No Illusions in Xanadu

by Ruby Gupta

  Professor Shantanu nodded absentmindedly as he wondered how evidence could be gathered against the suspects.

  Swami Maheshanandaji sat alone in the meditation room at Xanadu. He was here at the behest of Pallavi to personally guide Amar out of the delusional depression that he had gotten into since his father’s death.

  The swami had been attempting to meditate … but of late, he had not been able to concentrate well on his usual dhyan regime. It was strange really, and most unusual. Normally, nothing affected him. But he had to admit that losing Rajvir had affected him deeply. He had not expected to be so pained upon losing his childhood friend. But then strange are the ways of the human heart and human emotions…

  ‘Oh, you are here,’ Professor Shantanu wandered into the room.

  Maheshananda inclined his head.

  ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you,’ the professor continued.

  ‘No – not at all.’

  ‘I hope you were not in the middle of some meditation or something,’ Shantanu was half-apologetic.

  ‘No – I was trying to meditate but was unsuccessful,’ the swami smiled wryly.

  ‘Really?’ Shantanu’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘I was under the impression that you would be successful in all such things, or for that matter in whatever you undertake.’

  ‘I usually am. But I’m human too,’ Maheshananda smiled.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Elevating oneself is a continuous process. The human mind is such, that the natural tendency is to slide down to the level of the senses,’ the swami explained.

  ‘I thought that when one reached a particular stage of elevation, then it was a done deal,’ Shantanu said.

  ‘No. It’s not like that. No matter what level you reach, if you are not careful about maintaining it with continuously feeding your mind with the correct thought process, then there is the very real danger of reverting to the original state,’ Maheshananda explained.

  ‘I see. So, you have to continuously work to first maintain your state of enlightenment and then go higher.’

  ‘Yes. That is exactly the way it is.’

  ‘Tell me one thing. Is it mandatory to move away from the world of senses in order to reach enlightenment?’ the professor was curious.

  ‘Well, it is not a case of moving away from the world of senses; but a case of transcending it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that you have to develop a state of mind where you live in the world of the senses, but are not too attached to it. You are not obsessed with sensory pleasures, but are able to move above and beyond it,’ the swami explained.

  ‘What about celibacy?’

  ‘There are different concepts about it. One school of thought explores the reaching of nirvana through the physical union with the opposite sex. There is another which believes in eschewing it completely.’

  ‘What do you believe in?’

  ‘I believe that it is all in the mind. People who practise celibacy may actually be mentally obsessing over it. Whereas people who are not celibate may be focussing on reaching a higher state of consciousness,’ the swami spoke reflectively.

  ‘What about you?’ Professor Shantanu could not help asking. He knew what was prompting him to ask such questions but he did not want to admit it to himself.

  ‘You really are curious about me, aren’t you? You are trying to analyse my psyche, isn’t it?’ Maheshananda smiled.

  Professor Shantanu nodded. There was no point in trying to hide it. But he was not going to let on to the swami the real reason behind his need to know.

  ‘Well, I have vacillated between both positions at different times in my life, in my quest to understand and explore the purpose of human existence,’ the swami stated impassively.

  ‘I see,’ Shantanu said. A wild jealousy flared up within him. He could no longer deny that it was the thought that there was something more between Maheshananda and Pallavi, that was gnawing at his insides.

  ‘Anyway, these things don’t really matter. What matters is the ability to ensure equanimity of the mind under all circumstances,’ the swami became philosophical.

  Shantanu remained quiet. He had already lost his equanimity of mind since the past few days, and he had no idea how he would get it back. It was inconceivable that he of all people should develop such irrational feelings. ‘So, you are here for how long?’ he changed the topic.

  ‘Maybe till the end of this week.’

  A sudden thought occurred to Shantanu. ‘Tell me, since you have extraordinary powers, can’t you divine who killed Rajvir?’ he asked.

  Maheshananda’s teeth glinted brightly as he smiled broadly. ‘I’m not a clairvoyant. And I’m not sure that they too have such powers.’

  ‘But who do you think must have done it?’ the professor persisted.

  ‘I really don’t know. This is a matter for the police to find out. I don’t focus upon things that are not my concern. I am only here to help Rajvir’s family cope with the tragedy so that they are able to get on with their lives as normally as possible.’

  ‘But surely you must have wondered. After all, Rajvir was your very best friend!’

  ‘I believe in not questioning the hand of destiny, or trying to analyse it. Rather, I believe in going with the flow of life and events, as they occur. There is no point in trying to analyse the how and why of it. Wisdom lies in accepting it, dealing with it as best possible, and moving forward,’ Maheshananda was categorical.

  ‘Oh,’ Professor Shantanu decided to leave it at that.

  Inspector Bhogle was having his breakfast, when his cell phone vibrated, disturbing the early morning calm of his home.

  Determinedly he ignored it.

  Equally determinedly, the cell continued to vibrate. Deeply irritated, he snatched it up, ‘Yes?’ he barked. The next instant, his face became grim.

  His wife, who was pouring tea into her cup, stilled her hand. Long experience told her this was not good. She sighed deeply.

  How she wished her husband had some easy-going job instead of this one, which was aging him faster than nature intended.

  She resumed pouring the tea.

  Her husband had gone very still, as he listened to the phone.

  A while later, he put the phone aside and absent-mindedly picked up his toast.

  Clearly, his mind was far away.

  His wife knew better than to ask anything. He would tell her, if he felt like sharing anything.

  After a five-minute silence, broken only by the crunch of toast against teeth, he said, ‘Do you know Natalie?’

  ‘That foreign, item girl?’ his wife said.

  ‘Umm … she has been found dead on the sets of her latest film,’ Inspector Bhogle’s calm voice belied the unrest in his eyes.

  Chapter 12

  Jyothika sat along with Chandra Prakash, looking at the rushes of the first few scenes of his debut film. A deluge of pride and happiness threatened to overwhelm her.

  This is what she had been waiting for; for her entire life. And it had finally come true. But sadly, it was too late.

  If only Rajvir was by their side, watching it along with them, her joy would have been complete.

  On screen, Chandra Prakash’s resemblance to his father was uncanny. It was not just the looks and physique that was identical. It was the entire persona – the walk, the talk, the voice, the mannerisms – everything seemed to have been passed on unchanged, from father to son. The outstanding part of his persona was his acting prowess.

  There was no doubt that Chandra Prakash had inherited his father’s on-screen charisma and acting talent in full measure. He was born to be the next superstar.

  Jyothika knew about the snide remarks often made about how it was always the bastard spawn that inherited the best of both parents. She always ignored such comments; though, privately, a part of her was forced to acknowledge that perhaps it was true in more ways than one.

  ‘If only Dad could see thi
s,’ Chandra Prakash gruffly broke into her thoughts.

  ‘Yes.’ Tears pricked behind her eyes.

  ‘I loved him. And now, now he is gone. And we are left alone. He must be okay wherever he is; it is we who are not okay,’ Chandra Prakash’s voice wobbled.

  ‘It’s okay, beta. This is what destiny had in store for us,’ Jyothika tried to be strong and pragmatic. She knew how much her son relied upon and loved Rajvir. It was more than love.

  Chandra Prakash was devoted to his dad. Since the time he had been a little boy, he had done everything to please his father. His every little accomplishment was only for Rajvir, who in turn was an equally devoted father.

  Jyothika had always felt blessed to see the strong bond between the two.

  And now – she felt bereft, adrift – what would she do now? She took a deep breath. She could not afford to be weak. She had to be the support for her son.

  She knew that Chandra Prakash at heart was as soft as his father. Both father and son looked tough at the surface, but they were softies at the core.

  ‘What are we gonna do now, Ma?’ Chandra Prakash looked lost.

  ‘Don’t you worry. We will go on as before. We will complete this film of yours,’ Jyothika spoke firmly.

  ‘But … I don’t think I have the strength to do it anymore,’ he spoke plaintively.

  ‘Don’t you want to do what your Dad wanted you to do? You owe it to him to complete this film and be successful. This is what he wanted. You must fulfil his last wish,’ her voice became commanding.

  Chandra Prakash nodded through tear-filled eyes, not trusting himself to speak, lest he started crying like a weakling. He wished he could be as strong as his mother. It was perhaps her strength, that both his father and he loved most in her. She was the one who stood by them always and gave advice whenever they needed it. He knew how much Rajvir had loved and respected his mother. This had made him love his father more than ever. She was right; he would do as she said. He owed it to Rajvir to be a success and make him proud.

  ‘I hope the police are able to find the killer and bring the matter to rest,’ Jyothika deliberately changed the topic.

  ‘Yes,’ Chandra Prakash said.

  ‘Who could have done it?’ she said.

  Her son remained quiet.

  ‘You know I do think it could be Pallavi,’ Jyothika said.

  Chandra Prakash’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He knew that his mother actively disliked Rajvir’s legitimate wife. But accusing her of murder was going a bit too far, even by her standards.

  ‘It could be Amar also…,’ she continued.

  ‘Oh, c’mon Ma. Do you seriously think Amar can be capable of doing any such thing?’

  ‘Come to think of it, Mridula could have also done it…’ Jyothika ignored his interjection and seemed to be speaking to herself.

  ‘Now this is really preposterous. How can you even think of Mridula? She has nothing to do with this. She lives with her family in Delhi, far removed from this world of films, glamour and all. For god’s sake Ma, what is wrong with you?’ Chandra Prakash shook his head at the absurdity of his mother’s statement.

  ‘There is something unnatural about her behaviour, I tell you,’ Jyothika said.

  ‘Really?’ Chandra Prakash paused. He had great respect for his mother’s power of insight.

  ‘Yes, she is unnaturally quiet all the time. Who knows what all goes on in her mind? And I do think Rajvir has not done the right thing by her.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well for one, Rajvir should have left behind more of his assets for her in his will. Secondly, I do think he was the one who did not allow her to pursue her dream of becoming an actress,’ his mother explained.

  ‘Mridula wanted to become an actress? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Yes. And what’s more she was certainly talented. And after she could not pursue her dream, she was never the same. Something died in her… Maybe, maybe she hated Rajvir for that … and so … could possibly, you know…’ Jyothika’s voice trailed away.

  ‘Could have killed him? Is that what you are saying?’ It sounded unbelievable to him.

  Jyothika remained quiet.

  ‘But Mridula was not there on the night of the party, remember?’ Chandra Prakash pointed out.

  ‘Who knows for sure? She could have come, committed the act, and flown back with no one being the wiser,’ his mother said.

  ‘Really? And no one would have noticed her?’

  ‘Do you think anyone ever notices Mridula? The way she slinks about in corners with her unnatural silence, you would think she is invisible most of the time,’ Jyothika spoke emphatically.

  After a long silence, Chandra Prakash said, ‘Maybe, maybe, you could have a point.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Jyothika paused. ‘But what should I do about it? Should I tell someone about my suspicions?

  ‘Yes. Of course. I think that Inspector Bhogle is a most competent officer. You should definitely tell him whatever you feel. It would not be right that you have some intuition or suspicion, howsoever farfetched about Dad’s killer, and don’t tell the investigating officer,’ Chandra Prakash spoke decisively.

  Amar lay on the bed in his city apartment, as he watched his latest lover, Robert, get dressed. Would this be it? The true relationship that he had been waiting for?

  Robert worked in the Navy. Amar had picked him up a couple of months back, one night at the bar near the navy docks.

  This was a first for Amar. He had never had a lover from outside his narrow world. All his previous lovers had been men from the modelling world or the film industry. All of them had an ulterior motive in latching on to Amar. They all hoped that Amar would use his influence with Rajvir, to get them a meaty role, or plum assignment or some such thing. None of them entered into the relationship only for Amar.

  But Robert was different. He was an officer; he did not need anything from Amar – neither money, nor an assignment, or a favour, or anything. This fact alone was enough for Amar to begin cherishing Robert. He had never had anyone, who would be with him, for his sake alone.

  ‘So, I’ll see you tonight?’ Robert smiled lopsidedly, as a curly lock of hair fell on his forehead in a charming tangle.

  Amar’s heart almost skipped a beat. Was he falling for this gorgeous man? Controlling his emotions, he replied – deadpan, ‘Sure.’

  ‘Right.’ With a wave, Robert left for his office.

  Left alone, Amar wondered what to do with his day. Last night had been fabulous. Robert always made him feel peaceful and fulfilled. Something that had never happened before.

  All his life, Amar had searched for this elusive feeling, but never found it.

  Automatically, through force of habit, his hand reached for the rolled joint at the bedside table. His day began only after he had had his first fix, lying in bed. It was the only way he could get out of bed, and start the day. As he took a deep drag and inhaled the drug, a wave of calm descended over him. He felt happy, truly happy, perhaps for the first time in his life.

  It seemed that finally good things were happening to him. First, finding Robert, and then Rajvir being murdered. Oh, how he had hated that man. He could never bring himself to think of him as his father. He hated him, as he had never hated anyone in his life. All his life he had had to walk in the bloody man’s shadow. But no more – now was the time to come into his own. Be his own man.

  From as far back as Amar could remember, Rajvir had remained a stranger all through his growing up years. A distant person, who brought gifts, but was never really there. For the longest time, he had the impression of living in the house of this imposing personality, who was either coming or going. Numerous people always surrounded Rajvir when he was at home, whilst simultaneously many others waited for their turn to meet him.

  It was only his darling mom, Pallavi who was there all through with him, fulfilling his every wish and demand – sometimes even before he could express it. He loved her so much that at times when
he thought of her, he almost choked with the emotions that overpowered him.

  Pallavi doted on him, hung on every word he uttered; pampered him and thoroughly spoiled him. In her eyes, nothing was good enough for him. And he could do no wrong. Even when he made mistakes, she made it a point to ignore and overlook them.

  In time, Amar grew up with the belief that he was god’s gift to Earth.

  Amar’s early years had been idyllic – it was just him and his dearest mom. They had each other and all the comforts in the world. And they did not need anything or anyone else to make their lives complete.

  As Amar approached adolescence, he began to sometimes catch his mom with occasional shadows of sadness in her eyes that she would quickly mask if she saw him observing her. But she was not always quick enough to do so. And Amar realized that his mom was not really happy, she was just pretending to be so.

  He would often enough ask her, ‘Are you happy?’ To which she would laugh gaily or smile her open smile that reached her eyes and say chirpily, ‘Of course,’ and lovingly smother him in her arms.

  But Amar knew that there was something, something that she was not letting on, something she was hiding.

  He had to find out what it was. Soon it became an obsession. Amar was convinced that his beloved mom was unhappy. He asked her repeatedly, but she refused to tell him anything. He asked everyone in the house, but made no headway.

  He knew then that he would have to find out the reason by himself. He began observing things around him keenly and closely.

  He was no longer the same Amar, lost in his own world of school, friends, cricket, and video games. Soon enough, he was able to understand that his so-called father was the cause of his dearest mom’s anguish.

  He began to comprehend what a normal husband-wife relation ought to be, and how different it was at their home.

  Rajvir was not even there for their annual holidays for which Pallavi took him. They never went anywhere as a family, just the three of them. Pallavi always explained that his father was a superstar and could not give his time to them. She neglected to tell him that he did not give any time to her either, as he should have, given that she was his wife.