Rahul wasted no time in getting to the nub of the matter.
‘My good man, are you H. Jerome Pandian, housekeeper to the late monk Saito?’
‘Yes, I am, Ayya. Welcome to my humble abode. Who are you, Sir?’
‘I am Rahul and this is my wife, Neha,’ Rahul said. Neha kicked Rahul hard on his shin for mouthing this blatant marital lie with a flat face, but she did smile a little. Undeterred by the sharp pain, Rahul continued. ‘I love coffee, Jerome Pandian. I love coffee very much. And I am told you may have with you the secret to a treasure that your master left behind when he died.’
Pandian did not flinch, not even a little. He just twirled his moustache and invited the couple to sit down. He believed in being hospitable first and discussing secrets later. He served them filter coffee in small steel tumblers. A froth of bubbles covered the surface of the coffee. Rahul could feel the lightness of the bubbles on his tongue before the heavy coffee poured in. He found the filter coffee more flavourful than the espresso, very rich and with mild bitter notes. Thankfully, it did not have the taste of chicory, which he knew was used in these parts along with coffee, because this was an additive he detested. He could see that Neha was also sipping her coffee with a lot of pleasure, looking into her tumbler and then looking up at all of them with her eyes wide open.
‘What wonderful and delicious coffee! Thank you! I’ve never had something like this before. Made by your own hands, I presume,’ said Neha. This sudden and loud praise was quite uncharacteristic of her. Maybe the love for coffee was getting to her too.
Pandian smiled and nodded. Then he responded to Rahul, in plain and good Indian English. ‘Yes, Ayya, my master left a great secret with me. A most valuable but dangerous secret he told me on his deathbed. A secret that leads to a great treasure, which was given to him by a great man. But he told me, not once but twice, this was to be shared only with someone who had a hunger, longing and love for coffee. Also someone who knows the answer, which is the first key to this secret. There is an answer that I have to seek, before sharing anything at all.’
Rahul was quick to respond. ‘I have an extreme love for coffee, and I think I may have the answer that you are seeking too. From all the signs I have seen, I think your master left this secret for me.’
Pandian listened and continued. ‘Ayya, you are the very first person to meet me and ask about this treasure. I don’t know how you know about this treasure, but you do know. And those who know a little about a big thing always have the hunger to know more, that’s what we say. But there is a problem. I cannot share this secret with you, even if you give me the answer I seek.’
‘Why not?’ asked Rahul. ‘What stops you, Pandian? You have a glorious moustache, and swearing on your moustache, I am a very big lover of coffee. That’s why I am here in Coorg to begin with. I will meet all of your master’s conditions.’
Pandian looked at him in a matter-of-fact way. ‘Ayya, there is one condition you do not meet. My master, the monk, he said to me that this secret is to be revealed only to a woman. Not to a man. Men are strong, but they are always greedy for power. They may misuse this secret for power. But a woman, she is strong in a different way. She may be greedy for love and happiness, but not for power. She will use the secret well. So, my master told me a woman should answer the question, and she can then attempt to find this great treasure. Of course, there can be a man with her, to accompany her, as a servant or a companion or a guide. He mentioned that to me as well. My master was a man of detail, I know that, Ayya. I worked with him for fifty years.’
For the second time that morning, Neha jumped into the fray, unexpectedly and totally without forewarning. ‘I am a woman, Pandian. I will answer your question and then you can reveal the secret to me. I will search for the treasure,’ she said, ‘Rahul here is my servant and obedient sidekick. He has been one for many months now. He wants to serve me in many ways, don’t you, Rahul?’
Rahul gritted hi
s teeth but Neha’s response had excited him anyway. He answered using few words. ‘Yes, Pandian, yes. I am her servant and companion. Neha will answer as she is a lover of coffee too. Didn’t you see the way she slurped up your wonderful filter coffee?’
RG, who was invisible to everyone all this while, came up to Rahul and Neha and patted them on their shoulders. Both of them were taken by surprise at this; Neha even jumped up a little.
Pandian looked one way and then the other way. He went up to an old sepia photograph of a Japanese monk in robes, hanging on the wall, next to the picture of a man with the grand moustache.
‘Master, I think the time has come. You spoke so correctly. You told me that a young couple would come to my house and ask for the secret. They are here, master. Guide me, shall I go ahead?’
RG, who was still hovering invisibly, decided to respond in his master’s voice. ‘Yes, Pandian, yes, yes,’ he spoke from nowhere in a high-pitched, Japanese-sounding voice. Clearly, he remembered Saito’s accent quite well. ‘These are the chosen people. Please go ahead, Pandian. I am now going back into my silence. I am dead, I must rest.’
Pandian bowed, offered a prayer and went into his bedroom. He picked up a small, coffee-brown leather briefcase from under his cot. He looked at the briefcase fondly and dusted it carefully. And then he took it out to the living room where Neha, Rahul and RG waited expectantly.
‘So now, I will open this bag for you. It belonged to my master. “Tell them to look, tell them to observe, tell them to think, for not everything will be clear, except to the right people who are worthy of this secret” were his words.’
‘Wait, wait,’ said Neha, taking charge of the conversation. ‘Wait, Pandian. Tell me, what should we look for? How long can we look? Don’t rush to open this stuff before you tell us everything.’
‘Amma, this is a bag that my master packed with his own hands just a few days before he died. It contains many things which were precious to him. How do I know what you should look for, when I myself have never opened this bag? You should look, you should observe and you should think. That’s all I know.’