The Mystic's Miracle

by Noah Alexander

  "She has not been here for three days," said Maisie leaning on the door, "She said something about going to her aunt's place in Bombay when she left, but did not say when she would return. She usually does not care to share all the details with me. She is quite a reserved person. And slightly strange, if you don't mind me saying."

  Ernst stood silent, trying to figure out what to make of Maisie's observations.

  "But how do you know her," Maisie asked, "Are you her friend?"

  "Um... Yeah. Sort of," said Ernst, "When I enquired in her office they said that she was sick. Was she still sick when she left for her aunt's place?"

  Maisie chuckled.

  "I think that must have been just an excuse to get a leave. I do it often enough myself. We have no choice, you see, her company Grington and Basse is even worse than mine in that regard, only two days leave every month."

  "I am sorry," said Ernst, "did you say Grington and Basse?"

  "Yes, Maya works there as an accountant."

  "An accountant? Are you sure?"

  "Yes, certainly. Why do you ask?"

  "Umm... Nothing. I must have been mistaken. Anyway, I should get going now. Thanks for your help. Nice meeting you."

  "Nice meeting you too."

  "Mr. Wilhelm," Maisie called as Ernst clambered down a few steps, "I don't know if I should say this, but there is more to Maya than meets the eye."

  Ernst smiled, nodding vaguely, and hurried down. There certainly was much more to her than met the eye.

  How could she work in two companies? And why did she lie about her position at the Detective agency?

  Ernst had been left so confused by the discoveries about his prospective dance partner that he had completely forgotten about the dance.

  Lost in thoughts, he did not notice when he stepped onto the main street. It was mostly deserted, a few men scurried in either direction, while some stray dogs hopped in and out of dark corners. A hansom came rattling in from the end of the street, a lantern swinging wildly in front. Ernst raised a hand to stop it but it didn't slow down. Perhaps, it was already occupied. He'd have to walk to the square to get a ride back home. The day was wretched, nothing would go according to plan. The rattling of the wheels drifted closer as he turned and began to walk to the square.

  Why did Maya lie to him…

  Ernst felt a sudden tug at his side and was hurled on the road, right in front of the oncoming hansom. He flailed desperately to get out of the way of the marauding stallion, but it was too late.

  Ernst's wretched day would end with him being trampled under the hooves of a horse.

  SIX

  The Mystic of Anthill

  Ernst opened his eyes and found himself nestling serendipitously between the front and the hind legs of the horse. He was not dead.

  The High Guard let out a relieved sigh and crawled to the pavement, trying to ignore the profanities that the cabman was flinging at him for attempting to commit suicide under his cab.

  “I know thugs like you,” the cabman barked, jumping out of the perch on top of his cart, “You jump in front of carriages and then try to extort honest men.”

  He scratched his beard, then reached into his cart to produce a thick wooden staff.

  “I’ll teach you a lesson,” said he, moving aggressively towards Ernst, who was still not fully back to his senses and was trying to ascertain how exactly he had fallen in front of the onrushing cab. He was sure that someone had pushed him. But who? And why?

  The cabman beat his thick staff onto the pavement to bring him back to his senses.

  “Follow me to the constabulary,” he said, “I will make sure you spend a few days in the lock-up.”

  “What are you saying, old man” Ernst said trying to get up from the road but failing in the first attempt, “Why would I jump in front of your cab? Someone pushed me.”

  “Don’t try to wriggle out of this now, you rascal, I know you and your tribe. Get up or I’ll take your corpse to the police.”

  A thin crowd had gathered around the two in anticipation of some entertainment.

  “Teach him a lesson cabman,” a thin man with a mustache goaded the cabby, “Don’t leave him”.

  The crowd cheered.

  Ernst tried once more to come to his feet, this time successfully and scavenged his pocket for his Constabulary card.

  “I am Lieutenant Ernst Wilhelm,” he said showing it to the cabby, “And I had no intention of meeting my death under your horse.”

  The cabman considered his identity card for a few moments before changing his demeanor completely. He quickly lowered the staff in his hand and tried to hide it behind his back.

  “Apologies, Sir,” said he, “I… I did not know that you were a policeman. You see, I have been mugged once already by a young man about your age who too jumped in front of my cab. It was not my intention to disrespect you. I hope you understand. Please, sir, do not confiscate my hansom.”

  Ernst was slightly emboldened by the fear that the burly cabman had of the police, and for a moment he considered teaching him a lesson. But his head was still swimming from his almost fatal mishap and he could not think of any suitable punishment.

  “It is alright,” he said nodding understandably, “you may go.”

  The cabman bowed low and was out of sight before Ernst could change his mind, leaving the crowd groaning in disappointment. Once the street had emptied, Ernst studied the place for any clue to the person who had pushed him. He was so lost in thought while walking that he had not noticed any passerby. There was no one suspicious around him right now, but at the spot where he had fallen on the road lay a white envelope. Ernst trundled towards it, looking carefully on either side for any other stray carriage.

  It was indeed addressed to him. He opened the envelope and what seemed like a dried fingertip fell to the pavement along with a letter.

  Hello Lieutenant,

  I hope that this letter finds you alive (people in your profession meet with unfortunate accidents all the time.)

  You must be curious about the fingertip in your possession. It belonged once to your fellow High Guard called Thomas McDonald. Unfortunately, he suffered from a debilitating illness. He took his job too seriously. He went out of his way to do his duty and often that meant coming in the way of our organization. People suffering from this disease do not last long.

  Unfortunately, you are already showing the early symptoms of that illness, and I am writing to you to warn you before it is too late.

  You are a High Guard, and your only duty is to do what your superiors tell you to. You don’t need to dig deeper than you are required, don’t sniff where you are not asked to. If you let your curiosity get the better of you, you might initially get a few awards for bravery and self-drive but in the end, there is only one thing reserved for people like you and that, my friend, is a grave.

  I hope you will take this first and last warning with seriousness and live a long and happy life.

  Your Well-wisher

  Ernst pocketed the letter but left the fingertip on the road before trundling out of the street, his mind now bothered by a mystery far heavier than Maya’s lies.

  *****

  There were very few things that could make Ernst forget about his strange experiences in the evening. The appearance of his mother outside his house was one of them.

  Mrs. Gloria Wilhelm stood sweating and visibly fatigued at the door to his apartment as Ernst made his way up the stairs. Her rigid features had been accentuated by her tiredness and Ernst was reminded of the times when he was a child and returned home late, after an evening with friends.

  “Where have you been Ernst,” growled his mother as soon as she saw him, “I have been standing here like a beggar for two hours. None of your neighbors have the courtesy to invite an old respectable lady to their house, and you don’t even sweep your stairs so that I can rest here for a bit without permanently ruining my dress.”

  Ernst considered telling her that he did not
have the luxury of the army of servants and sweepers that she used in her home but stopped short. It wasn’t a good idea to prod Gloria Wilhelm when she was annoyed.

  Moreover, he was seeing her after four months. A little more courtesy was due.

  He hugged her lovingly, “I wasn’t expecting you mother, otherwise I would have swept all the stairs of the building and spread a red velvet carpet all over the place.”

  Gloria Wilhelm tried hard but couldn’t resist a smile.

  Ernst opened the lock to his apartment trying to remember if there was anything inside which his mother might take exception to. Pretty much everything, it turned out.

  Ernst lit a few lamps as Gloria looked for a place to settle down. The condition of his room was not much better than the stairs outside. Dirty laundry, newspapers, packets of old food littered the living room of the two-room apartment.

  Gloria was almost scandalized.

  If she hadn’t been too tired to walk, Ernst was sure she would have marched out of the building. But she pinched a few of Ernst’s dirty shirts away from the sofa and settled gingerly in a corner, scared to put too much weight on the furniture.

  “I hope you do remember that you are a human and not a horse,” she said as Ernst took off his shoes and settled on an armchair which was already laden with a pile of newspapers that he did not bother to displace.

  “How have you been mother,” Ernst asked ignoring her quip, “How are your rose bushes coming along. Have you harvested more than Mrs. Higgins?”

  Gloria’s lower lip twitched and her cheeks tensed. Ernst knew the competition between her mother and the neighbor hadn’t ended well.

  “I would have, of course,” said Gloria, “Had your father taken the trouble to get me those special variety of roses that Mr. Higgins had bought for his wife from Bulgaria. It wasn’t a fair competition.”

  Ernst wanted to laugh but he saw that Gloria was still tormented by the painful memory.

  “What about father,” he said changing the topic, “Is he still upset with me?"

  Ernst Wilhelm’s father was the chairman of the Wilhelm bank, one of the largest banks in Cardim, and he had been devastated when Ernst had decided to pass the opportunity to succeed him at the bank in the favor of joining the police. He had severed all ties with his only son and refused to see him until he corrected his course and left the police.

  Gloria kept silent at the mention of her husband.

  “I hope he is alright, mother?” said Ernst coming closer to Gloria and putting a hand on hers.

  Gloria adjusted her purple hat and wiped a single drop of tear that had slipped from the corner of her left eye. She then took a deep breath and sat up straight in a position befitting a responsible lady.

  “It is your father who has compelled me to make this trip here today,” she said without looking directly at Ernst, “I have not seen him for three days.”

  “What! And you are telling this to me now,” Ernst was enraged. He understood that his family was upset with him but that did not mean not sharing tragedies like this.

  “Have you at least informed the police?” he asked again.

  “Do you want to advertise your family problem for the whole world to see,” she said sharply to him, “If you have forgotten, let me remind you, that you belong to an honorable family.”

  “Oh, mother, now what does this have to do with honor?”

  “Everything! I know where your father is.”

  “He hasn’t started seeing another woman, has he?”

  “Ernst!” Gloria rapped her son sharply with her gloved hand, “How could you even let that thought come to your mind.”

  “Well, you were saying something about honor.”

  “Your father is at the ashram of some Hindu mystic in Anthill.”

  “What is he doing there?”

  “Losing sight of the world. Growing mad.” Gloria rocked her head in disbelief even as she said this.

  “I don’t understand,” Ernst said, “Can you be a bit more specific. I'm your son you know, you can reveal the details to me without losing your honor.”

  Gloria considered her son’s statement for a few moments before deciding he was right.

  “There is this mystic in Anthill called Guru Ramdas. He has a lot of followers among the natives of the city. He approached the Wilhelm Bank a few months ago to open an account here. Apparently, this man receives a lot of donations. Since the account was big, your father handled the matter personally. He made multiple trips to his ashram in Anthill, sometimes staying the night there. And it turns out, that Guru found another follower in him. A few weeks ago he came home in a trance almost, on his face was a smile such that I have never seen, it looked like he was done with the travails of the world and ready to gain salvation. I asked him the reason and he said that the Guru was a magician. Your father said that the Guru had run his hands upon his head, said a few incantations, and a sense of peace such that he had never experienced before had drifted over him.

  I wasn’t too concerned at first. But then it started happening much too often for my liking. He began to visit the ashram twice or thrice a week, and each time he came back in that same strange state. He would talk to me about spiritual things, quote weird ancient Hindu hymns that he had heard from the Guru. He even got himself a whole library of ancient scriptures and the days he did not visit the ashram, he spent locked up in his room reading those books. Since the last two weeks, he had stopped going to the bank altogether. And then I found out that he had even donated more than 20 thousand Cowries to this man’s ashram. This was the final straw and I confronted him over this madness three days ago. He merely smiled at me, said that it was all for the good, that no money could buy the peace that he had begun to feel with the Guru’s blessings. I pushed him to come back to his senses, to stop this madness and start focusing on work, but he was too far gone into the clutches of the Guru. Instead of correcting his course, he even invited me to accompany him to the ashram. I categorically rejected his offer. Do you think a well-bred Christian woman like me would ever set feet in the hermitage of a blasphemous hoodlum? But he went there alone. And he hasn’t returned since then.”

  Gloria took a deep breath at the end of her narration and Ernst saw the lines on her face relax. She had been desperate to get this out to someone, it seemed. Her tale was singularly strange as well. It was hard to believe that his father, who stayed as far away from church as was possible without affecting his business, could become a devotee of a Hindu Guru.

  “I don’t understand,” said Ernst, “He has gone there of his own will. Do you want me to drag him out of that place? God knows he wouldn’t listen to anything I say.”

  “Of course he wouldn’t listen to anything you say after what you did. But he is still your father, and you have a duty to bring him out of that unchristian place.”

  “I cannot pull him out if he doesn’t want to.”

  “You’ll need to do what it takes to bring him out. You are a policeman for god’s sake. At least use what you fought for to some advantage.”

  Ernst scratched his chin.

  “Let me see what I can do,” he said.

  Gloria got up and dusted her dress like she had been sitting on the ground all this time.

  “Don’t disappoint me,” she said starting towards the door, “and I will send Ramu and Maria to clean your house sometime this week. They will make this room livable.”

  “Thank you,” Ernst said not feeling grateful at all.

  “You don’t need any money? Do you?” asked his mother doubtfully.

  “Of course not,” said Ernst, “I earn more than 80 percent of the people in this city.”

  “I know that son, that is why I was asking. 80 percent of the people in this city live in gutters.”

  “No, I think I would be able to survive.”

  “Good. And yes, don’t tell your father that I sent you or that I came to your house. I had to get a cab to come here or the drivers would have told hi
m and he would have been mad at me for months.”

  “I thought he had become quite peaceful with the help of the Guru.”

  “Take care,” said his mother walking out of the door and Ernst collapsed on the sofa trying to remember how his father’s face looked like.

  SEVEN

  Harold Wilson Goes to Sleep

  Maya stood near the St. Mary’s Church, behind a large Tamarind tree, and scraped at its bark idly. She didn’t know how long she had been hiding here, watching people drift into the church. It must have been more than a couple of hours. A few dozen people had already gone past the black wrought iron gates to join the funeral of her dead uncle. She recognized most faces, some very distinctly and others vaguely - like she had seen them in a dream. And as more people had gone inside the church, her courage to face them had ebbed lower and lower. Maya was hesitant to socialize at the best of times, going face to face with this group of people was her worst nightmare. She feared how they would react to her, what they’d say. She was sure that many of these people most likely still talked about her, gossiped about the day she had run away from the circus and the reason for that. Maya was sure they would have questions for her and she didn’t think she was up to the task of answering them.

  It was a wonder that she was here at all. Maya had never found herself caught in two minds to such a degree ever before. On the one hand, she wanted nothing to do with the circus and her past, and on the other hand, she still felt some attachment to her uncle. She wanted to say her goodbyes, even though she could never bury the grudge she held against the now dead man.

  It took her 15 more minutes, by which time the gathering had emerged from the church and moved to the cemetery beside it, to finally gather enough courage to emerge from behind the tree and make her way to the cemetery. She hoped that the ceremony was about to end and that people would ignore her.

  She was mistaken. As soon as she entered the congregation, she found herself the center of attraction.