"Campaigns of calumny indeed."
"Prove your point if you will."
"I will as long you’ll listen." Joan had begun to lose his nerves. He pictured Netu as a damn crank, a blind fanatic who did not recognize a cul–de-sac if he saw one. “That Tanpi lady for instance..."
Netu snorted. "What about Tanpi?"
In Joan’s grim cast eyes flashed a hint of triump. “Tanpi was a cobra he shouldn’t have woken."
"Woken?” demanded Netu. In every game of wits, a fool always reared whose naive jokes uncovered the wise man’s storeroom of inordinate ego. Netu knew if he probed a bit, Joan would reveal his fears.
Joan waved off Netu’s seeming protest. "You know we were close - Tanpi and I. She told me ugly things I can’t repeat here - lewd things."
Netu feigned astonishment. "And you believed her?"
"I don’t believe Father Manu’s infallibility either."
“That Tanpi girl was a lousy bitch that kept flaunting her body to whoever cared to see.”
"Bait enough to catch even the eyes of a saint!" Joan laughed at Netu’s innocence.
"She caught your eyes I’m sure."
"Well, I won’t deny that - and so are others - highbrow saints!"
"Do you know something I don’t know?" Netu rebuffed.
"Don’t push me further than you’ve done," Joan said curtly. “Of course, you know these things. You’re only too weak to acknowledge the scum beneath the supposedly clean river of your faith."
"Our faith."
"Not anymore. That was in the past. I have a new faith now. I like to see myself now as a new person."
"All right, what’s your grouse?"
"My grouse?" Joan felt embarrassed. He puckered his thick lips in a fit of rising anger, swept his low cut hair back and then forth with his left hand and said, "My grouse is that he should allow them to go home - every single lady in the Brotherhood lest they get defiled.”
Netu straightened up on the couch and studied Joan shrewdly.
"You are exaggerating," Netu said, desperate to bring Joan back to his senses. "If a vagrant fish doesn’t go nibbling at pretty bait, there’s no way it would be caught. They stir up the mud themselves with their lusty winks and wiggles and swaggers, and they are the ones that cry wolf."
Joan looked dumbfounded. He gaped at Netu as if he had been struck with a sledgehammer on the head. He recoiled into his erstwhile antagonistic shell.
"And I suppose the revered saint doesn’t have any blame for baiting the swimming fish?"
"No one asked the fish to acknowledge the bait."
Joan had one of his raucous laughs knowing Netu had unwittingly boxed himself into a corner. "Someone owns the aquarium in which the unlucky fish swims - same person owns the bait - more or less an inevitable imposition which the vagrant fish can’t help but acknowledge. Do you still think the fish was the one that stirred mud?"
Netu sought a more scathing diversion. "Well, as someone who was once caught by Tanpi’s irresistible bug, would you be frank enough to tell me if you were the owner of the pretty aquarium in which Tanpi laid her nets?"
"You cunning idiot!" Joan teased. He stood up and breathed down on Netu. "Talking with you is like talking to some of those old-fashioned religionists, they never learn."
He pulled the armless chair backward as Netu burst into a prolonged laugh. He then swivelled in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m hungry. People like you make me hungrier. Perhaps after food I can size you up again on our debate. Meanwhile enjoy your fanaticism.”
Netu kept laughing till Joan left the room to the kitchen. Their last meeting had been no less a rhetorical joke of the Brotherhood’s ideals. To Netu’s amazement, it had ended in a truce like now. Differing on principle neither of them had treaded the line of total submission, but the end seemed a mutual meeting point of their various arguments. Netu conceded Joan wanted to ostracize self from the Brotherhood, a band of men and women he could not denounce in spite of his new faith.
Joan returned from the kitchen with his butter fried milk cakes in steaming sauce and boiled yam punctuating Netu’s wandering thought. Netu helped to clear the tabletop of some old newspapers and magazines as Joan lowered the large stainless steel tray. A wispy steam drafted the sauce’s sweet aroma from the tray. Blending with the familiar pungency of boiled yam, Netu could not resist its aroma.
"I hope you like it," Joan asked, pointing to the meal. "You go ahead, there’s plenty left for me in the kitchen."
"All of this for me? A damn big feast I must say!"
"Savour the milk cakes first and put me on the scale."
"You toasted them just fine!" announced Netu between bites of the milk cakes. "Not bad, not bad at all! Eighty percent!"
On hearing Netu’s praise song Joan went to the kitchen to fetch his meal. He returned in a moment and they ate in silence. Until they finished their rations and drank large quantities of cold water, only the drone of the television and its intermittent flick of vivid scenes broke the silence.
Once he had cleared the dishes to the right racks in the kitchen, Joan Price became his gregarious self again. He delved without restraint, as Netu had anticipated, into the rippling lake of his mind to stir to the fore whatever imperfection he perceived as tainting the Brotherhood in spite of its greatness as a spiritual enclave.
"Netu, it’s not that I despise the Brotherhood as much as you imagine. No, I still love the place. The memory is fresh and rare. My conscience is at war though with the infection evident in a strict society of puritans," he said like a pontificating saint.
Netu kept silent and listened. Over the years, he had been able to discern truth from the most banal of jokes by listening patiently.
Joan wondered for a moment if Netu’s ever-countering spirit had suffered a sudden death by virtue of the food he had eaten. Netu’s silence amazed him.
"There’s decent pride in the ambition of a man who acknowledges the right moment to quit," Joan said.
Why does a man floored in the ring of anxieties, feel he can roll the dice of life on his palm and turn up secret winning numbers even when the mandatory count is over? Why does he still conjure time’s long drawn strength, joggling his wit in a bid to disprove the full echo of his groaning? Joan thought, and then asked, “When the lethal blows of time enfeeble a man’s attempts to fight at the forefront of war, what exactly would he be proving by being obstinate in not throwing in the towel? Is it what you call greed, or the enlarged fear of failure? I surely want to know!"
Netu laughed inwardly at his friend’s cold rage, believing Joan’s impulses had given birth to a potential mathematician. New theories on faith, or the Brotherhood experiences, had taken roots too in Joan’s tempered mood. Staring stone-faced at his friend, Netu allowed Joan vast fertile plains to sow his theories.
Joan knew he loved to argue for the sake of it. He loved to flaunt the seeds of his wisdom like the petals of a sunflower awakening at sunrise. Netu’s deliberate silence, however, killed his need for argument. Therefore, he must bare his mind with or without Netu’s response.
"Father Manu’s time is over,” he murmured in a deepset voice, thumbing the remote sensor, selecting a new channel on the television just so he would not have to see the flustered look on Netu’s face.
“That’s a weighty thing to say, Joan," Netu cautioned, but it glared as the nicest of baits.
"Damn! You think I don’t know that?" Joan growled, irritated. "His time’s long up. Just sniff around, look at what’s happening and you’ll get the full picture of things."
He straightened up nimbly, pacing in the compact living around the thin space between the couches, centre table and the wooden cabinet which held the cache of electronics. Joan’s invectives continued after a loud huff and shrug of iron-cast shoulders.
"Netu let me be honest with you, the grac
e had since left. Don’t ask me where the grace left to because I don’t know. I’ll stake the life of my mother, Father Manu is just walking along like an empty shell with no real substance to command his prior mystique. Catch my drift?"
"How did you come to this strange conclusion?" Netu asked.
Joan sighed impatiently and lunged onto a free couch next to the armless chair on his right, casting a curious and unwavering gaze at Netu. He distrusted naive fellows.
"I knew this since my Brotherhood days," Joan said with great conviction. "Before I left the scene, in one of those improbable levels of being, I met The Realized One on whose errand Father Manu came. He said he is aware of obvious lapses in the handling of the reins of the Brotherhood, well-structured as it were to soothe all human adventures and spiritual needs. He said he had taken note of all the complaints from interacting souls. Looking through the vast spectrum of human thoughts - through their unpredictably hostile emotions - he found no one competent enough to entrust such a huge task. So in spite of my contention against Father Manu’s continuity, he said we should still give Father Manu time to steer the divine ship till the one being groomed was psychologically ready to mount the saddle and pick up the reins."
"You are not joking, are you?" Netu demanded, realizing the lesson in Joan’s revelation.
Joan affirmed with a nod. "That was then - many years gone now," he said, frowning. "What followed afterwards showed me the successor had reached the stage of maturity, and perhaps the envisioned switch had taken place unknown to mortals. Lo and behold, a new Manu and a retinue of seasoned ex-Manus. In their midst was Father Manu pleading for an extension of his tenure. Although he gave his respect as expected of an incumbent to the younger Manu enthroned, his plea was unanswered till the vistas of that level of being faded away. I can’t recall if the league of Manus gave credence - even the least - to his plea."
This was no longer news to Netu who reckoned similar hints had come from several quarters in the past. Some ex-adherents had talked about this as a way of settling whatever grouse they had about the enclave. The second types of hints came from those on the neutral line whose decency of language mirrored their character traits in the Brotherhood.
Netu knew a lot about the venerable ways of the Manus to bother pestering Joan about details. His fear anchored instead on the depth of Joan’s knowledge. Did Joan acknowledge Netu as the person The Realized One referred to? Did he recognize Netu as the newly enthroned Manu in those "improbable levels of being" as he had called it? He would find out anyhow.
"From the picture I get of it in my head, it’s like you guys had a celebration of some sort?" Netu prompted.
"I guess you’re right, a ceremony of some sort," Joan said.
"You saw the new Manu, I suppose?”
"From where I was? Sure.”
"His physique and adornments must still be as fresh as morning roses in your head."
“I remembered the exact impressions while in trance-flight but I lost the details as I woke,” Joan prevaricated. “I guess he was young, somewhat tall – can’t remember the rest."
"That presupposes he couldn’t have been someone you’ve met before physically?" Netu urged on.
Joan shook his head. His excitement waned fast like setting sun.
Netu reckoned Joan was being evasive. So he changed tactics, baiting Joan. "I’ve had similar insights as well.”
A new radiance subsumed Joan’s mood. "Are you sure about that?"
Netu nodded in agreement. "I want to believe there’s a more prosaic dispensation emerging out of the old order - I’d seen that kind of switch-over personally." He wanted to shout aloud that he was the one they talked about but he just could not urge himself to do it.
Joan’s response seemed cynical. "Do I take it to mean an entirely new thing, or is it a gilded feather from the old peacock?"
"A lot of factors will determine that," Netu said, "but there’s the likelihood it would anchor elsewhere. Even if it doesn’t work as we expect due to some permutations that we may not fully understand, it matters not in as much as there’s a fulfilling grace to it."
"Ah, well, it better be as fulfilling as you say. A repeat of what we have on ground will be awful - you know, disastrous."
"No, incensing!"
"Whatever the expletives," Joan said, grinning.
On that note of concession, their chatter changed from reminiscences of their stints in the Brotherhood to more pertinent personal issues.
"Joan, I need a job," Netu said. "Would you know about a job opportunity anywhere? I feel like I’m being stifled in a strait jacket without a steady source of income."
"A job you say? What a moment to seek assistance! I have no idea the kind of job you seek, but there’s none I know of at the moment. I don’t have an enlarged pool of friends who’ve got the right clout to fetch you a good job..."
“I’m not asking for anything specialized, Joan. Just any damn job would do for now. I’ve no choice. I'll be okay with whatever is offered. Or even supplies of any sort to companies will fill the lonely hours of inaction. Joan, I’m serious."
"Any job is no job at all," argued Joan. "Supplies have become exclusive preserves of some cliques in companies. Unless you belong to those cartels it’s not easy to penetrate."
"I know the situation well enough, but even as a physicist by training, I still have to start from somewhere at least, no matter how lowly placed it is."
"Of course, Netu. I’ll think about it." A thought crept into his mind just then. "Supplies? Of course, there’s a chance we might work on something together - two good heads are better than one they say. You know Sebio Tony, don’t you?"
Netu acknowledged with a nod.
"He offered to assist if I could get some rich guys to supply iron billets for his company which is the foremost dealer in the rod industry. The returns are high on both sides but I’ve not made the right contacts. You think you can make any progress in that regards? If you handle it well you might shelve the damn idea of working for stipends," Joan enthused.
Netu could not believe his luck. His eagerness showed in his gaze. "Is the offer still open?"
"As open as the sky. Why don’t you reach out to Sebio Tony? Talk it over with him if you think you have a good lead. He’d be glad to assist. But let me warn you that he might want to engage you in a little sermon. I’m sure you won’t mind."
"Why should I mind his sermon? Because he’ll think I’m still on the enemy’s camp? Come on, Joan!"
"I just thought I should let you know."
"Well, thanks. You’d give me his address then?"
Netu had long wanted to see Sebio Tony a well-placed ex-Brotherhood member in Newland. Everything is working in my favour, Netu thought.
"The LIWIN at Bago district. It’s before the paint manufacturing house - you won't miss it even in a dream. Tell him I gave you the hint and you’d like to be briefed on the technical details of the deal."
"It won’t be hard to trace."
"Get on with it and keep me posted on your discussions, will you?"
"You can count on that. I’ve one or two people who might be interested in the deal. They are well-connected. We’ll sell the idea to them and see if they’ll buy it wholesale."
"Good. Just make it stick."
"I’ll do my best."
The prospect of a big deal inspired Netu. He fixed his mind on it and refused to reckon with Joan’s petty gossip about Father Manu or the Brotherhood. He thought of the big picture of things instead, a time in the future when he would not have to crawl in search of a job, when he would be seen as an indispensable stream in the arid terrain of society. He left with this new mental picture, like a triumphant butterfly answering the sweet call of nectar, to Vintage Brewery to see Boye Steve.
# # #
The visit to Vintage Brewery turned out to be a s
hort one. They could not visit their friend the upstart millionaire in Diosh District due to Boye Steve's unexpected work load in his office. Joan insisted on a new date and Netu rescheduled for noon the following Thursday.
The timepiece in the reception lounge showed a quarter past two o’clock in the afternoon; the vigor of day still evident in the full scorch of the not yet waning sun. Netu stepped out of the visitors’ lounge at Vintage Brewery a happy man. He waved a passionate goodbye to Boye Steve, but almost recoiled in the spanking hot wind back to the lounge for shelter. The intense sun’s heat warmed him up like frozen food through a microwave.
He recovered from the rude burst of humid air in time to channel his thoughts coherently. He had time on hand to while away. Home culled a lonely prospect he loathed. His mind searched for a form of inspiration. His strides lengthened on the aisle of the street with his mind undecided where he would shore his aches and excitement on next.
The Brotherhood!
Oh, well, it would be enough medicine to apply on the longing in my heart. This, however, seemed a damnable, whimsical need to dare the odds. Nonetheless, he had not been to the Brotherhood at Newland’s Vidya Valley or the headquarters at Danabi City for two weeks at the stretch.
All that while, Netu Deo had ignored Father Manu’s call for him to join a guild of editors for the layout of the Brotherhood’s tabloid - the twentieth edition. His fugitive Waji spirit, however, hungered now for some fun, and the Brotherhood seemed to be the place to visit. After all, the first phase of his spiritual honing had begun at the Brotherhood where he came to terms with the call of destiny as the next in the line of Manus.
Netu chose the Brotherhood at Vidya Valley, less than five miles away, instead of the over two hundred miles journey to Danabi City from Newland.
Full of expectations, he plodded through the maze of streets from Vintage Brewery and made it to Pen Station in twenty minutes regardless of the force of the midday sun.
Few paces down Pen Station led him to the motor park. He scrambled into a big bus milling with Vidya Valley bound commuters and managed to find a free seat in the middle. The engine set off in high pitch as the driver engaged it, and in the usual jaunt, jerking movements of overused vehicles, the bus coughed and cringed out to the main road to Vidya Valley. Few minutes later, he had alighted at Ashi Park.
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