by Pawan Mishra
Not surprisingly, when that show went on, she was named the best actor again. She had even bettered her own past records of artistic folly by descending into the audience to boo a few random individuals.
Then, when she played a lady devoted solely to her husband, in order to perfect herself in that role, she became an extremely good wife to Coinman. The chemistry between the couple transformed overnight. She waited at the door when Coinman came back from the office, took his jacket, and rushed to prepare tea for him. She relieved Shimla of many of her responsibilities and insisted on cooking herself for her husband. In bed at night, she shared every detail of how her day had been, discussed her worries for the future, and became intimate beyond precedent.
This newborn happiness did not last too long, however. From this role Imli progressed to the role of a wife who suspected that her husband was having an affair with the maid.
But at least Coinman had company now, in Shimla, in facing the torch from the Broadway monster.
17. The Grandpa Epics
During their children’s early years, parents often get so habitual in foreseeing and ensuring a great future for their offspring that they fail to realize the lesser degree of control they must exercise when the children are grown up and married. That’s most true for mothers, because the fathers move on easily with changing times, understanding the degree of independence kids demand with every year of growth. But mothers never seem to give up. Kasturi wasn’t going to give up, either, on her attempts to become a grandmother—to get an heir for the family.
During the first three years of Coinman’s married life, Kasturi patiently hid her impatient anticipation of signs of Imli’s impregnation. Whenever Imli had nausea, or felt fatigued, or had a craving for a particular food, or did not feel like eating a certain dish, Kasturi got excited, prayed to God, and took additional care of her daughter-in-law. Then, when she saw no progress, the compressed impatience of years gained enough strength to leak out in the form of small hints to the couple. This leakage, with time, became increasingly barefaced.
She would engineer ways to keep company with Imli several times a week, to let out the reminders. “You both have a big responsibility on your shoulders,” she told Imli on one occasion, “to further keep our name alive. Sweetie, there is no feeling in the world that compares with your child growing in you. Also, this is the best age to ensure a healthy baby.”
Imli would nod as if listening, but in fact she was too engaged in her acting trance to recall these reminders once the discussion was over. Therefore Kasturi bade adieu to a mother’s hesitation in taking the matter up directly with her adult son.
“There is nothing in the world,” she would say, “that belongs more to you than your own child. Besides, one needs a child to support oneself during those cruel days of life when one’s own body, under the influence of old age, can no longer act fully on one’s own commands.”
When the generic line of reasoning didn’t seem to work, she devised a strategy she thought was faultless.
“When your dad was three years old,” she told Coinman, “he fully remembered his past life, that of his grandfather.”
“What do you mean?” Coinman looked at her in disbelief.
“I never talked to you about certain family secrets. For several generations every birth in our family has actually been a rebirth of an ancestor. Your great-grandfather, for example, had returned from heaven to take birth as your father.”
“Do you believe in that?” Coinman’s rejection of the notion was visible on his face.
Kasturi excused herself to rush to her bedroom. Coinman could hear her open Daulat’s old steel safe.
“See here, this diary? Your grandfather started making a journal when your father, at age three, spoke spontaneously of intimate and accurate details from your great-grandfather’s life.” She handed the diary to Coinman and continued, “You can read it in your spare time, but let me tell you the gist: by age four he knew all about your great-grandfather’s life: names of his close friends, his dog’s name, and his weakness in mathematics. He insisted that the locked wardrobe that belonged to your deceased great-grandfather was his—he could describe all the clothes in it without ever seeing them. This was when your grandparents took him seriously and had no doubt that your father was actually his grandfather’s reincarnation.
“Your father specifically had an infatuation with an unused room in his grandparents’ house—as it turned out, this was your great-grandparents’ bedroom, and it was where your great-grandmother, his wife in a previous life, had died.”
Kasturi paused to see how Coinman received all this.
“So what’s the point you are trying to make?” Coinman asked flatly.
“Dear Son, the point is that our ancestors typically wait long in heaven above for the right moment to reincarnate in the same family. I know for a fact that your grandfather is patiently looking to come back as your child. It’s not an easy pursuit. First, he has to display a whole portfolio of good deeds performed during the prior life in order to come back to this world as a human; most people come back as ants, rats, and snakes. Second, he has to furnish good enough justification for wanting to come back to the same family.”
“Now, is this knowledge well documented somewhere?” Coinman asked, flipping through the journal Kasturi had given him.
“There are things in life that science will never be able to see. We have to rely on what has been passed from our ancestors, generation to generation.”
“All right,” said Coinman, smiling. “So how do you know that my grandfather has done everything needed and is cleared to come back to this family?”
“That’s not something we have to bother about. He has to do what he has to do to come this way. Our duty is to allow him a full chance to make it after he has done his bit.”
“Everything seems so puzzling and counterintuitive. But something you just said a few moments ago makes me very curious. How in the world can you say with certainty that my grandfather is waiting to come back as my son?” Coinman asked his question with such honesty that it made Kasturi smile.
“When on his deathbed”—Kasturi orated from her memory—“your grandfather promised Daulat that he would come back to the family as your son. Interestingly, you had not even been conceived at that point, but, out of the wisdom he had gathered all his life, he somehow knew about your future birth. Just a couple of minutes before he died, he whispered his last words in your father’s ears: ‘Son, it’s time for me. I have got to go now to visit the other side, and I have already started to get a glimpse of it. But before I fully leave here, I have a promise to make. I have loved this family more than anything else and would do everything possible to come back. Please do all that is needful to receive me, just like your mother and I did, to receive your grandfather through your birth. Don’t neglect to see your son get a good wife. I can already see him in the world where I am going. As much as I can see, he is supposed to leave there in about two years to make Kasturi eat for two. I will be indebted to God if your son keeps his door open for me.’
“These were his last words. You must have heard from us that he spoke very loudly. So all of us present there could hear what he whispered in Daulat’s ear, although for some reason, Daulat never mentioned it to anyone. Not even to me. So if it had not been for your grandfather’s strong voice, we would not have known his wish. It’s very hard to investigate into your father’s motive behind that, but all this is beside the point. Not receiving a request through the expected route is no excuse for not fulfilling it.
“So, my son, you should understand now how restless the soul of your grandfather must be. It’s only you—of course, in agreement with Imli—who can help him. Moreover, Son, just consider this: only when you bring an offspring to this world will it be possible for us—your own mother and father—to come back to this family again. Wouldn’t you want us back again?”
“Let me think about it,” Coinman said. “You know, Mother
, how busy Imli and I are right now. But I hear you. I will do whatever I can.”
Despite his promise, Kasturi didn’t let it go. She continued her efforts; she spied outside Coinman’s bedroom every night, after Imli locked the room from inside, with her right ear pressed hard on the door, trying to detect evidence of their consideration of her requests.
Kasturi kept the “grandpa topic” alive. She would narrate stories to Coinman about his grandpa’s heroics whenever it seemed appropriate.
“For a long time during his prime youth, your grandpa had resolved to stay in the village,” Kasturi once said, during one of her many story sessions. “He only moved to a city much later to ensure a better educational opportunity for your father. He said that though there was more money in cities to lay your hands on, good-hearted people were scarce in cities. Your grandma supported him wholeheartedly. She was a doctor herself, and a very down-to-earth lady—she hardly cared about the impact of living in the village on her career. Such was her dedication to her husband’s wish.
“You have a fair idea by now how progressive your grandpa was; let me tell you about one episode in particular. Your grandpa was once transferred to a city full of drunkards. The social order of the city was on the verge of decline as the residents just drank and abused. They robbed people from other cities to have money for their alcohol consumption. Because your grandpa had a very successful history of sorting out such matters in past, he was posted to this city after many prior administrators had failed.
“Although your grandpa had been the most successful administrative officer in the past, this particular task was so challenging that even the best of his friends and well-wishers believed that he was going to taste failure for the first time in his life. That kind of spotlight only made your grandfather more resolute about achieving success.
“On the very first day of his arrival in the city, all the alcohol—every drop of it that existed in the city on that very day—was disposed of down the open sewer lines. It was then announced throughout the city that any person in possession of any amount of alcohol would be fined a large sum of money per drop. No one could dare to bring any alcohol to the city. Most drunkards quit drinking for the inconvenience of having to travel to other cities to satiate their desire; the rest, only a small fraction of the total, migrated to other cities.
“There was a funny side of this that I can’t resist telling you. All the donkeys, pigs, and stray dogs—the most common living beings in the city, even more prevalent than their human counterparts—were found drooling over the alcohol flowing through the open drains for about a week. Then they could sense that the newly acquired taste was for naught in the city, as what they’d gotten a taste of accidentally was all the city had to offer. So to increase their chances to ever taste it again, they found it prudent to migrate to other cities.
“So this was a positive by-product of your grandpa’s action: driving away unwanted stray animals and thereby beautifying the city. Many believe that even this was a premeditated outcome, and that your grandpa had planned to kill two birds with one stone: getting rid of filthy animals and drunkards, both at the same time. Some had even said that your grandpa did not actually distinguish between the two. So maybe it was indeed a single goal in his mind.
“This way of handling the case later went into several textbooks related to management and administration, and the case study is still part of the curriculum at a number of universities. The point they stress is, the prior approach focused on drunkards, incurring huge expenses without achieving a partial solution—but your grandpa’s alcohol-focused approach made the solution seem like a cakewalk!
“No great soul, as they say, lives for very long. Because God desperately wants all the great people near him. It was no different in your grandpa’s case. He was perfectly built and could have defeated five men simultaneously in wrestling—but he suddenly took to his bed. Some people thought that one of his friends, jealous of your grandpa’s capabilities, mixed something in his food, a sort of clever poison, which even doctors could not trace in the reports later. And, my dear son, what I am going to tell you now is based on my own experience: people who are constantly in poor health seem to live longer than healthy people. I have seen, over and over again, that healthy people, who never saw a doctor in their entire lives, pass suddenly, while people living on medicines carry on. To me it looks as though medicines are mandatory for the maintenance of a human being.”
Sadly for Kasturi, though, in the end none of these tactics ever worked: she waited in vain for her grandchild.
18. The Lethal Complaint
The duel may go on for a long time, but self-defense often wins over self-reproach.
On the day following the coin robbery, the chief robbers convened to rapidly form a foolproof strategy against the anticipated complaint from Coinman, and thereby defend themselves from an ABC apocalypse.
Tulsi was there, but not to boost their morale. Looking at an imminent involvement from ABC, she admitted freely to harboring nervousness.
“This was an outrageous demonstration of our shameful intelligence,” she declared, voluntarily assuming the soapbox. “Had we not decided to perform this as gracefully as a dancer’s leap? But we turned it into a dinosaur’s dance party! For heaven’s sake, tell me if anyone disagrees with me on what is going to happen now. Many of us will be gone. No one knows where! Some of us who are deemed less useful, and whom management has been waiting for an excuse to get rid of, may be thrown out as well. The job market is down the toilet—so we might land ourselves in the worst misery of our lives.”
Tulsi’s discourse turned Hukum’s mind into a volcano. As though everyone here except her is a fool! To avoid an eruption in his mind, and hence prevent innocent casualties, he started walking toward the exit door. “If all we’re going to get is an insult, I’m out of here.”
“Wait,” cried Ratiram, rushing in Hukum’s direction with his right hand outstretched, gesturing to him to halt. “We are not here to fight with each other.”
“I mean, seriously?” Hukum turned back. “Do you see how snobbishly Tulsi is blaming all of us for this? Wasn’t she as much a part of the whole thing as anyone else? As a matter of fact, when push came to shove, she was standing in a corner, completely dissociated, while we robbed the coins. If she really was the smartest of us all, why didn’t she lead us all in the right direction? Anyone can lecture from the butt; only very few can act.” Then his anger faded to disappointment. “I understand it very well now. She is only blaming me because she is trying to set me up here as the designer of the robbery.” He then turned to Tulsi with a grim smile. “If I drown, I assure you that you will drown, too.”
Hukum looked around, gauging his support, but found mostly dumbfounded faces.
“Well, all right.” Hukum went on. “If you people still believe in her good intentions, you can continue to do so, but I am not going to compromise my respect here. If you thought with your minds and not your roosters, you would get the point.”
Tulsi gasped, with her right hand on her mouth and her eyes getting watery, and left the room in anger and humiliation before anyone could react to Hukum’s last statement. Silence filled the room for the next few minutes, everyone looking at one another in disbelief.
Finally Ratiram spoke up.
“Hukum, everyone present here understands your point. Even Tulsi does, too, I am sure. These are testing times. If we blame each other and don’t work on this problem as a single entity, we are surely going to land ourselves in an enormous tragedy.” He looked at the door, as if hoping to see Tulsi come back. “We can’t do anything successfully without politeness, respect to fellows, and trust in everyone’s abilities. If we lose sight of these, we are headed for a catastrophe. These are times for tuning our individual instruments to compose a song together, not for singling out others’ instruments as messy.”
Many of them nodded in respectful submission to Ratiram’s thought.
“Let me ap
ologize on behalf of anyone who might have hurt another team member’s feelings,” Ratiram went on slowly. “What’s done is done. So I appeal to each one of you to help us as a team to brainstorm a solution. I will separately reach out to Tulsi and keep her in the loop.”
Everyone sank in deep thought, some bracing their chins on their hands as if that additional stability enabled the mind to focus on thought better.
Several minutes passed without anyone volunteering an idea. Indeed, they all seemed to think Ratiram would save them. So Ratiram stood up at last and spoke again.
“I admit, I’ve been thinking about a plan since the time we robbed him. First and foremost, we need to accept the fact that this is not an easy situation to get past without taking a few hits. Let’s be mentally prepared for some damage. The damage is inevitable—we can only minimize it.”
“That’s damn straight,” said Panna. “We are up shit’s creek.”
“Second, if each one of us takes responsibility for what has happened, we may achieve a greater moral satisfaction, but I can assure you, we’ll land ourselves in deep trouble, too. We are not part of a world where honest confessions are rewarded by forgiveness. It is a world where the loud conquers the soft, and a friendly attitude is taken for a weakness. A quiet and nervous person may be perceived as a thief while a self-assured thief comes across as a cop. So if we want to end up on the winning side, we must think of going on the offensive at once.”
Everyone quickly nodded.
“What are we going to do?” Daya was certain that Ratiram would have made a thorough plan already.
Ratiram answered, “Let’s file a complaint to Jay before Coinman does. Let’s tell him how Coinman has been the biggest impediment to all of us at the workplace.”
Everyone keenly agreed. They promptly drafted a letter, signed it, and handed it over to Jay’s administrative assistant, who made no delays in passing the letter to Jay.