Bhrigu Mahesh, Phd Read online

  Ever since Bhrigu had come to know of the man and his strange genius, that ran so close to his own, he had become his obsession. He had a room filled with paper clippings from newspapers that carried articles on Kapil Shahi and a diary full with his pictures that his vanity had forced him to give much too often. Sometimes I had this weird feeling that he was more of a fan of the man than anything else, a suspicion that I had always kept to myself. He had been trying to meet the Nag, dying to make his acquaintance but every time he tried, sometimes by himself, sometimes through the Intel of Your Highness, he had this curse following him around. He would run around the other in circles but never actually get a real chance to meet him. Our trip to a remote town in Kashmir had been one such difficult but failed attempt that now topped the list of my most miserable memories that I would like better to forget.

  ‘And why did that M.L.A irk you so?’ I asked, trying to change the painful subject.

  ‘Because he is a joke, that’s why’ he replied with a scowl ‘He is a fake. He tries to present himself as someone he is not. His every gesture, movement and word is a result of a grand act and nothing remotely is genuine about him. I hate fakers and he is the king among them.’

  I wanted to ask him his reasons to pigeon hole the man as fake but I resisted the temptation. Such conversations had the side effect of running into hours and we almost always ended up far away from the topic we had originally embarked upon. I had a deadline for an article coming up and even though I thoroughly enjoyed such conversations with him, I could not afford to rub my deaf editor, Mr. Pinto the wrong way. Once riled, he had the habit of nagging a person to death as he himself was safe from any reaction on the part of his victim as his ears were as sound proof as the next state-of-the-art thing.

  ‘So what are you going to do about this secretary of his?’

  ‘I am not going to do anything about him but I am going to do something about myself.’

  ‘Yourself? What?’

  ‘I am going to disappear and you’ll come with me too.’ he replied with a chuckle. ‘I had a call from Nataraj Bhakti today. He’s sending a man who had come to the city for some work, to take us to the village, Krishna Dwar. You ready?’

  ‘What kind of a question is that?’ I asked with a smile on my lips and a twinkle in my eyes ‘Just give me an hour to submit my article and then I’m all yours.’

  CHAPTER 5

  A Tell Tale

  Manjunath Gupta, a man with a bald head, beady eyes and a broad, welcoming grin, met us that very evening and without preamble, we started off on a rather dull journey to the village which had offered us such exciting prospects.

  I will now endeavor to shed some light on why I referred to the journey as dull. First of all, if you are an Indian and by any chance happen to inhabit the north side of it during the summer months of June and July, you won’t be able to find amusement in anything before the sun is safely set on the horizon. The heat is unbearable during the day and all you can do once you step outside your air conditioned room is to violently take your handkerchief out of your sweat soaked pockets and dab yourself with it with a good, fulsome oath. As Nataraj Bhakti had arranged for our tickets and given the fact that he had been an honest government clerk, we had to find our seats in the general compartment which was so crammed with people in the advanced stages of perspiration that by the time I had located my seat, I had already lost a shoe and my hairbrush, which I had lightly kept in the shallow pocket of my trousers, to the sea of stinking humanity flooding the compartment and had simultaneously managed to elicit a sharp word of abuse from an elderly man on whose feet I had somehow stepped. I must say that what he lacked in the way of physicality he more than made up with his powerful lungs. Bhrigu and Manjunath, on the other hand, made their way as deftly through the heaving crowd as if they were born doing it and the way they dodged the other passengers was nothing short of a work of art. By the time we reached our allotted seats, I had come to the verge of passing out. It was some relief when the train started and a draft of cool, fresh air kissed my face like the tender lips of a lover and soothed the little, impish flames that played about my face.

  Bhrigu was sitting beside me and Manjunath on the opposite seat, facing ours. When the situation improved, it was time for my friend to strike a conversation with the man who was still a total stranger to us.

  ‘So, Mr. Gupta’ said Bhrigu ‘How are you related to Nataraj Bhakti?’

  ‘He is my neighbor and friend’ he replied with a wide smile.

  ‘How long have you known him?’

  ‘We were childhood friends until he left us to go to the city to study.’

  ‘You did not leave?’

  ‘I?’ he replied and laughed heartily ‘What would I do in the city? My father owned a sweets shop which passed down to me after his death. My shop does well for me and my family. My sons, though, study in the city. I don’t want them to be sweet vendors.’

  ‘Right.’ Bhrigu said. ‘Do you know the relatives of Nataraj Bhakti who live in the house with him?’

  A look of confusion could clearly be seen on Manjunath’s face. ‘Relatives?’ he said and then as realization dawned on him, he burst out laughing. I should remark that he had the most gay, feminine laughter that I had ever heard in a man. It came from the heart and forced everyone around to share some part of it.

  ‘Oh! They are his relatives, alright.’ he said now wiping off a stray drop of tear that had coursed down his fat cheek.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ I asked, trying to lift the stuck shutter of the window up an inch.

  ‘You would understand the joke once you see them.’ Manjunath said now simpering like a girl. ‘They are such brutes that no one has ever tried to class them as actual people. When you said “relatives”, it gave the pack an image that is hard to conjure up when you know how they really are. I can’t say anything further. You’ll have to meet them to understand what I am saying.’

  ‘Right.’ said Bhrigu, looking thoroughly peeved. I knew he hated people who tried to act smart around him. It wasn’t in his nature to understand mischief when it was coming from anybody but him. ‘Still I want you to tell me everything about them, starting with their names.’

  The man fell easily into one of his many smiles. ‘Fine. No problem.’ he said ‘I will first give you the description of Chiranjeev, Nataraj ji’s younger brother and his family.’

  Someone pulled the hand brake somewhere and the train came to a halt with a suddenness that threw us in all possible directions. After we had claimed our displaced positions and the train started to gather speed again, Manjunath Gupta resumed ‘Chiranjeev is the younger brother of Nataraj ji and he has always behaved as the truant of the family. He has a peculiar personality which is sometimes so hard to describe; it is as if he can control the periods of his imbecility and sanity. When he is expected to act like an adult and take decisions for his family, he hides behind the cover of his ignorance but when there is something of materialistic importance to be had, he miraculously comes out of his shell to demand his share. You won’t find anything remotely childish about him when he is in the act of demanding and could give the fiercest of zealots a run for their money.’ he paused and resumed ‘Tell me, sir, have you ever seen such a character?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’ Bhrigu said with a smile. He was happy for once to return the favor. ‘But please continue.’

  ‘He is the most uncouth person inhabiting the planet.’ Majunath Gupta went on ‘Sometimes I wonder if he gets off by annoying people. He says the very things that the listener is the most sensitive too, like a brat who is blunt in his ways and unapologetic about it. For example, my wife has a…what shall I say…a healthy gene in her. She is not fat, mind you, but of a robust personality. Whenever the brat sees her passing on the street, he makes it a point to call her names, deriding her weight and voluptuousness. He loves to hurt people by making fun of their physica
l appearance. A mean fellow, vicious and evil…Childish and insensible…calculating and stubborn…d…’

  ‘I get the picture.’ Bhrigu cut him short. ‘Now, what about his family? His wife?’

  Manjunath made such a grotesque face at the mention of Chiranjeev’s wife that his beady eyes almost got swallowed into the folds of his facial skin. It looked as if he was going to suffer from rheumatism. “Premkala.” He almost snarled. ‘Be not confused by her gentle, artistic name, sir. She is anything but the meaning of her name. A woman like her is better locked up in a shed and the shed being set to fire with her in it. A total menace to the neighborhood, I tell you. My wife can stand her husband for a moment or two but not this woman, sir…’ He emphasized the words “Not this woman.”

  ‘And why’s that?’ I asked

  ‘Because had the C.I.A…Do you know about the C.I.A sir? My son told me that it is the intelligence agency of U…U…”

  ‘U.K’ I completed the sentence for him. ‘Yes, we know about it.’

  ‘Yes, sir, U.K’ he grinned ‘Strange name for a country…’

  ‘Please continue, Mr. Gupta.’ Bhrigu urged.

  ‘Yes sir.’ he replied with a touch of embarrassment. ‘As I was saying, had the C.I.A known about the woman, they would have lost no time in recruiting her as their spy and asset.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’ he replied ‘She is a nuisance, that woman. She spies into the lives of every home in the village and has made it a point to stay abreast of everything that happens in the lives of the people around her. She has a kind of talent when it comes to that, a talent that has been fuelled by her total apathy towards her own household and a hunger for vulgar gossip. If you fought with your wife in the corner of your room, stay assured, Premkala would have heard the end of it and would waste no time in putting the news in circulation. If your son failed the metric exam, be sure that the whole village would soon share the knowledge, courtesy Premkala. If two young people from different castes fell in love and are about to elope and marry, they would never get successful because even before their plans lay in their womb, Premkala would have summoned the knowledge to her and dissipated the news to the village elders, adding her hyperbolic touch to it. You know sir; she is a total curse to the eloping youth. In comparison to other villages, the elopement percentage of our village is the most dismal and that has become possible only by the untiring efforts of Premkala.’ He took a sharp breath and continued ‘We have to be very, very careful indeed as far as our privacy is concerned. She is a satellite that hovers above our head, trying to capture the colorful images of our domestic lives.’

  ‘Wow!’ I said, despite myself ‘She is a total tool, that woman.’

  ‘You have provided us with quite a vivid portrayal of Chiranjeev’s wife.’ said Bhrigu, cutting me smoothly ‘How about his children?’

  ‘They have got two teenagers, Pallav and Shekhar.’ replied Manjunath with a particularly dour face. ‘I pity them, those children. They did not get a fair shot at becoming good human beings. Their parents made sure of that. Tell me sir, what would you learn if you had the moral examples of Chiranjeev and Premkala shining before you? They both dropped out of school as soon as they had joined. I have seen them growing up on the mean streets, smoking a beedi, or chasing after young girls and god knows what. They are loafers, sir, and spend their time with a small gang of similarly oriented youngsters. A perfect menace, I tell you. They had started to influence my son into joining the gang. You see, he is a good artist and paints beautiful pictures. The gang wanted him to do their life size portraits to hang in their den. Such insane vanity. The moment I heard of this, I scolded my son until he was red in the ears and crying inconsolably. I so feared him getting into bad company that as soon as he had passed his fifth grade, I send him off to a boarding school that came within my budget and soon after my other son joined him.’

  The train stopped at a small station, a township called ‘Maniyar’ and the mass of humanity inside the train shifted to make room for the passengers joining us. There was a stoppage time of around fifteen minutes as the local hawkers pestered us to buy their wares in voices that ranged from the soprano to the contralto. We took three cups of tea from a harassed looking old vendor, whom Bhrigu had come to pity and over the sickly sweet beverage, we continued our interesting conversation.

  ‘Tell us about Savita.’ said Bhrigu

  Manjunath sipped his tea with a relish and smacked his lips in a most irritating fashion. ‘Yes sir, Savita’ He said in between the sips. ‘Savita is the youngest of the lot and came to live at her old home after her husband died in an accident. But…’ He stopped and a shadow of doubt darkened his features.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Sir, Nataraji told me this under confidence. I think I should better not…’

  ‘Mr. Gupta,’ said Bhrigu, earnestly looking into Manjunath’s eyes, ‘We are very dear friends of Nataraj ji. Don’t worry at all. He knows that we are the very picture of discretion. Please don’t hold back anything at all. Speak freely.’

  ‘Yes, sir’ said Manjunath and I could see the mesmerizing influence of my friend, working its silent wonder on the man. ‘When Savita came back to live at the old house with her son, she said that her husband had died in an accident. But when Nataraj ji called to offer his sympathies to her in laws, he was shocked with what he heard. “Your sister is a very selfish woman. You better keep her with yourself.” said her mother-in-law brusquely and cut the line. Confused and bewildered, he tried to call them again but the phone never connected and after a while it went out of order.’

  ‘That’s odd.’ I remarked and looked at Bhrigu who was listening to the story with a peculiar gleam in his eyes.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ said Manjunath ‘Nataraj ji was concerned about her but Savita had created a barrier between the two which was very difficult for him to cross. So, in order to know the truth, he then decided to pay her in laws a surprise visit but he was met with a different family who told him that the old couple had moved about a year ago, a few weeks after Savita returned to the village. He asked the new tenant if they knew anything about the death of the couple’s son to which he said that although he did not know anything concerning their son, Mr Mehto, Savita’s father in law had handed over the keys to him quite normally and no man, recently bereaved of his son could ever manage to look so um…normal.’

  ‘Do you mean to say that…’ I began

  ‘That Nataraj ji came back quite convinced that her brother in law had not died and they had kicked Savita out of their lives for good.’ he said in a husky whisper ‘They had shifted from their house because they did not want any confrontation with her family. And sir…’

  ‘Yes? What?’ Bhrigu said at once.

  ‘Given the history of Savita, I do not begrudge the poor folk’s decision.’

  ‘And what do you mean by that?’ I asked.

  Manjunath Gupta stared outside the window for quite some time, searching for words that could be used safely to paint the character of a woman who was so closely related to his best friend. We were well aware of the sensitivity of the situation and hence let him take as much time as he required.

  ‘I have known Savita since I was a teenager.’ he said and was it my imagination that detected a vague, dreamy look creeping into his beady eyes, making them look larger by dilating his pupils and also a fleeting quiver leaving his lips? ‘I saw her the day Nataraj ji came to school one day, bringing her along. She was a beautiful girl. Her gentle, oval face; large, rippling black eyes; thick, long tresses that went way down her waist…’ He smiled gently and I could almost see those thick wrinkles recede to reveal a hint of playfulness of the boy he once was. ‘She had a big, flat nose and eyebrows as thick as the jungle of Bihar but one could easily overlook her unseemly features in the wake of her natural charm that seamlessly wove together all that was beautiful about her…’
He paused, wiped his forehead with the palm of his right hand and resumed ‘For me, it was love at first sight. I started following her around the humble campus of our school. She exercised a strange pull on me and I just could not resist watching her whenever I could get a chance. Although I studied in the secondary section, my friends often remarked about how they always found me loitering about the primary section, where she had a class. I became quite daring in the heat of passion and let caution slip many a time. Inevitably, she saw me trailing behind her and complained about it to her brother. He sounded me properly the other day and threatened me to stay the hell away from his sister. I was so afraid of loosing my best friend that I apologized to him profusely and promised never to bother Savita again but…but I could not keep my promise. The only difference that Nataraj ji’s threat had brought about in me was that I was now using discretion to avoid being caught. Things moved smoothly from then on and the strain that our friendship had suffered, eased soon and we were back to being best buddies again.’ He paused for a breath and began again. ‘Although I tried my level best to stay away from her and applied all sorts of methods to rid my mind of her thoughts, my obsession only matured as we grew up. I had thought and prayed that time would help to overcome my strong feelings for her but over a couple of years, her blossoming like a flower right in front of my eyes, only helped in making a follower out of me. I made her shrine in my heart and worshipped it with the ardor of a devotee. I…I cannot tell you how she haunted me in my sleep…in my dreams…when I could feel her warm breath on my face…smell the roses of her cheeks…’

  He stopped himself abruptly and I could see that his face had turned into a deeper shade of red and his breathing had become a trifle labored too. He had not laughed or smiled once during the narrative and I was struggling to come to terms with his romantic side which, an hour ago, I was willing to swear, could never exist in a man such as him. Bhrigu was right. It was so difficult to understand from the exterior alone what truly lay within that it almost seemed like a shield and nothing more.