The noise stopped all of a sudden and Ernst just had to follow the venerable gazes of the people sitting around him to find the reason. A man had appeared on the platform, and Ernst was not sure from where. He seemed to have manifested magically in the hall. The devotees around Ernst joined their hands and bowed low. Ernst bowed too, keen not to stand out.
Guru Ramdas raised his hands in acknowledgment and as a token of acceptance, the devotees, at least those on the chairs, were showered with marigold flowers from the ceiling. Again, Ernst could not see where the flower rain came from. The others weren’t bothered with that question, they were more concerned with collecting the flowers. A melee broke out in the hall and two ladies, bickering over the ownership of the blossoms, had to be separated by the guards. The experience was getting stranger by the minute. The Guru himself was a peculiar specimen. He looked nothing like how Hindu sages were portrayed in the newspapers – famished old men with gray matted hair and beard and a saffron loincloth around their waist. This Guru was fashionable. Luridly so.
He wore a long silk coat, flaming red and embroidered with gold motifs – lions, lotuses, and the Aum symbol. Below his coat, he wore a gold trouser and pearl-encrusted shoes. On his head was a turban as colorful as the rest of his outfit. Long gray hair poured out through the sides of his turban and his long black beard was tied at the end by a gold chain with tiny bells. The Guru, sporting a beaming smile upon his face, settled down on his throne and surveyed his devotees. Ernst could feel the anticipation in people as they waited for the Guru to speak.
“Children,” said the Guru managing to smile even as he spoke, “Let’s start with our usual ritual. Let’s all bow our heads and pray. Pray for this wonderful life, for your beautiful family, for the food on your table, for the smile on your lips, for the sun in the sky, for the birds in your garden, for the sea, for the mountains, for the trains and ships and roads and horse carriages. Let’s pray to God and say a hearty thank you for everything that we have."
The Guru spoke slowly but in a heavy voice which wafted over the melancholy sound of the veena and straight into the chest. Even Ernst, hardly used to the idea of thanking God for the rich bounties that he enjoyed every day, was compelled to close his eyes and pray.
“Once upon a time in an ancient Indian kingdom,” the Guru started a tale even as people were still praying, “a learned wise sage went to the King and asked for alms. The King was a kind man and he was delighted to have a man of God at his door. What do you want, respected Sir, said the King bowing. I am a man of few wants, said the sage and produced a wooden bowl. Just fill this bowl and I would bless you and your kingdom and be off.
The King was almost amused that the sage would ask him, capable of bestowing the sage with lands, and animals and riches beyond imagination, to merely fill a small bowl. But nonetheless, he ordered a royal pudding to be made, the best quality rice went into the pudding, and pistachios, almonds, and walnuts. Saffron from the north colored it red and coconut from the south gave it a heavenly taste. The king himself went to pour the pudding in the sage’s bowl. But he found, that even after he had emptied the cooking pot, big enough to make the lunch of half the kingdom, the bowl was still not full. The King was surprised but he did not flinch, he ordered more rice and almonds and milk to be brought and poured into the bowl. But whatever went inside the bowl of the sage, it just would not fill up. The king continued to pour food into the bowl – all the rice in the kingdom went in first, then the milk and sugar, then slowly all the wheat and vegetables that he could find, and finally the silver and gold of the King’s treasury began to go in. But even as the kingdom was emptied of all its riches the bowl was still not full.
The king fell down at the sage’s feet.
I don’t understand O wise man, he pleaded, why wouldn’t this bowl fill up? What is it made of, surely it cannot be normal wood?
The sage smiled. No, it is not, dear king, said he. This bowl is made up of the desires of a man. It cannot be filled.
The guru looked at all the devotees. “Do you understand children?”
Though Ernst did not understand, he strongly felt that some of the others around him did, for they had begun to cry upon the realization.
“All across this town and the whole world," continued the Guru, "I always see people burdened by problems and overcome by grief. What is the cause of this grief? It is nothing but your desires. Look deep down into your conscience and ask yourself. Why are you unhappy? Some of you are unhappy because you want bigger houses or more money in your bank account, some want a more loving husband, and others a more caring child. These are desires and they are like the bowl of the sage - they can never be fulfilled. The more you get the more you desire.
When a kid is small, even his crib seems too big for him, and yet as he grows big the world begins to look like a crib.
Let me give you another example. You must have suffered from some or the other form of itch in your life. What do you do when it itches? You scratch. What happens when you scratch? It gives you a momentary relief from your itch, but then you want to scratch again. In the end, the harder you scratch the more it itches. It’s just like human desire, the more you drink the more your thirst increases. Scratching is not the cure of an itch, you need to apply some ointment. Similarly, to cure your desires and be rid of your grief you need an ointment. And that ointment is of spiritualism, knowledge, and faith.
And you, my children, I am glad, understand that and are here because you want to cure your itch and not scratch upon it like the multitudes of people I see outside.
This ashram is bigger than any other building in Anthill, and even then, it is filled up to the brim. Day after day thousands of people come here to make their commitment to God. Why? Because they understand that the solution to their grief is giving up their desires and the only way to do that is to come closer to God and their own self. And Guru Ramdas is their most willing helper in their quest to do so.”
There was spontaneous applause as the Guru said that. Greatly pleased by the response, the Guru took a deep breath and dragged on about the importance of spiritualism and God and his ashram for more than half an hour in the same monotonous tone, and Ernst found himself feeling increasingly drowsy. But he was the only one around who felt so, the others still seemed as excited and animated as they had been when they had entered the hall. They looked at the Guru with a focus bordering on a trance, unflinching and reverent. Some ladies couldn’t help but cry when they realized the depth of what the Guru was saying. Ernst merely tried to slap himself to keep awake. He wanted to step out of the hall and find his father but the gates were still manned. When a young boy with a tray laden with tumblers began to serve what felt like coffee, Ernst sat up straight, eager to let the drink banish his torpor. Each of the devotees, though focused on the guru, did not miss the server and took their drinks eagerly. When Ernst peered inside the tumblers, though, he wasn’t so keen. The cups were filled with a yogurt-based drink that the locals called lassi. Ernst wasn’t a great admirer of the drink and felt that it would only serve to increase his sleepiness, so he politely declined. The server boy moved on but he was sure he saw a hint of disdain in the server’s eyes.
Hoping he would not tell the guards of his lack of etiquette, Ernst started once more to try and keep himself awake.
His effort, he realized before long, was futile. This event seemed like it would go on for a while. So, he tilted his hat upon his face and closed his eyes. The slow veena music and the droning voice of the Guru lulled him to sleep.
When he was nudged awake (by an old lady who had toppled upon him while dancing excitedly) the atmosphere in the hall had changed drastically from the dull preaching which had been going on earlier. He didn’t know how much time had passed. The Guru was now singing, in Hindustani language, which Ernst was sure not many around understood, and yet they were up from their seats dancing like madmen. Some people pirouetted uncontrollably like a spinning top, their hands held up and their
face wet with perspiration, the ladies clapped hands and moved around the hall, hopping between the seats. Even when, after a few minutes, the Guru stopped singing, the throng refused to settle down. They only stopped when the Guru raised his hands and a few men with whistles came to control them. It took a few moments for the people to stop dancing, though they still did not occupy the seats.
The Guru beamed once more.
“I have a lovely gift for you, child," he said pointing to a lady sitting in front. “Yes, you daughter,” said the Guru though the lady was clearly more than a few years his senior, “I see in your eyes that you have been a good servant to God. Come up here.”
The lady initially could not believe that her name had been called. When she got round to the fact, she stood up gingerly and burst into tears.
“Do not cry,” said the Guru, “Your days of crying are over. Your son would soon return home. I see that he has realized his mistake. He is in a ship right now, sailing to Cardim.”
The woman prostrated herself before the guru. The Guru raised his hands above the lady to bless her and all of a sudden a banana appeared out of thin air and fell in front of the lady.
“The God has accepted your prayers,” said the Guru, “he gives you this banana. Don’t eat it all. Eat a third, keep a third out on your door so that crows can eat it and save one third for your son when he returns home.”
Everyone cheered as the lady returned to the group and the Guru started singing again. Once more the people started to dance and rejoice. Ernst realized that only he seemed to be still seated. Feeling completely out of place, and realizing that the two men who manned the gate out of the hall were now busy controlling the hysterical devotees, the High Guard got up and stealthily slipped out of the hall.
He had emerged in a long lobby with a row of locked doors on either side. No sound came out of the rooms, nor was there anything written on the doors to suggest what went on inside. He walked to the end of the lobby and found an open doorway to the right. Ernst emerged in another hall, this one much smaller but even more richly furnished. There was a platform on one side with a similar throne to the outer hall. Half a dozen crystal chandeliers lined the ceiling which was painted with frescoes while numerous gilded busts of mythical creatures stood along the walls. Though there were no devotees in this hall, some guards in familiar khaki uniforms stood in a corner talking to each other.
One of them saw Ernst and approached him, his face twisting aggressively.
“Who are you,” said he, “this area is for private members only. The washing closet is through the other door of the hall.”
Ernst resisted fishing out his constabulary card once more. He hadn’t gotten the desired result when he had tried it earlier in the day. Dealing with these men required a different approach.
“You are mistaken,” said he, “I am looking for my father. He had disappeared a few years ago. And then when I came here, the Guru, he knew that I had lost him. I bent in front of him and he gave me a banana. Told me to eat it and then go where my legs take me. He said I would be led straight to my father. My legs have led me here.”
The man was uncertain upon the mention of the Guru, the de facto ruler of this small confined kingdom where policemen were not allowed. He called a few other men and confided his dilemma.
“How does your father look,” asked one of the men.
“He is a tall man, about my height, with a thin mustache and not much hair. He might be wearing a gray suit.”
“I have seen just the man,” said one among the four with shock, “There is no limit to the Guru’s powers,” he joined his hands in reverence. “Your feet have led you to the right place. He is in our private chamber. He is a member of ours. I am sure he is the man you are talking about, the Guru cannot be wrong.”
Ernst gladly followed the man who led him through a labyrinth of corridors and lobbies and to a big door. “These are the private meditating rooms,” he said opening the door, “keep very quiet.”
Inside was a lobby very similar to the one that they had just passed through, but extremely dark. Ernst could barely see the series of doors lined on either side of him. The man led him to the room at the end of the lobby and slowly opened the door.
The room was as dark as the lobby and a man sat inside, facing away from the door. Even from behind, just by looking at the shape of his head and the stiffness with which he sat on the floor, Ernst was sure that he was looking at the silhouette of his father.
TWELVE
It was a Murder
“What makes you think that?” Natasha was shocked when Maya told her that she suspected that Harold had not committed suicide but had been pushed down.
“A couple of things really,” Maya said, “Let us assume for a moment that he did kill himself. What was the reason? You think that it was financial trouble, the circus was not making money and was under a lot of debt which troubled uncle Harold so much that he killed himself. Fair point, but I have been talking to Helena and she tells me that uncle Harold had faced worse troubles throughout his life, and never had he even shown the faintest of indication that he was willing to kill himself over that. Uncle Harold was not the kind of man who would do that.”
“But people change,” Natasha protested, “He had grown old. Perhaps he was tired of fighting.”
“Wait, I am not finished,” said Maya, “this was just one of the points that support my conjecture, and I must agree one of the weakest. My other points are rooted much more in logic and reason than in character analysis.”
“You really know your job,” Helena was impressed.
“Now, Harold was last seen in the grounds directing the men to set up the main circus tent, this was three hours before he jumped off that tower. He seemed perfectly fine, and according to Helena he even commented twice about the approaching show. It indicates that he was looking forward to the show. What could force him, in three hours, to lose all hope in life? It does not seem right. This was the second point. I agree, this too drifts more towards the psychological side but now we come to real facts. You have seen the balcony that he jumped from. Well, the door that leads to the balcony opens not at the spot from where he jumped, it opens to the other side, the side facing the wilderness. But he did not jump from that spot but instead came to the place from where you all could see him jump. Further, do you notice how far this tower is from the cabin, where he was just before his suicide. I mean if he was upset and really wanted to kill himself why would he choose this place, he would need to walk all the way up to this place, climb those stairs, and jump. If I want to commit suicide I would like to do it in private, not with half the circus witnessing it. He chose this place and time because people could see him jump. What does that mean? It means that someone wanted to make it look like a suicide.
Now the last and the most important part. The keys. The keys to the door to the tower were with Harold, so if he wanted to commit suicide, he would have to open the door himself. But there were no keys found upon his body. Neither were they found on the tower, nor in the vicinity of where he fell. However, when I was exploring the other side of the wall today, I found very faint footsteps on the grass. The steps led to a large tree where more grass had been trampled which indicated that someone had been standing there restlessly pacing around for some time. And near that spot, in a bush, I found the hoop of keys. Someone else opened the door for Uncle Harold, then crossed the wall and waited in the forest till Harold had jumped and all the men gathered around him. Then he threw the keys away and returned.
I think all the points put together leave very little room for any other possibility but that Uncle Harold did not kill himself but was killed by someone else.”
“But we all saw him jump on his own accord,” Natasha protested, “there was no one pushing him. He clambered over that railing and jumped. 20 people saw him do that, including Helena.”
“Well, that is one point which still confounds me,” Maya conceded, “But this does not mean that our
theory is wrong. Currently, we do not have enough data points to account for that particular fact. But I am certain we soon will.”
“I don’t know what to make of it,” said Natasha holding her face in her palm, “What do you want me to do? Call the police to investigate?”
“Oh I don’t think that would be necessary,” said Helena, “I think you have a cousin who can fill in very well. She seems to be a professional at this.”
“You will investigate this?” asked Natasha, “but why?”
“Because he was my uncle,” said Maya, “At least used to be my uncle.”
THIRTEEN
The Chairman of the Wilhelm Bank
So sure was the guard of the Guru's powers that he did not even bother to confirm if the man inside the dark room was indeed Ernst's father. He merely nudged Ernst inside and softly closed the door after warning him not to let emotions get the better of him and disturb the peace of the place. Ernst wasn't sure if this meeting would be one of emotions or rage. He suspected that his father might assault him for coming to see him.
He realized before long that his fears were grossly overestimated. Even if his father had any interest in bashing him, one look at his face told Ernst that he was in no physical condition to do that.
Friedrich Wilhelm, whose firm and expressionless face invoked fear in his employees and family and confidence in his lenders and business partners, was devoid of all color. He looked like he had aged a decade since the last time Ernst had seen him a few months ago, and his eyes were scarlet. Ernst was so alarmed at his father's condition that for a moment he forgot all the grudges that he held against him and embraced him tightly.
Friedrich Wilhelm was delighted to see his son.
The Mystic's Miracle Page 6
