Jasoda

  Jasoda couldn’t resist slapping her bottom and pulling her away. ‘Do you have any idea what havoc you’ve wrought, you strumpet? We’ve gone out of our minds worrying about you. Your brother Himmat hasn’t eaten for six days.’

  ‘Why is he fasting? Is his stomach hurting?’

  ‘Because of you, you stupid fool, because you left without having your meal.’

  ‘But I ate at the station before I caught the train. And I’ve not missed a single meal since then. Do you know you get twice as hungry when you’re travelling?’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘To Mumbai, where else? You people are always talking about Mumbai this and Mumbai that. I thought I should take a look at this place so I could also say I’ve been to Mumbai.’

  The brothers were staring at her in disbelief. Was she telling the truth or just making it up?

  ‘So how come you came back?’ Pawan asked her.

  ‘I wanted to make Himmat Bhaiyya suffer for what he said to me but I realized that if I was absent he would just forget me.’

  Jasoda grabbed her ear and was about to twist it a full circle but Janhavi raised her thorny bramble stick.

  ‘Not you, Himmat Bhaiyya will beat me with it.’

  ‘That will be the day.’ Jasoda gave up.

  Janhavi was back with her favourite brother. ‘I’m never going to leave you. Because when I do, it hurts me more than it hurts you. But you’re never going to leave me either.’ She handed Himmat the branch. ‘Twenty strokes on my bottom. Not a single more. I will be counting.’

  In the summer holidays Himmat took Janhavi with him to Mumbai when he went to work in Batliwala Sir’s office and to continue his studies in higher maths with Professor Suyog Gadgil. He had talked to her about how, if it hadn’t been for Batliwala Sir, he would not only have remained illiterate but also may not have survived the deadly infection he had picked up rummaging through the litter bins and separating the plastic from the putrid fungus-ridden food and other junk. He explained to her that there was no dearth of so-called teachers in schools and colleges and even in life. They were either competent or useless but only if you were blessed would you have the good fortune of finding a guru who would remain your role model and guide long after he or she was dead. If she spoke such good English; if she was good at arithmetic, algebra and geometry even though she wasn’t crazy about those subjects; if she loved to read storybooks and wanted to see not merely Mumbai but the whole world, it was because of Batliwala Sir who had opened the doors and windows of Himmat’s mind.

  He wanted her to meet his two gurus so that she too would be as blessed as he was. They had gone over the drill many a time on the train to Mumbai. She was to show respect to Batliwala Sir as she would do to any elder by bending low and touching his feet. She was not to prattle and hold forth or show off. Sir was a man of few words and preferred silence to pointless talk.

  They were at Sir’s home and now that Himmat had bent low and touched the lawyer’s feet and run his hand over his own head, he introduced his sister to the lawyer. She smiled shyly and, as was her wont, she did something unpredictable: she hugged Batliwala Sir. Was that a spontaneous gesture, her brother wondered, or was it premeditated? Hard to say, though he was well aware that Janhavi was not only someone who knew her mind but could switch on the charm and you were done for.

  Batliwala Sir was uncertain how to react for a split second but took the girl in his arms and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Please call me Cawas Uncle and not Batliwala Sir.’

  ‘Would you like to eat with your fingers, Janhavi?’ Batliwala Sir asked as they sat for dinner.

  ‘How do you eat, Cawas Uncle?’ she had a counter-query.

  ‘With a fork and knife, a bad habit I picked up when I was studying abroad. But you don’t have to.’

  ‘But I want to.’

  Himmat was hoping his sister would be sensible and eat as they did at home. Now he was in trouble. This fork-and-knife stuff and the etiquette accompanying it were beyond him. Janhavi observed their host carefully and by the third day had got the hang of it. It was the same with the toilet in their room. She had no idea how to use it and skipped going to the pot for two days. She was intrigued by the nozzle on the side of the toilet bowl and in no time had picked it up and pressed the little lever on the top and wet every centimetre of the bathroom including the mirror and the walls, not to mention herself.

  ‘I can teach you how to use the toilet,’ she told Himmat proudly. ‘Take a book, sit on the seat and relax. The shit will come through on its own, all in good time and then, imagine, you can wash your arse without using your hands.’

  ‘I’m glad you solved the puzzle on your own but I hope you are not planning to share your discovery with Batliwala Sir in your inimitable graphic language.’

  ‘I already did. He was very impressed.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s been a learning experience for him too.’

  She was always tracking Cawas Uncle’s every move. When he sat and read in the room he called his library at night, she too joined him and read the books he bought for her. Twice she went to the court with him. She was spellbound by the proceedings and sat throughout the day’s session without uttering a word or disturbing her Lawyer Uncle. In the evening when she went for a walk in the garden with her brother and Cawas Uncle, she grilled the lawyer about the meaning of what had happened. It was just like cricket, one party won and the other lost, he said, but the game could go on for years, not five days as in a Test match.

  ‘But it’s not as simple as that,’ he added. ‘They say justice delayed is justice denied.’

  ‘Do you fight for the bad guys?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s the law. You are innocent until proven guilty. Guilt is something that either the judge or the jury must decide. My job is to present as powerful a defence as I can for my client. I would do the same for you if you were in trouble.’

  ‘Even if you knew I had done something terrible?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Doesn’t that make you guilty too?’

  He looked at her quizzically. ‘You ask difficult questions. Some of the finest legal minds have been arguing about this for centuries. But let’s not forget even the innocent often require to be defended.’

  The day before they left, Cawas Uncle took them to a five-star hotel for dinner. Himmat watched his sister. It was difficult to fathom what went on in that little head of hers. She was like a sponge, absorbing everything going on around her. Two days from now, maybe years later, she would remind you of something you had said, and you would not know how to answer.

  ‘Picking up from where we had left the subject, have you done something terrible in your life?’ Cawas Uncle asked her.

  ‘I ran away from home and everybody went crazy looking for me. When I came back, I offered a bramble branch to Himmat Bhaiyya to punish me with. He didn’t. I keep wondering if he was as guilty as I was.’

  The results of the twelfth-standard exams were to be out the next day but by the previous evening, hordes of journalists had descended on Jasoda’s home. The first to arrive were the print media folks with their digital cameras, followed by people from the Hindi, Gujarati and even English TV channels. If Jasoda had understood what these men and women were saying, her son Himmat had broken every possible record in the state. There was no end to the questions they asked. Who were his teachers? How come he had scored the highest marks in every subject? Where had he learnt to speak English like that? All these years his school had not figured in academic or any other activities. Frankly, it had held on obstinately to the bottom rung. Was the school banking on him to come first? Which coaching classes had he joined? Had he known all along that he was going to be the star student of the year? What were his plans for the future?

  They took pictures of the young man by himself and with his family. Out of the blue someone noticed that one member was missing.

  ‘Where’s your father?’

  ‘I think he’s dead.?
??

  He could see his mother jerk her head up in surprise.

  ‘What do you mean “you think”? Is he or is he not?’

  ‘We were amongst the very last people to leave Kantagiri when the drought was at its peak but he stayed behind. By the time we got back years later, there was no trace of him. We guessed he must have been a casualty of the drought.’

  ‘Where did you go when you left?’

  ‘Mumbai.’

  Dear Himmat,

  Congratulations. You’ve exceeded my expectations and I assure you they were way above average to start off with. Suyog has a different view. He knew what you were capable of and you didn’t stray from the course. Both of us are of the view (in truth, he more than I, since he’s an academician and from your specialty) that you should do your bachelor’s from Mumbai University. He says the standards in Mumbai University too have plummeted but you could work with him and the two of you could start tackling problems in pure maths, a field that is, as you know, alien to me.

  If you agree to this, I will get the room which you stayed in the last time you were here with Janhavi cleaned and ready. You will eat with me and as always you will earn your keep by helping me out in the office.

  Let me know your answer at the earliest since we will have to get you admission in a good college here.

  Warm regards to you and your family, especially to that imp, Janhavi.

  Cawas Batliwala

  My dear Cawas Sir,

  Thank you for your generous offer not only to look after my board and lodging while I study but also to allow me to work with Suyog Sir. I sincerely hope I will not disappoint you.

  As you can imagine, Janhavi was distraught and totally against my leaving Sharana till I assured her, without first taking your permission, that she could come and join us in the summer and winter holidays.

  As always I seek your blessings.

  Looking forward to being with you,

  Himmat

  Sangram Singh’s wife Madhurima Devi wondered whether there was a ‘before-and-after’ in every marriage. While Gaurav Singh was alive, she had had an exemplary husband, maybe a little too obvious in his toadying pursuit of her father. He tried to emulate him in every manner. For instance, he picked up billiards in a matter of days and was often on the verge of beating her father but made certain that he fumbled at the critical moment. He insisted on learning how to play polo but was terrified that the horse would throw him off just as it had Parbat Singh.

  He had made up his mind to get Gaurav Singh appointed to the Board of Directors of the Franco-American collaboration which was exploring the oil reserves in the Khambat area because he was certain that it would raise his stature not only with the partners but in the industry itself. It took a while but it was a done deal eight months down the road. Unfortunately, his father-in-law popped it a few days before he could attend the first meeting of the board.

  The change in Madhurima Devi’s status took place overnight. Everything from now on was a monochromatic ‘after’.

  Sangram Singh paid the family a visit the day before Himmat was scheduled to leave for Mumbai. ‘I’ve fixed a job for you, Himmat, with the oil exploration company. I hear you are good at figures. You start work next week as a trainee in the accounts department. The pay is good and you can keep an eye on what those people are doing so that I will know immediately if they are up to any hanky-panky.’

  Himmat gave his father a dead stare. ‘I’ve wondered for a long time who’s keeping an eye on your hanky-panky.’

  Sangram Singh’s hand flew across and knocked Himmat down. ‘Watch your mouth, you ingrate.’

  Himmat wiped the blood from his lip. Janhavi grabbed Pawan’s cricket bat and whacked Sangram Singh on his right shin. It must have been a good hit for he was down on the floor holding on to his leg, whimpering, unable to speak.

  ‘How dare you?’ Jasoda slapped her daughter.

  ‘Don’t you ever touch me again,’ Himmat spoke in a barely audible voice, ‘nor any other member of the family. You’ll regret it.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’ Sangram Singh had recovered his voice.

  ‘No threat. Unless a dead father can be resurrected.’

  ‘Stop it, Himmat. I will not have this kind of talk in my house.’ Jasoda turned to her husband. ‘That includes you too.’

  ‘It’s a disgrace the way you’ve brought up your children.’ Sangram Singh looked disgustedly at his wife but soon calmed down. A smug smile played on his face. ‘I believe I know how to keep you on a tight leash, Himmat. I’m thinking of taking your little sister out of school lest she too goes the way of her oldest brother.’

  My dear Cawas Sir,

  I don’t know how to say this, so I will say it the only way I know. If I have amounted to anything it is because you took me under your care and guided me at every stage. I was so looking forward to being in Mumbai and not only attending college but working with Suyog Sir. The college would give me a degree and I know that the three major equations which have obsessed me for the last year would gain enormously from Suyog Sir’s insights. But at the risk of sounding ungrateful, I can’t come. Please don’t ask me to elaborate on the subject but Janhavi’s education will suffer or perhaps even be halted if I am not here.

  I assure you one thing. I will work very hard and keep in constant touch on Skype with you and Suyog Sir and try to prove worthy of both of you.

  I seek your blessings,

  Himmat

  ‘Look what I’ve got for you, Himmat Bhaiyya.’ Janhavi plonked herself on her older brother’s bed at six in the morning. ‘A dozen monogrammed kerchiefs just like Cawas Uncle has in Mumbai. I stitched all the Hs myself. You like them?’

  Himmat opened one eye to take a look at the gift. ‘They look so lovely, I wouldn’t dare to blow my snot into them.’

  ‘Ingrate, that’s what you are. Where’s your suitcase?’

  ‘Up on the loft.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to Mumbai?’

  ‘Nah, maybe some other time.’

  ‘You changed your mind after what that man said about me?’

  ‘What an idea.’ Himmat guffawed. ‘You really think the whole world revolves around you.’

  ‘I can take care of myself.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt that. Not one bit.’

  ‘Quid pro quo.’

  ‘What was that?’ It was uncanny how Janhavi picked up a stray phrase, especially if Batliwala Sir had used it, and slipped it in to great effect.

  ‘I owe you one. A big one.’

  Perhaps it was fortunate that Himmat stayed behind in Sharana, for Kishen had begun to behave oddly. He was never articulate but he had now become impossibly silent. He couldn’t stand light and if someone whispered next to him, he would try to clap his hand on the speaker’s mouth. It was Janhavi who realized that he was not just extremely hot to the touch but was completely disoriented. They took him to a private hospital but after the doctors examined him, they refused to admit him. Himmat asked them why but they just shrugged their shoulders. They were getting into a taxi when one of the nurses walked past and waited for them outside the hospital gate.

  ‘They think it’s viral meningitis. It’s a very rare case and they don’t know if it’s infectious. More to the point, they have no experience in treating it. Besides, they are sure your brother will be dead in two or three days.’

  ‘He’s not going to die,’ Janhavi piped up. ‘I won’t allow it.’

  The nurse smiled. ‘Good luck to you but even if he survives, his brain will not function normally.’

  They admitted him to the Sharana Municipal Hospital. It had a terrible reputation and it was called the morgue because you only went there to die. Kishen was in the hospital for five weeks. Himmat and Pawan took turns to look after him but the only person he clung to was Janhavi. He was barely conscious and yet if she so much as left him to go to the toilet, he became highly agitated. As was his wont, Pawan disappeared at the end of the third we
ek without telling anybody. It took another ten days for Kishen to open his eyes.

  PART FOUR

  Alexandra had been watching him for three weeks now, barring weekends when her kindergarten school was closed. Did he turn up when the kids were not around? The only way to make sure was to drive by the park outside the school on a Saturday. Nope, he was not there. Best to pass by on Sunday too since she couldn’t afford to make a mistake. But he wasn’t there on Sunday either. It was obvious he came over only when the kids were playing in the garden. He would sit for hours looking at them and every once in a while open his notebook or think pad and jot down something.

  Time to act. She couldn’t afford to take any chances. After all, she was responsible for seventy-four children, all of them between the ages of four and six. If one of them went missing or something happened to the child, she would be held responsible. And quite rightly so, since she had had her suspicions and had even photographed the man unawares on her smartphone several times.

  She was relieved when the police came over and picked him up a day later. No need to worry any more. She had done her duty and she felt good about it. But her relief was short-lived. Within a week he was back at his post. She went over to the police station and asked why they had let the man go. They didn’t have much of a choice, the sheriff told her. They had interrogated him for two full days, checked whether he had a criminal record. He didn’t. Add to that, it turned out he was a highly respected Indian, one of the youngest professors in the department of pure maths at Stanford. His explanation had been that he found Palo Alto far too damn quiet and liked to work with the children running around and making a happy racket. Besides, there was no law against watching children play. But she was more than welcome to keep an eye on the man just in case…