Battle for Bittora

by Anuja Chauhan

  'Should we message him back?' Ma asked.

  'I don't know,' I said dubiously. 'He may not have been smart enough to put it on silent. And if his underwear starts beeping, people may notice.'

  'And if it's on vibrate he may get turned on and all,' Ma said, with a sudden giggle. 'Eww. Chalo, let's just wait and watch then.'

  I looked at her fretfully. She was acting like this was all one big joke and not the most major crossroad of my life. I bit my lip and restrained myself from saying something rude to her, because then she would start talking about perspective and pitfalls and the futility of living in the flesh versus rooting yourself in The Forever.

  We watched and listened. We flipped back to NDTV, where Bishnoy, looking flushed and happy, was holding forth to Sameer Marwah about the north east, Sikkim in particular.

  'Oh, for heaven's sake, there's only one measly Lok Sabha seat in Sikkim!' I said in frustration. 'As opposed to seventy in PP! Where are the Pavit Pradesh updates?'

  Ma shook her head at me. 'It's because people like you talk in that fashion that north-easterners end up feeling left out of India,' she remonstrated.

  'You don't talk,' I said rudely. 'You live in Canada.'

  'Oh my god,' said Ma. 'You're channelling Amma's spirit. You'll be calling them chaptas next.'

  'I miss her,' I said fervently. 'She would've been hunched up right here, gnawing on Vicks ki golis, periodically messaging little rockets to Our Pappu's underwear. And I would have been sure that everything was going to be all right in the end.'

  Ma reached for the huge bunch of litchis on the table. 'I know,' she sighed as she peeled one and popped it into my mouth. 'Anyway, she's probably hovering in spirit over the counting officers right now, hexing the EVMs.'

  My phone beeped again. My heart leapt like a nimble athlete, lodged neatly in my throat, and promptly started choking me.

  'Look, baby, look!' urged Jugatram, as I stared at the phone in horrid fascination. 'Must be Pappu! What does it say?'

  I shook my head. 'I can't look,' I whispered. 'I just can't.'

  'Don't look then,' Ma said soothingly, cupping her hand under my chin and patting the back of my head coaxingly.

  I scowled at her. 'What are you doing?'

  'Spit out the seed,' she said matter-of-factly. 'You're about to swallow it.'

  Meanwhile, Rocket Singh grimaced, reached forward and picked up the phone. He peered at the message screen, his lips moving slowly.

  'What does it say?' I asked, fearfully.

  He looked across at me, then shrugged and read out, somewhat gingerly: 'Jinni baby, worry not, you'll kick him in his lush... cious crotch.'

  'There are some Xs and Os after that,' Rocket Singh added conscientiously.

  'It's Rumi,' I told a confused looking Ma. 'He's a friend of mine. From Mumbai.'

  But then the phone beeped again. Rocket Singh snatched it up. 'Message from Pappu,' he said excitedly. 'Leading by five thousand now, thanks to God and jiji.'

  Yessss.

  I sank back into the sofa, weak with relief. On Thumka TV, Pande trails by 13000 in Bittoragarh crawled by again, and the IJP gang below set up another earth-shattering roar, but this time, I didn't shrivel up and die. I handed my phone to Munni, who got up and walked out to the corridor where our workers were gathered, and brandished my phone about. 'Don't believe what the TV says!' she shouted. 'Read this, it is the absolute latest latest report!'

  A short guy with a crew cut and a vest with my face on it, grabbed the phone from her hand and shouted out Our Pappu's message loudly. Everyone whooped and cheered.

  Ma made a small satisfied sound in her throat. 'Superb,' she said, 'we're really on the road to victory now! You're going to be the youngest MP ever, Jinni! You know, we should start speaking to the printers about some thank you posters...'

  But I held up my hand and pointed to the TV. I'd flipped back to Bishnoy, who finally had a Pavit Pradesh map behind him. He was saying, 'And things are getting really exciting in Bittoragarh, setting of the high-profile Khan-versus-Pande face-off. We're told the counting there is about half done. Sarojini, who started off by trailing by over thirteen thousand votes, recovered quickly to take a lead of over seven thousand, but our latest report shows that Altaf Khan is back in the lead - presently, he leads by over two thousand votes...'

  I looked wildly at Ma, who reached out and grabbed me for another one of her lung-busting hugs. 'Relax,' she whispered. 'Relax and just breathe, okay?'

  I nodded, eyes shut tight, my body shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't lose to Zain. I couldn't. Not after I had found out he was in league with Tawny. Not after Amma died. I had to kick him in his luscious crotch. I had to!

  The cheers from the floor below us were deafening. I stood up.

  'Get up, Ma,' I said calmly.

  'Jinni, what are you doing...?' she asked, standing up warily.

  In reply, I grabbed one arm of the sofa and lifted it off the ground. 'Rocket Singhji?' I said, looking around at him enquiringly.

  He walked over and lifted the other end of the sofa.

  'One,' I counted softly, as we lifted the sofa higher. 'Two. Three.'

  We dropped the sofa. It landed with a horrible, guttural dhadaam and things went quiet on the floor below, well, at least for three minutes.

  'Wow,' said Ma shakily, as she sat down again. 'That's telling them...'

  On the news, Bishnoy was now blathering on about totally extraneous issues, like which party would win the general election this time. 'The exit polls conducted by this channel have clearly predicted a simple majority for the Pragati,' he babbled seriously, like he didn't know that exit polls were the only avenue a disgruntled public had to take the piss out of news channels and politicians. 'But nobody knows if they'll be able to find partners to cobble together a coalition and reach the magic 278 figure.'

  He turned towards his studio guest. 'Sameer, how significant is the demise of Pushpa Pande to the verdict in central Pavit Pradesh?'

  The untidy looking historian-psephologist scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. 'Hmm... uh... Bishnoy, we must remember that these are rural areas. Literacy is low, television reach is erratic because electricity is erratic. Mrs Pande's passing actually occurred very close to polling day - just two days prior, if I'm not mistaken - so the impact will probably not be as huge as it could have been. Also, let's not forget there was that other... err...' he paused and blushed pink, 'incident at the funeral. That would've definitely confused the voters.'

  Bishnoy permitted himself a hesitant, wintry smile. 'Ha ha,' he said wittily. 'Well, Bittoragarh certainly seems to be the place to be this election, but in other places, leads are quickly converting into victories...'

  And then he went on to inform us about all kinds of victories across India. Like we gave a damn. TB had won by ninety thousand votes. Karan Sethie had scraped through by three thousand. An independent with a commode as his symbol had won in Bihar. The renegade TB nephew with the hate agenda was through from eastern PP. An IJP candidate who'd been denied a US visa for his alleged involvement in the Muslim killings in Gujarat had romped home with a margin of over two lakh votes. A Pragati Party man whose son was in prison for mowing down seven people in his BMW had won by three lakh votes. A lady involved in a six thousand crore scam had won in Chennai. The woman who played Sita in the Ramayana serial had lost by seventy thousand votes, standing on an IJP ticket. An independent bearded holy man who could haul a tractor by his testicles had won in Punjab. A famous intellectual and Nobel prize winner had lost from the educated, urban constituency of Mumbai West. And in Nagaland, a petite, twenty-six-year-old Indian Idol winner had totally destroyed a candidate who'd reigned supreme in that constituency for thirty years.

  I watched the crawlies frantically as Bishnoy dished out all this good news. Every forty-five seconds, a crawly would whizz by, saying Sarojini Pande trails by 2000 votes in Bittoragarh, PP, and the gang below would send up huge, blood-curdling victory whoops.
r />   'Didi?'

  There was an urgent hand on my shoulder. I looked around, wondering who had breached Jugatram's fierce guardian-at-the-gates demeanour and entered this hallowed zone, and beheld a beaming Hasina Behenji. She was soaked through from the rain outside and her wet white sari clung lovingly to her hefty, muscular form, making her look like some kind of Bollywood rain song fantasy on steroids. There was a small revolver dangling casually from her right hand.

  'Hi, Hasina Behenji,' I said. 'What's with the... err... gun?'

  She grinned. 'Oh, that's just for shooting off when we win!' she boomed. 'We will win, for sure, you know. You'll see! Hasina Behenji always knows!'

  'D'you have a licence for that?' enquired my NRI mother, standing strategically behind my shoulder.

  I dug her fiercely in the ribs. 'No,' I whispered, out of the corner of my mouth. 'But she bites off her armpit hair with her teeth. You wanna argue with her?'

  Ma frowned. 'Don't poke me, Jinni,' she said austerely. 'You're not my mother. Hasinaji, won't you put down your gun and have some fruit?'

  Hasina Behenji smiled and sank down on the sofa graciously, but not without shooting a triumphant look in Jugatram's direction. 'I would shut the doors now, if I were you,' she advised Ma in a loud, confiding whisper as she picked up a hard, green guava and split it open effortlessly between her palms as if it came fitted with a hinge. 'All kinds of gatecrashers will try to thrust themselves in otherwise.'

  On Thumka TV, they had cut to an ad break where all the advertisers had done extremely unfunny 'topical' take-offs on the elections. A chick got dumped at the wedding mandap when her bridegroom-to-be started to put sindoor into her maang and realized she had dandruff. He went all ewwww and stormed out, and a social worker type stood up and told the weeping, jilted bride to 'Vote for Clinic All Clear Shampoo. They promise to rid the nation of the Social Evil of Dandruff!' Next, a hot chick licked an ice-cream cone meaningfully, while she stared at a hairy chimpanzee-like man doing push-ups by the pool. 'Vote for Manforce condoms,' cooed the hot chick, as the chimp-like guy clambered into bed with her, waving a packet of condoms about.

  'Wow,' said Ma, impressed. 'Indian ads have become really bold! Which company makes Manforce condoms, Jinni?'

  'I don't know, Ma, okay?' I said crossly, just as Our Pappu messaged us and confirmed what Bishnoy had said ten minutes ago - I was trailing by two thousand votes.

  Rocket Singh said comfortingly, 'Baby, don't worry. Sujanpur will save you! Hundred per cent.'

  'I keep telling you, old man,' Jugatram said with savage restraint, 'they don't count assembly by assembly!'

  Meanwhile, a huge scrum of people had built up near the door of our room. When I got up, simply wanting to go to pee, they reached forward and lunged towards me. In the front line was a venerable gent I recognized vaguely. 'Bitiya, pehchana?' he called out in a wheezy voice. 'I am Printer Vohra, I have printed all your posters and buntings!'

  'Namaste, Vohra saab,' I said politely.

  From behind him, another gentleman spoke up. 'Myself Mr Rohtaash from Rohtaash Caterers,' he said. 'We provided snack boxes for all your public meetings.'

  'Oh, how nice,' I babbled, a little blankly. 'Thank you.'

  Munni swooped down on me and hissed, 'Just go to the bathroom, didi! They are here just to nag about their outstandings...'

  'But haven't you paid them yet?' I asked in surprise. 'I mean, it's been almost a month since the polling!'

  'All in good time,' Munni murmured. 'Such inflated bills they have presented, you will not believe! Don't get into a conversation with them!'

  So I sneaked into the loo quickly. As I splashed cold water on my face and looked into the mirror, I saw a flushed face with wide, worried eyes staring back at me. That was your last pee as a regular person, I told myself. The next time you pee, you will be an MP. Or, of course, that pathetic thing - a could-have-been MP, drowning in loser stench. The girl who, with one stupid embrace, destroyed her entire family's political legacy.

  Just then, my phone beeped. Didi, ahead by fifty votes, only one machine left to be counted.

  Oh My God.

  This was way too close.

  I ran my shaking fingers through my hair and took a deep, unsteady breath. The phone beeped again. But I didn't have the guts to look at it in here, all alone.

  And then suddenly, the workers outside started chanting, loud, exultant, all-out chanting, the beating of their drums deafening.

  Sarojineeeee... Sarojini!

  Pragateeeeee... Pragati!

  A scent filled the air; a cool, shining, intangible scent, redolent of confetti and champagne, of tapes being breasted and national anthems sung. It carried with it a sweet hint of desi gulab, a sharp tang of chrysanthemum, a jolting electric charge and the crisp taste of money.

  I knew what it was.

  So when I looked down at the SMS, I already knew what it said.

  Didi, we have won. By six hundred votes. Mubarak ho.

  I unbolted the door and rushed out, shrieking.

  Ma looked at me in incredulous, wordless disbelief and then screamed madly, pumped her arms in the air and swooped upon me, laying smacking kisses on both my cheeks. Then, while Hasina Behenji fired six bullets into the air, Rocket Singh banged the velvet sofa again and again on the tiled floor and the crack team collided into a laughing, sobbing, euphoric huddle with Ma and me at its centre. I thought dazedly, We've done it! We've won the Battle for Bittora! We've upheld the family legacy, we've foiled Tawny's shady plans, we've shut up the sniggerers, we've rubbed Zain's nose in the mud! And I, I am Eau de Victory incarnate. I am the MP from Bauji's old seat, I am the youngest Member of Parliament India's ever had.

  The moment was everything I'd ever thought it would be. For that one moment, the world seemed spun out of pure, shimmering gold.

  ***

  14

  It didn't last long. Not even one month later, I was a very depressed person. Maybe it was because it took the TB and his cronies ages to cobble together a coalition and we had to just twiddle our thumbs and wait it out till then, feeling fully anti-climaxed. Maybe it was because I kept thinking about how much Amma would've gloated about my victory to everyone in Delhi. Maybe it was just the realization that I was never going to be a full-time animator and make a movie like Avatar. Whatever. The bottom line was that I was exuding loser stench from every pore. It rose from me in waves and caused happy, healthy flowers to wilt upon their stems.

  'Didi, why are you crying?' piped up Our Pappu as I drove home the entire crack team, which had swung into town to witness my swearing in the day after tomorrow.

  'She's crying,' said Ma flatly, 'because the car in front of us is a Maruti Zen.'

  Our Pappu looked around the Sumo we were in. 'You'd rather have that cheap car than this nice jeep?' he asked, confused.

  'I'm not crying,' I returned shortly, looking straight at the road ahead.

  Ma snorted. 'Well, you're about to start any moment,' she retorted. 'It's pathetic'

  God, she was getting on my nerves.

  'No, I'm not. And where else do I look?' I demanded, netded, turning around to glare at her. 'I mean, I'm driving, and the damn thing's right in front of me. Perhaps you'd rather I look at my lap and have an accident?'

  Ma hunched her shoulders. 'I can't believe I'm having to go through this all over again!' she said broodingly. 'It was bad enough when you were sixteen. It took me ages to pull you out of it - and now, nine whole years later, you're back in the same mess. It's like a dog returning to its own vomit.'

  I glared at her through the rearview mirror. 'Do you mind, mother?' I snapped. 'Can we not please discuss this in a car full of people?'

  'Didi, we are family,' Munni piped up from next to Ma. 'Don't mind us.'

  'And don't call me mother,' put in my mother. 'Cosmopolitan magazine says that children who call their mothers mother are trying to dominate them.'

  'I know,' I said tiredly, changing gears. 'You've told me tha
t before.'

  'Anyone would think you would be happy now,' she continued fretfully. 'You were on MTV Democrazee for thirty whole minutes! And on the cover of India Today! You're going to Parliament soon! You can make all your plans and schemes come true - remember all the stuff you wrote about in Enforcer 49? What's the problem?'

  'I didn't write the Enforcer 49s,' I told her shortly. 'I just drew them.'

  There was silence. Then she started muttering again.

  'God knows what happened that night,' she said. 'He came home, just walked in, hugged me, and asked where you were. One look at him and I knew! He still had feelings for you!'

  'Ma!' I protested, looking around. Everybody was listening avidly. 'Please!'

  Everybody smoothly assumed impassive expressions and continued to listen avidly.

  'So I told him you had just left,' Ma continued gloomily. 'Then I got into bed and prayed. But you came back looking like a wet, suicidal rat. Really, Jinni, I don't get you! The two of you are perfect for each other! You have a big mouth - he has big ears - whole day you would've talked and he would have listened! How can you trade him in for that zoo exhibit Nulwallah?'

  'I thought you liked Nulwallah,' I shot back at her. 'You said he was friendly and funny.'

  'I think Ponky is friendly and funny,' Ma said darkly. 'Why don't you marry him?'

  Munni giggled. So did Rocket Singh. So did - they were all giggling, dammit!

  I slammed the brakes and glared at them.

  'What's with the marrying, anyway?' I demanded. 'I'm not marrying anyone for a long long time!'

  'Bitiya, marrying into a minority community is a good idea,' Rocket Singh volunteered. 'It will increase your vote bank and show ki you are a progressive. But be practical, please choose a large, healthy minority! There's no such thing as a Parsi vote bank - they're practically extinct.'

  'But they're rich,' interrupted Our Pappu, with a worldly wise air. 'All the richest Mumbai families are Parsi...'

  'Thank you, everybody for your invaluable advice,' I said coldly. 'And I'm sure you guys will be kind enough to tell me which minority I ought to cold-bloodedly, strategically pick out?'