by Pawan Mishra
“Most definitely.”
Coinman’s chin started to wiggle. “I don’t think I ever told you about Imli’s highly unpredictable nature. You can never know what she will do from one moment to the next.”
“I don’t recall. Tell me more about it. It would be good if you can cite some examples of her behavior.”
“She is insanely in love with acting. Critics consider her one of the best actors around, but no one knows how difficult her blind immersion makes it for everyone at home. She lives at home in the same character that she portrays on the stage. At times she doesn’t seem to realize that she is actually physically hurting us.”
Coinman gulped water and spoke again.
“She is currently playing a doctor’s role. She bought a first-aid kit that she carries in her left hand all the time. She treats me as if I’m her patient these days—she takes my pulse and checks my ears and eyes every day as soon as I get back from the office. But the worst of it happened yesterday: when I was in bed trying to sleep, she rolled me on my stomach and gave me a shot in my butt. I panicked, for I didn’t know what in the world she’d injected me with. Turns out it was harmless, but…”
Funda just shook his head in disbelief.
“I don’t get a minute’s peace at home because of this. She spares my mother and is almost well behaved to her, but she doesn’t always behave nicely to my father and Shimla. You mightn’t know that my father is in a downward spiral with mental decay, and Shimla is uncomplaining as ever—that makes it even more painful. I don’t understand how to handle this situation.”
“Hasn’t she seen a psychiatrist yet?”
“I asked her once; unfortunately, she was playing a police officer then. She tied me to a chair with a thick rope and had my trial going for the next two hours. Can you imagine that everyone in my family allows that kind of stuff?”
Funda looked at Coinman in awe. “I am shocked. First, this is so much to digest. Second, I am awfully nervous about how complex the second issue is going to be!”
Coinman said grimly, “I won’t keep you in suspense. The staff robbed me of my coins in the office.” Coinman was barely able to speak, for an uncomfortable lump had formed in his throat.
“What do you mean? They robbed you, like real robbing?”
“Yes. They forcefully detained me and took all the coins from my pocket.”
“But you can’t live without those coins. I know that very well.”
“Management has now intervened as well. Long story short, I am not allowed to carry coins in my pocket at the office. And what makes it worse—Imli had already wiped our house of coins earlier.”
“Dinner is ready,” Funda’s mother said, knocking at the door. “Come have food first. You have the whole night to talk about the old days.”
After dinner they went for a walk outside the house to continue the discussion.
“Tell me now.” Funda was very keen to know more.
“So, fast-forwarding a bit,” Coinman said, “I have brainstormed a few potential solutions to the issue. I wanted to discuss them with you, kind of a second opinion.”
“What are the solutions?”
“Maybe I can leave home forever to live separately from everyone. Or change my job. I thought of asking Jay for an enclosed office. I thought about a transmitter to bring the sound from my pocket to an earphone, or I could work from home. Or I could get people on my side, and present to the entire office the joys of coin jingling!”
“Coinman, without much pretense, I would tell you that other than a couple, none of these is practical. Getting a separate enclosure, and working from home—both of these will work very well, but only if Jay allows you these. To be fully candid with you, though, giving you such a privilege might make the problem worse for him. If your boss is a sensible man, he wouldn’t accept either of these two.”
“That means none of these will work?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Before I came here, I was very happy. I thought I had a bunch of solutions—but it seems like none of those may work. So I am back to square one!”
“No, you are not. I have a very good solution.”
“That’s my friend Funda I know. You create solutions like this.” Coinman snapped his middle finger and thumb. “I can’t wait.”
“Do you remember when we were talking about Junior Brother earlier today?”
“Certainly.”
“We bypassed a few important details in the story.”
“Well, not that I understand the connection, but I am burning with curiosity now.”
“One of our relatives happens to be an influential aristocrat in the ministry. You know—one of those high-connections kinds. He had a very singular attachment to Junior. He went out of his way to find new medicines, research, doctors, et cetera, to help Junior’s condition in any way. Just six months prior to Junior’s departure, he took us to a certain Sage Mangal. He had expressed extremely high opinion of him and told us that the sage did not serve just anyone and everyone; he only accepted people through recommendations from the most influential people.”
“Was there a reason for that? A service like that should be equally available to everyone.”
“Well, our relative told us that Sage Mangal had a divine spiritual power that could solve the toughest problems in the world—but he could bless only a limited number of people each year.”
“And you trusted him?”
“We did not. But then our relative introduced us to a person who had completed the curriculum with the sage. In fact, he had the same disease as our Junior had, and he was completely healed.”
“How did the sage heal him?”
“No one knows the details. And the students, as he calls them, are made to take an oath not to share any details of the process with the outside world. I have heard that the sage applies some sort of psychic capabilities that target the soul of the subject instead of the body—and they say that when the soul heals, the issues of the body disappear like they never happened.”
“So what happened to Junior, then?”
“There, I digressed again.” Funda smiled, and then sobered. “We were late.”
“What do you mean?”
“It usually takes the sage about eleven months to work on a soul to bring about its transformation and have it reflected well on the physical body. He told us that Junior did not have that much time—that his condition was beyond recall.”
“Surely he could have at least tried?”
“He was very sure that wasn’t going to help. He clearly told us that Junior had about six months to live from there and suggested we just be with him and enjoy his company for the last six months of his life.”
“That’s very sad, indeed. I wish you had known about the sage earlier.”
“You are spot-on. You can very well imagine how we felt coming back from the visit. We had firsthand witnessed the ethereal evil of crushing hope just when it had peaked—like an open door, visible to you as you approach it from miles away, just closing on you when you have only two more yards to go. Everything we felt was just beyond our senses—as though someone was knowingly waiting till the very last second before turning the tables on us.”
“So you believed the sage when he said Junior only had six more months?”
“We actually did not fully believe it. In this way, hope is the best and the worst thing at the same time. It kept our spirits from going low, yet it made us find ways to disprove the sage’s prediction.”
“Were you able to?”
“Unfortunately, no; we worked tirelessly to meet a few more patients that had successfully completed their time with the sage. Everyone had a grand success story. Then we happened to meet a family to whom the sage had given the same message about their son as he did to us. The family said his prediction was spot-on.”
“So you knew his prediction was going to be right about Junior?”
“Not until very late. We exhausted all six months in doing follow-u
ps and research. We lost him within days of knowing there was no reason to believe we wouldn’t.”
“I am very sorry for the loss, again.”
Funda nodded in acknowledgement, without making a sound. Then he went on.
“So let’s go back to your situation. Given the state of things, Sage Mangal seems to be the only recourse for you. Please don’t think that I consider you sick, by any means. But the holistic experience with the sage will guarantee your rescue from the current situation.”
“Putting aside several other things that pop into my mind right now, the biggest doubt I have is about Jay. There is no way in the world that he would agree to a yearlong absence for me.”
“He will. Just try it out.”
“What makes you think he will?”
“If nothing else, he gets a year free from the issue, and enough time for a plan B, should your endeavor with the sage fail.”
“And would he spend the firm’s money on this?”
“He sure will. By the way, your spouse gets free entry. Jay needs to pay only for you.”
“If you are confident about everything you have said, what issues can I have? I will speak to Jay.”
“Don’t hesitate to discuss it further with me if you have a doubt,” Funda told him. Then he looked at his watch. “One of the biggest disadvantages of being grown up is seeing the time rush by faster. I did not realize it was already midnight. Let’s go get some sleep before you leave in the morning.”
Coinman couldn’t sleep for the next three hours. His thoughts wouldn’t let him. He could catch only a two-hour doze before leaving in the morning.
He drove to his house in almost a half-asleep condition, relying so heavily on his muscle memory that he didn’t completely realize he was home until he had turned the ignition off in front of his house.
But then, from the car, he saw that Kasturi was waiting at the door, tears continuously falling from her eyes.
“Mother! What’s happened?” Frantic, he ran for the door. As soon as he reached her, she fell into his embrace.
“The most terrible thing has just happened!” she cried. “Your father is no more, Son. We are completely devastated.”
24. The Untimely Grief
“When it rains, it pours horrible shit.”
Panna’s unique saying popped, unsolicited, into Coinman’s mind, and he realized yet again that everyone’s mind has sort of a slum division—a flirtatious spot that doesn’t give a hoot about how grave a situation is but constantly endeavors to derail more earnest thoughts, almost like a death-wish backseat driver.
But now wasn’t the time to entertain such musings, either.
Coinman darted inside the house, straight into the old man’s room. To his horror he saw Daulat lying motionless in his chair, his head rolled to the side and his eyes open, wearing a blissful smile on his face.
Grief follows no rules, and Coinman’s first thoughts wandered toward the mortality of humans instead of lingering in the pain of the unfathomable loss that lay in front of him. At that moment it all felt like a dream to him, a dream where events of paramount impact happen without drawing much reaction, making the dreamer feel he’s walking in the dark in an unknown place. Death can happen to anyone, anywhere, he thought, but the widespread low acceptance of its inevitability and lack of adherence to a schedule is disturbing.
Kasturi broke his thoughts by embracing him tightly, for she suspected he had suddenly gone quiet because of a mental trauma. He noticed that the three women around him were constantly sniffling.
“Why would the Lord summon him so early?” Kasturi sobbed. “I am so sad for all his sufferings. He did not even see his full life. He will miss so much.”
“Mother,” Coinman said, gently guiding her out of the embrace, “I am very sad, too. But my sadness is not for Father, but for us. He has died, and is free of any sufferings, memories, or even thinking what he will miss by departing early. So, please, let’s not feel sorry for him. Feel sad for us, because we have forever lost this opportunity to be in his interesting company.”
Kasturi seemed a bit stupefied by this; she sobbed less intensely now.
“Tell me what happened,” Coinman said quietly. “There are no clear signs of a cause here.”
“He committed suicide,” said Kasturi, sniffling again as she spoke.
“What? How? And how are you so sure about it?”
“The old man poisoned himself using Imli’s first-aid box.”
“But there was no poison in the box. Was there, Imli?”
“No, there was not.” Imli intensified her weeping.
“Did we have poison anywhere in the house, Mother?” Coinman inquired.
“We didn’t…unless Daulat bought it himself and hid it somewhere in the house.”
“I am responsible for this,” Imli said, barely audibly. “I feel such a heavy burden on my heart right now that I can’t even think.”
“You aren’t responsible for this,” Coinman said, trying to console her. “None of us is, actually. Think about death being inevitable, and unpredictable, exempt from the law of averages. Everyone has a turn, and no one knows when. Don’t feel sad for Father for future joys that he could have experienced—there is no future in that sense. His future never existed in the first place beyond the point when we lost him.”
As he spoke, he pressed Imli’s head against his chest.
“It’s our own selfish reasons for wanting him to live longer that we should truly be sad about. And once you understand them as selfish reasons, the sadness is not hard to conquer.”
“I don’t concur.” Kasturi could no longer have Coinman going on philosophically. “I understand most of your argument, but not the part about sadness being a selfish thing. What do you think about the memories from the lovely past that now sting my heart: all the moments we cherished together, his funny jokes, his always being there? Countless memories are now flowing in my heart, one after other, just waves of pain. Can pure matters of the heart, like such, be termed as selfish?”
“Mother, I am sorry, it seems I hurt your feelings. I am feeling very sad myself. Our loss is incomparable to anything else. I get this painful feeling right now that I always took his time for granted, almost a commodity that we could avail ourselves of at the push of a button. Now that we have lost him, I feel that there was so much that was left unsaid between him and me just because of losing the sight of life’s fragility.”
“Shimla,” said Kasturi abruptly, “can you call and inform the police?”
“Yes, I will do that now.” Shimla was ready to flee at the first opportunity; she’d been clearly agitated listening to the arguing between Coinman and his mother.
“Wait a minute,” Kasturi added then. “Inform the doctor and the transportation office, too—we need to get the body released for cremation and then transport it. Also, on the way back, please inform Uncle Raghav’s family. I will give a list of other names to Coinman shortly so he can call them all to inform them.”
Shimla nodded and left.
Kasturi took hold of Coinman’s upper arm then. “We have a problem, Son.”
“A different problem than this one?”
“You can decide yourself; I am not sure if I can answer yes or no.”
“My heart is sinking now.” He sat so abruptly on the floor it felt as if he dropped there.
“When we came back to the house, Imli and I came directly to my bedroom to change, and Shimla went directly to Daulat’s room to check on him. Seeing the old man dead, it seemed that she trembled all over. Then she saw Imli’s kit next to the old man, and, with a momentary lapse of reason, considered the possibility that Imli might have poisoned the old man under the spell of her doctor’s character. She remembered how Imli had given you a shot a day ago.”
“And?”
“So Shimla became very concerned for the family. She told me she couldn’t imagine the sadness that Imli’s imprisonment would cause this family, on top of Daulat’s depart
ure.”
“What does this mean?”
“The poor girl picked up the syringe and the small bottle of poison—to deliberately leave her fingerprints on them. She couldn’t imagine, as she told me, that Daulat might have killed himself.”
“Oh, Lord, this is so unbelievable!” Coinman buried his face in his palms.
“You must only consider how big a sacrifice she was willing to make for this family.”
“Where are the syringe and the box right now?”
“I have carefully preserved them in a clean cloth.”
At that, Imli reentered the room.
“Mother,” she said, “the house needs cleaning before we have visitors. I am going to start on that.”
Kasturi signaled agreement, and Imli left the room.
“Tell me more about it,” Coinman said. “I hope you haven’t rubbed off the fingerprints?”
“I was thinking about rubbing them off. But my mind wasn’t fully working. So I wanted to discuss it with you.”
“That’s great. If you had rubbed them off, we would have had one option less.”
“I don’t quite get that.”
“If you had rubbed off Shimla’s fingerprints, we couldn’t have surrendered the syringe as it is.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s clear that an injection of poison caused the death. So having no prints on the syringe would have caused a bigger issue of tampering with evidence.”
“I get it. But we can’t submit the syringe with her fingerprints on it, either.”
“Why not?”
“I would rather ask you how we could.”
“I am sure there is a way to prove the truth. In fact, if you had removed her prints, we would be in a worse mess. We would then need either to get Daulat’s fingerprints again, or ask Shimla to do hers again; in either case it would have been a moral ordeal.”
“I see your point now.”
Coinman swam in deep thoughts, thinking about any possible arguments that would prove Shimla’s innocence. Seeing Shimla coming back after fulfilling Kasturi’s instructions, he made haste to the drawing room.
“Everyone, come here, please, at once.”
