by Nisha Singh
‘When did you ask him?’
‘Never mind.’ he replied. ‘Just remember that you have to keep quite at all times, look bored and keep yawning at proper intervals. Also, dawdle and walk as if…’
‘Walk with some trouble.’ I said, quickly before he could remark on my healthy curvature. ‘I have got it. Don’t worry at all.’
‘Okay then.’ he said with a broad smile. ‘Let’s break some leg.’
‘A leg.’ I corrected.
‘What leg?’ he asked.
‘Never mind.’ I said with a deep sigh.
CHAPTER 46
A Sound Flattery
‘So what is your problem?’ asked Pundit Parichay Mishra. ‘Please tell me clearly and most importantly, frankly. You should not hide any of your feelings or actions because of the fear of being judged. Please think of me as your friend and confidante only.’
Bhrigu coughed loudly. ‘E-cuze me sir.’ he said, retching. ‘Too mach beedi distroy me langs.’
‘That’s all right.’ The pundit said politely. ‘Please go on.’
‘I am laborir, sahib, and viry poor, I um.’ began my friend in so pathetic a voice that I found myself almost pitying him. ‘I wirk whenyver I a gut sume by contiractor and I a swore me chilren that I am a ‘onest and ‘ard-a-workin’. I feur bhagwan, sahib, and I nat do nothin’ to mike hum a anry.’ he again coughed.
‘God is not vengeful as our legends paint him to be. He is kind and merciful. You should not fear him. He is only pained should his devotees suffer and you are suffering, right? Also, that it has nothing to do with either hard work or poverty?’
‘Yus, sahib. Yur a viry right. I um sufferin’ ‘deed. Un ta till ya tru’, I ‘ave bin in bad condishon ever sunce…ever sunce…’
‘Yes? Go on please. Ever since what?’
‘Ever sunce I see hur.’
‘Her? This ‘her’ has a name right?’
‘Meenal.’ he replied, coughing and swallowing uncomfortably. ‘Hur nime is a Meenal and she a angul and sweet like.’
‘Meenal.’ said the Pundit, taking the name with a relish. I could see that his eyes sparkled with the thought of finding another fascinating study.
‘Yus. Meenal. I… luve hur lot, Pundit ji.’ said my friend with such stars in his eyes that no one could ever doubt he was anything but Romeo himself.
‘And your problem is that…’
‘I um marriage.’
‘Of course.’
I was squatting on the floor a little way behind my friend and as per his instructions I was to be content with keeping my mouth permanently shut. I was allowed only to gape at the Pundit with foolish reverence in my eyes and also to commiserate with the laborer with a gentle clicking of the tongue. A loyal friend, was my role and I thought I was playing it to perfection.
We had reached the temple to find that it was much less crowded than our previous visits; the reason for which was the Heritage restoration team that had arrived from the city and had cordoned off the area to restore one of the temples to order. It was a common complaint that couples, hell bent on making a legend out of their love stories, were etching their names within a simple sketch of the romantic heart and thus assuring that their love was remembered and celebrated as long as the temple stood on this earth. They had become so industrious with their noble mission that every inch of the magnificent pillars was now covered in names ranging from a simple “Pinky” and “Ravi” to an obscure, “Bhanu Priya Rajkumari” and “Hari Krishna Shyam Lala Verma.” Of course, the shape and size of the heart differed according to the length and breath of the name. The Pundits at the temples were fearful that if this was allowed to go on, there would come a time when the future generations would visit the sites, solely for etching their names on the pillars of time; devoid of any feelings of true devotion, except that of amour, in their hearts. Hence, they had petitioned to the restoration team that was now applying a thick coat of plaster over the pillars and cameras were being installed to catch the love crusaders and ensure that such dangerous practices were quickly abolished. The temple we had come to visit was also almost empty save for those devotees who did not as yet know that the sites had been closed for a couple of weeks. We were afraid that we may not find Parichay Mishra but to our relief he was to preside today at the temple and his leave would start only from tomorrow. It was a blessing in disguise for us as the Pundit would be free today as his followers were not around to disturb him. We found him in his corner, leisurely reading a book and when my friend complained pitifully that he was suffering; the man could not just turn us away. He was a bit puzzled to see Bhrigu and on his face appeared that look of déjà vu and confusion but as my friend opened his mouth, all doubts evaporated only to be replaced by a slow, languid smile.
‘So you think that falling in love with anyone but your wife is a sin. Is it not?’
‘zin’t, sahib?’ he asked with a look so innocent that I almost choked with a smothered laugh.
‘Let me tell you this, my friend, that if you have to benefit from this session, you will have to stop feeling guilty. We have no control over who we like or not. Our actions decide what we become and you have not acted on your feelings or…have you?’
‘N…no, sahib, I ‘ave not.’ he said quickly. ‘Bu’ I…bu’ I…’
‘Yes? Speak boldly.’
‘Bu’ I um not ‘appy not takin’ a acshion.’
The Pundit raised an eyebrow. ‘What will make you happy then?’
The laborer flushed a deep black and coughed gently. ‘I…I…’ he said, scratching his dirty hair. ‘I wish to a tike acshion, sahib. I a wish ta marry hur and make me wife.’
‘But you already have a wife. Do you want to leave her?’
‘Yus sahib.’ he said, staring shamefacedly at the floor. ‘I wan’ ta a live me wife. I wan’ ta marry this a ‘oman.’
‘This woman you speak of, who is she?’
‘She is the ‘aughter of a laborir me know and…and she is a viry pritty.’
‘And much younger to your wife?’
‘Y…yus sahib.’
‘I am sorry, my friend, but do you think you really love her?’
‘I…I do, sahib. I rilly do.’ said the laborer earnestly. ‘But I can’t ‘ave hur.’
‘Obviously.’ said the Pundit. ‘She would never agree to your proposal. This girl Meenal, she is young and pretty and there must be other suitors for her; younger, handsomer and in a much better condition than you. Why would she even think about you? I am sorry, my friend, but this is a dead end and I cannot help you. You will have to find ways to rekindle romance with your wife.’
‘But…but sahib’ cried the man pathetically. ‘Pliss lissen to a me! Meenal is not the problim ut all! She love me az I loves hur. Me wife is the one ‘ho is the a trobil. I be a griteful if ya ‘ould a help me in makin’ hur know that she nivir a loved me an’ she shud lit meh ‘ave leetle ‘appiness that I um gettin’ so late in life. I…I will be ‘appy if she, too, found somun’. I a thot thinkin’ of gettin’ a rid of me wife was sin and so I waz much trobild. You help Appu, remembir? He told me ‘bout yur mira-a-culus powerz. You are our a God, sahib, and I will do anythin’ ya ask me. Juz hilp me, pliz!’
‘So this young woman loves you back.’ said the Pundit thoughtfully. ‘That changes everything, of course. My dear man, I am glad to inform you that I can indeed help you. All you have to do is do as I say.’
‘Yus, sahib, you are our a God and whatyver you sayin’ I will a obey. My ‘appiness iz in a yur hand, Pundit ji.’ said the laborer with folded hands, prostrating before the man of faith.
‘Your wife. Tell me a little about her.’
‘What ‘bout her, Pundit ji?’
‘Her nature, I mean. How is she like?’
The laborer thought for a while and I could see clearly the marks of great confusion
on his face. ‘She haz a…what to say…a viry loud nachur, sahib.’
‘Loud nature, eh?’ said the Pundit. He had now clearly gotten into the role of a mind manipulator and the look of relish on his face was a clear indicator that he was thoroughly enjoying it. ‘That’s a curious expression.’
‘I dun know what you mean by a that, sahib, but me wife has loud nachur. All she doeses shout and make un’appiness in my ‘umble ‘ouse. I ‘ave fie chilren. Two of the older gurls I ‘ave marriage and the rest are but young boyz. When her ‘aughters livin’ at ‘ome, she waz a differen’ but now all she doeses shout and shout till her a voice is a horse. Me boyees, too, never bother to sit a ‘round hur. She nag ‘em ‘alf to death. I dun think I much cared for hur but a-least she wuz tolrible b’fore! Now she turn into a hag; a noisy ol’ hag. Meenal is so kind and a gentil. If she become me wife and the ol’ hag is driven way, I think I will be ‘appy again.’
‘You said that your wife was different when she was with her daughters. Why do you think so?’
‘Because she was, sahib, she was.’ cried the laborer. ‘Me wife and I are never viry cloze bu’ she wuz cloze to her ‘aughters. She wou’ at least leave me in a peace. They ‘ould sit togethir and cook food and laugh togethir. She so fussed ovir them! Nag me to a death if I din not let three of ‘em go to markit to buy new cloth ever week. She lift with her daughters and I was lift with the boyees; who is viry young then. How they ‘ould trobil me then!’
‘Your daughters don’t visit her anymore?’
‘They ‘ave bin marry off to a laborirs in Kutch, Sahib. Tis a viry long a way off and I cannot affard to make trip a viry often. They come a only once year. Me wife can’t go to a meet ‘em because she haz three brat boyees to look after. She cannot leave with ‘em and I will a not let her leave withou’ ‘em.’
‘Look here, my friend, I don’t think you care much for the family you have at present.’ said Parichay Mishra coolly. ‘You are fed up of your wife and your children. You care only for…’
‘Meenal. Yus, sahib, she is the only one I a love lot.’
‘This is what I propose you do then.’ said the Pundit with a twisted smile and a wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘But let me ask you a question first. Do you drink?’
‘Y…yus sahib.’ replied the laborer, a little afraid. ‘There’s this daaru bhatti…’
‘Spare me the details, will you? Have you ever gotten drunk?’
‘No, Pundit ji. I a do not get ‘nuff money to drink tha’ mach.’
‘But you can act as if you are drunk?’
‘I…I cun try. Many of me frennz are drunk and they a swear and shout when they are one. I can do same but why?’
‘You have to pull up an act before your wife and give her a sound beating. Not fatal, mind you. Every week you have to get drunk and give a few bruises to your wife. I am very sure that after a couple of months, she too, will find a suitor for herself.’
‘An’ I vill be free to marriage a Meenal!’ cried the Laborer gleefully. ‘Pundit ji, you are ‘deed a God. I shud a touch yur feet and ask for yur blessinns.’
He prostrated before his God and touched his feet three times.
‘Your problem was a simple one.’ said the Pundit. ‘There was nothing in it, really.’
‘You must ‘ave helpid lot of trobild soul, Pundit ji.’
‘Oh yes, I have. That is my duty, I guess.’
‘Appu told me that ‘omen too, come to ya for help an’ blessinns.’
‘Oh yes, they do.’
‘Did ya hear ‘bout that a trageddy, Pundit ji? A ‘oman was killd. Vryone in the village talkin’ bout her. They ‘ave now got nother ‘oman under rest. She was one ‘ho killd her.’ The laborer was now sharing the local gossip with his newfound friend and with every passing second, he was getting more and more relaxed around the other.
‘Yes, I heard about it too. Terrible affair.’
‘The ‘omen huz told the pulice, so I heard through a gossap, that som’une tell her to do a so and she did a so. The man must be viry pouerful that she did what he a say.’
Parichay Mishra’s face was beaming with pride. ‘He was indeed.’
‘If a ‘oman can kill nother because he says so, just ‘magine what all he cun make people do. He must be a great a mun.’
‘Indeed. Indeed.’
There was a pause and I could hear the low murmur of the devotees, queuing up to make an offering to Lord Krishna before he was officially closed to the public. On the beautiful window sill, a sparrow sat making melodious tunes and the sun streamed through the latticed windows making a beautiful pattern of light and shade on the ground. It was a beautiful morning and all the delights of nature were around us to behold and enjoy. The splendid morning rich with all its gifts and the heart-felt praises coming from a simple-minded laborer were enough to have their effect on the dull nerves of Parichay Mishra. He was now looking at the man with a slow smile on his face and had it been any other man, it could have amounted to a beaming.
‘Let me tell you something, my friend.’ he said pleasantly. ‘This is supposed to be a secret but as you are my friend I think I ought to tell you.’
‘Yes, sahib, I am yur frennz.’
‘Do you want to know about the great man who the woman, Neelu, listened to as a rat to a pied-piper?’
‘No, sahib, but I ‘ould like to a know ‘im. I ‘ould want to a bow bifore ‘im.’
‘Well, you are looking at him.’
‘You? Pundit ji?’ asked the laborer, shocked, as I could observe that his hand twitched a little and went inside the pocket of his dirty Kurta where it lay quietly.
‘Yes, I.’ replied the Pundit, now smiling broadly. ‘Pundit Parichay Mishra.’
CHAPTER 47
A Whisper
and Poof!
‘I…I dun believe it…but if nut you who else? O Pundit ji, you are a great a mun and I am a sure now that you wud solve my a trobil too!’
‘Rest assured.’ said the Pundit with a patronizing smile. ‘I am the best at what I do. You know why people listen to me so? Because I understand them, especially the women. I understand your wife too and hence soon she would do exactly what I want her to do. Get her freedom from you. All you have to do is follow my advice.’
‘I vill, Pundit ji…I vill bu’…bu’…’
‘Yes? What is it? Tell me everything. Don’t be shy.’
‘This ‘oman, Neelu. Are ya’sure Pundit ji that she a did nut kill her on her a own?’
‘No…no.’ replied Parichay Mishra with a smile. ‘She was a very weak woman. She could not have done it had I not guided her.’
‘But the other ‘oman is dead now, zin’t she Pundit ji?’
‘Well, that was unfortunate because she was a great woman but I am sorry to say that it was quite unavoidable. I taught Neelu to fight for her husband and fight she did. We all should fight for our rights, no matter what the result.’
‘Yus, sahib, yur so a right. I vill also figh’ for me right as you a told me to.’
‘Good. Now run along and put the process into motion already.’
‘Yus, Pundit ji. Thunk you, Pundit ji.’
As the laborer stood up, so did I and soon we were outside the temple. We walked briskly till we had reached the tree under which we had changed into our current roles and the laborer quickly removed his ugly moustache, straightened his hair and pyjamas and lo and behold! My friend was standing before me!
‘I have the proof I need to get the police onto him.’ he said, taking his cell phone out of his pocket. ‘I recorded his confession on my phone’s recorder. There’s no way he can deny that this voice is his.’
‘Is it enough for his arrest?’ I asked, shaking the dust out of my hair and removing the glasses that had made me almost blind. My knees were aching for squatting on the ground for long and I gently m
essaged them so that the blood circulation there was restored.
‘Yes. In this century of technology, it is not easy to lie. There is a device called “Voicegraph” All we have to do now is take a sample of his voice and match it with what we have in the phone. If it’s his, it will be a perfect match.’
‘Just like matching a fingerprint.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘So, why the delay? Call the inspector already. The sooner we put a stop to his eccentricities, the better.’
‘It’s not so easy, Sutte. We can never get the arrest warrant on this recording alone. We will have to prove that it belongs to the suspect. First, I will have to send the sample to the city lab for processing.’
‘But with what they will match it with?’
‘With a live sample of his own voice that they take on the spot.’ he replied looking grim. ‘That’s how it runs. First they take the recorded sample, process it for quality control; removing any disturbances, refining the voice and that sort of thing. Then they will issue a blank report which the Krishna Dwar police will have to fill out and post them back. They will again go through the filled report and then issue the date when their inspectors would be coming to take the live sample of the voice for a match.’
‘Such a long red tape.’ I said, disheartened. ‘That would take at least…’
‘Two weeks.’ he said. ‘After I recommend it as urgent, it would still take two weeks. Before that, I am afraid our hands are tied. If we arrest him on less than fool proof evidence, he will get out easily and raise his defenses. That way it would become very difficult, indeed. We will have to surprise him with solid proof and that way he will have no choice but to surrender.’
‘Two weeks!’ I cried. ‘That is such a long time!’
‘Yes, but I am afraid we have no other way.’ he replied, walking slowly on our way to Bhakti Niwas. ‘In a way, it’s good. Neelu would have gained some of her faculties by then and would be in a better position to give a correct account of everything.’
‘So what are we going to do for two weeks? Shall we return to the city?’