by Benyamin
‘Even after listening to us, do you honestly think the Public Security’s version is the right one?’
He fumbled for a minute.
‘Journalism is not about my personal beliefs. I’m only a part of a big system. The decision of that system is more important.’
‘Okay, sir. I have one question before we leave. I know that journalists don’t follow up on natural deaths. How did Senthil’s case come to your attention?’
As an answer to that, Rajanbabu sir took another sheet of paper from his drawer and showed it to me. It was a fax message making the accusation—that Senthil’s death was a murder. It demanded a probe into the issue to expose the truth. It was from a group called Uthiyan Cheral Tamil Kazhagam.
I was hearing of the group for the first time.
I was about to ask Rajanbabu sir about it, when he got a call.
‘Oh my God!’ He jumped out of his seat.
‘What happened, sir?’
‘The chancellor has passed away!’
‘Oh, so what!’ Majid wasn’t concerned.
‘When?’ I asked.
‘Just now, the news came just two minutes ago.’ Rajanbabu rushed out of the cabin.
I understood no more help could be expected from the Diego Daily office. I left the office with Majid.
Philip Gunawardhane! The chancellor of Diego Garcia. He was of Sri Lankan origin and a Catholic. These twin advantages had worked in his favour and that of the Diego Republican Party’s in every election. Negating all other socio-religious equations, Lankans who make up nearly 30 per cent of the population, and Catholics who add up to 45 per cent were behind Philip Gunawardhane. Even Malayalis, who were greater in number, could not affect his chances. He had started his political life from the lowly post of municipal councillor. Then senator, vice chancellor, and for the last five years, chancellor. I’d seen him in person at one or two functions some years back. He appeared to be in his prime. In recent years, on television, he never looked less than hale and hearty. So his demise was unexpected.
I felt no misery on hearing that the ruler of my land is no more. Not that I had any enmity towards him, but it was a fact that commoners like Majid felt no attachment towards him, as was evident from Majid’s nonchalant reaction to the chancellor’s death. I’ve never seen him mingling with the public. His election campaigns were rather formal. But even so, he was bestowed with the opportunity to win and rule, purely based on his religion and origin.
In short, the days of solidarity had ended—that’s it.
On our way back, I worried about the mysterious Uthiyan Cheral Tamil Kazhagam. ‘What is it?’ I asked Majid.
‘Who knows? There are a total of twenty Tamil associations in Diego. Must be one of them.’
I’d never heard of them. Twenty associations and one Majid. Another door has been thrown open for investigation.
The Little Emperor
AFTER LEAVING MAJID at Port Louis, I reached home and found Valyapapan sitting in the courtyard, miraculously alert and fresh, after a long time. I’d never seen such energy, enthusiasm and grace on his face as on that day.
‘Where were you? I’ve been waiting for a long time.’ He stood up when he saw me.
‘What happened, Valyapapan?’
‘Didn’t you hear about Guna? Come, let’s pay him a visit . . .’
I was surprised. Valyapapan, who doesn’t bother attending the funerals of relatives, wanted to go to the chancellor’s? Anyway, I didn’t ask any questions. He was coming out after a long time. I thought, let him get some fresh air. Let that help him get out of his foggy dreamland.
We left by boat.
Francis House was the official residence of the chancellor. It was the holiday home of Pondicherry’s first French governor general, Francis Martin, and later came to be known by his name.
When we parked the boat in front of it, some Public Security officials stopped us, but then a senior guy recognized Valyapapan and accompanied us to the house. I went up with them as far as the portico of Francis House. It was only then that I understood the high regard in which Valyapapan was held by the senators and officials. They respected and admired him as if he was a senior head of state. A circle of them escorted him. The respect seemed to be borne out of the thought of protecting themselves, if, even by one-hundredth of a chance, he became the ruler of Diego. Becoming a government official involves having a peculiar mindset and training. Everyone cannot be one. I wasn’t keen on becoming a part of their act, so I moved back and sat on a bench in the middle of the lawn.
It was fun watching the proceedings from there. The Public Security officials and senators darted in and out of the house. Nobody bore any signs of the grief or trauma of a death; their concern was more about executing their duties. The aim was to gain the appreciation of their superior officers and perhaps a promotion. That was the only burden that VIP deaths inflict on the living lot, I thought.
After a while, many of the personal staff of ministers came and sat on the benches next to me. Though I couldn’t make out their conversation, it had the cheer and jeer of palace gossip. A couple of times, the Public Security officers requested them not to create a security issue by gathering and talking, but none of them paid any heed. They continued with their discussions. Throughout, a fat guy in that group kept turning back and staring at me. Either he was wondering who I was, or we must have met before, that’s what I deduced. Then, he stood up, walked up to me, and called my name to check he’d got the right person.
‘Do you recognize me?’
‘No . . .’
‘Try again . . . see if you can place this face in any of your memories.’
I tried hard, to no avail.
‘Little Emperor, it’s me!’
Daniel D’Silva! Yes, it was him. The front bencher in Division A. The boy with a bass voice, because of which we’d predicted for him the career of a radio jockey. He was the only one who used to mock me by calling me ‘Little Emperor’.
‘Da, you’ve become too fat to be recognized! What do you eat so much of?’
‘This belongs to the fisheries department. So, the size is here to stay.’
‘But this is a bit too much. I couldn’t recognize you at all!’
‘What do you do now?’
‘Me . . . well, I’m yet to find a job.’
It’s after I said this that I realized that I had begun saying this only recently. To be precise, after attending Mohan’s award function. Till then, I used to introduce myself as a writer. It seemed I had lost confidence.
‘Even now? Seriously?’
‘Yeah, but I’m looking.’
‘That’s sad. The grandson of someone who should have been ruling a country is now hunting for jobs in the same country. There’s scope for a news feature.’
‘I’m thinking of writing it myself,’ I joked.
‘You know, I used to call you “Little Emperor” not to pull your leg. I was jealous. If I were in your place, I would have stepped into politics right then. I’d have played the sympathy card in the election. And would have become at least a deputy minister by now. You still have time. The hook should be “scion of a great family that’s relinquished its power to the people”—you can reach the skies. If you’re interested, tell me. I’ll work with you.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Don’t take it lightly. I’m serious. I’m fed up of these frauds. I’m sure you’re better than them. If I’m with you, I can eat my meal without a guilty conscience. I can tolerate everything else, but these buggers have an itch every fucking evening! I have to then find girls. Do you know how this eighty-two-year-old died? From an overdose of Viagra!’
We saw Valyapapan stepping out.
‘Isn’t that your emperor? he asked me softly.
‘Yeah, see you then.’
‘Give me your number. Let’s catch up soon. We need just the Andrapper name in order to do well. You don’t know its value in Diego, but I know. Especially at a time w
hen democracy has become rotten.’
I bid him farewell and helped Valyapapan climb down the stairs. While in the boat, my thoughts were devoted not to Daniel D’Silva’s words, but his voice. The voice that we once thought was deep enough to make him a radio jockey. I didn’t notice anything special about it now. His was now just an ordinary voice. The wonders of childhood are often an exaggeration of our ignorance.
Power
‘THIS IS A death I was waiting to hear about.’
When we had been on the water for a while, Valyapapan said that as if to himself. In the rumble of the boat, I couldn’t hear his words clearly. Did he really say that? I looked at his face doubtfully. But I didn’t have to ask. Valyapapan’s mind was then like a red-hot boiler with thoughts simmering; it had to spill out words somewhere.
For the first time, Valyapapan opened up to me.
‘I was afraid my time would come to an end before I heard about this death. Now I’m relieved. I got the news, and I saw the dead man in person. Now I can die peacefully. Philip Gunavardhane. You should have seen him lying dead. The craving for power was etched on his face.
‘I know it’s cruel to celebrate someone’s death. But sometimes, it can be justified. Son, it’s not the outrage at someone who took away my fortunes, or jealousy, it is the fury of being stabbed in the back. However much I tried, I couldn’t wipe out that feeling. Even if it was only enacted within my mind, I spat on his face before I left the place.
‘You might think that it’s the sorrow of not becoming Diego’s ruler that chained me within a room. That it’s the madness of a man who has lost power . . . Not at all. I never wished for power. If I had, I could have easily become the chancellor of this country. But that was not what I wanted. This land, by all means, belonged to us. Nobody presented it to us for free. We won it as part of a big business deal. I now bear the shame and burden of losing it. Haven’t you wondered why, I, like a joker, follow the daily menu of King Manuel II? Like me, he was also fated to hand over his powers. My parody is a reminder of that. A mocking reminder.
‘Can you imagine where my place is in the Andrapper family history? Maybe, this generation will understand me and accept my circumstances. But at a time when I become just a name, when future generations see me in the legendary list that starts with Andrew Pereira, they will feel scorn. They will enter the Room of the Forefathers and read my name with contempt. Joseph Andrapper—the man who squandered the family dominions once and forever! The man who wasted the fortunes of future generations. Mr Joseph Andrapper, what did you do to enable us to reclaim those powers? I sometimes feel a thousand generations rising in front of me with that question. Some days, even your silence feels to me like an accusation. Every time you climb upstairs, I get scared. I fear that you’re coming to ask me that question.
‘Not just me, all kings and patriarchs who had to sacrifice power will be seen in this light by future generations. Though the history books and the public will praise us as libertarians and messiahs of democracy, there is nothing more terrible that can happen to anyone than getting booted out of power. History could list many reasons for that loss, but the new generations will blame only one person for it.
‘In my case, sovereignty had come within calling distance. But I failed to reach out for it. This man was the reason for that. This Philip Gunavardhane. At that time, he was one of our office staffers. He knew everything about us. He quoted the whole history of the Andrapper family and wrote a letter to the French government harping on our Portuguese origins. Not just that, he argued that the French East India Company had never actually transferred the power to us. He presented ‘evidence’ for the claim.
‘The week in which the power transfer was to happen, when the French Governor asked me about all these things, I was struck dumb. I didn’t deny our roots. But they should have considered one thing—the loyalty we had shown to them in the past centuries. They didn’t see that. Philip Gunavardhane became big by stomping on me. That’s why I said I was waiting for this death. I wanted to see his corpse. To see it lying there didn’t make me sad, but happy.’
Valyapapan fell silent for a while.
‘Son, now the power has gone much beyond my reach or yours. But someday, some man in our family can win it back. I don’t know how long it will take or how many generations we’ll have to wait. But that should happen. Every generation should strive for it, and wait for it with hope. This land belongs to the Andrappers. We should get it back. You should do whatever is possible to reach the goal. Future generations should be taught that, they should imbibe it in their blood. Democracy now in Diego is a pretence. A mimicry in the form of authority. However big the ideals that inform them, these institutions ought to collapse. What we had given the people was better than this. It is just that they don’t remember it now.’
Suspense Thriller
I WENT TO Senthil’s house after many days. His father, seeing me, ran towards me and hugged me. ‘What happened to you, my dear? I called you many times. What happened?’
I didn’t know what to say.
Anpu joined us. ‘Are you angry with us? Did we do anything wrong? You didn’t even answer the phone!’
‘I was not here . . .’ That was the only excuse I could come up with. ‘Some urgent matter . . . Had gone to the mainland . . . Came back just two days ago . . .’
‘Oh, so that’s the thing. So much for our suspicions!’ Appa hugged me again.
‘I was afraid you were in hospital or something. We wouldn’t have worried so much if you had let us know,’ Anpu complained.
‘Couldn’t do it, Anpu. It was an emergency.’
‘What was the matter?’
I stumbled again. What could I say? To hide a lie, a dozen other lies. ‘I’m writing a novel. It’s being published in Kerala. I’d gone for a meeting with the publisher.’
‘Oh, I see, I didn’t know. God is with you . . . you’ll become world famous . . .’, Appa said, all excited. He seemed to enjoy my visit—as if it were the homecoming of a son who had been away. I felt guilty about not visiting them. It wasn’t only because of Appa’s despair, a pretty girl, too, had been waiting for me! I was such a loser!
‘What’s the subject of the novel? Can you tell or is it a secret?’ Anpu asked with a smile.
‘The subject is Diego. A man gets killed. His family thinks it’s a natural death. And a writer investigates the death. That’s the story.’
‘I see. So, it’s a thriller . . . When will the book come out?’
‘Don’t know. It’ll take at least three months.’
‘I’m booking a copy now.’
‘You know how to read Malayalam?’
‘Oh, it’s not in English?’
‘I did my studies in Kerala. I’ve a soft corner for Malayalam.’
‘Okay . . . That’s why you keep going to the mainland. Do you also have a girlfriend there?’
‘Why are you asking him such questions?’ Appa snapped at her. ‘Go and get some coffee.’
Anpu knew it was a command imbued with love. She smiled and went inside.
‘My dear, you know we had a lot of trouble,’ Appa said after Anpu left.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘They had come again. And I made them return a couple of times. Then I signed all the papers they brought with them.’
I lost my breath for a minute.
‘How . . . all those papers were with me.’
‘They brought fresh papers. They said if I didn’t submit immediately, all the money that was due to Senthil would lapse.’
‘So, you signed all the papers?’
‘Yes. Is there any problem?’
‘Before leaving Diego, I’d shown those papers to a lawyer. He was studying them. I was planning to go and meet him today.’
‘What could I do, my dear? I have a girl here. My boy has left me. Now I need something for her. What if Senthil’s money is withheld?’
‘And did you get something?’
&n
bsp; ‘No. The papers are being approved. I’d gone to their office two days ago. They said the money will be paid by next week. Three lakhs.’
‘That large an amount?’ That was a big surprise for me. It was three lakh francs. On second thoughts, I felt I shouldn’t have said that. What if he thought I was jealous.
‘He was in a high position. And he had good insurance. Why would I say no?’
‘Yes, yes.’ I had nothing more to add to that. I was under the impression that the affidavit I was shown in Diego Daily was a forged document. I didn’t even consider the possibility of Senthil’s father signing the papers. They had made the most of my lethargy. They had shut the last loophole. Better not to talk about it any more.
‘Senthil visited Pondicherry often?’ I changed the topic.
‘Yes, he was like you. He went to the mainland at least once a month. I suspect he also had a lover there.’ The reply came from Anpu, who’d come out with the coffee.
‘You! That’s all you have in mind. He didn’t do anything like that. He was a good person. His visits were official. He was in a high position. He’d be away for two or three days. That’s all. Sometimes, he left without telling us, and then would call us from there. That was his nature,’ Appa said.
‘On that day too, we thought the same. That he must have gone to Pondicherry. So, we were not worried despite not seeing him for two days.’ Anpu’s face was suddenly filled with sorrow.
‘My dear, now my neighbours blame me, saying that I didn’t look for him for two days when he was in the hospital. They don’t know that it was normal behaviour for him,’ Appa complained.
‘Anyway, he didn’t spend much time at home. He was always with friends. Now, nobody comes this way. No, no need to come. Even if someone comes, I won’t let them enter the house . . .’ Anpu’s face reddened with anger.
I put down the coffee mug and got up to leave.
