1. A Random Misfit
The obvious matters are more imperceptible today. Just as hoi polloi continue to fasten their interest to the less obvious things present at the moment, the otherwise very-obvious ones become more less-obvious with every passing minute. These very-obvious-turned-less-obvious ones then start receiving the spotlight. It’s then that, in order to attend these new less-obvious ones, hoi polloi again end up turning a blind eye to the other very-obvious ones that lie exposed to them at that point of time—unmindful that soon these are going to grow as well on the palpability scale to become less-obvious and demand a greater attention. In the end, it’s not the obviousness or the complexity of the things that’s deftly deluding mankind. It’s man himself. Management literature may suavely attempt to wash its hands over it, calling it a lousy time management practice. Yet, doing that will never achieve a maximum triumph in tracelessly sweeping this harsh truth, a severe development opportunity for mankind, under the carpet.
My name is Sesha, by the way. It’s never ideal to start with an apology, yet I have no option, for I have already digressed a little bit by starting without caring to introduce myself first. So accept my formal admission. But then, isn’t meandering licitly allowed only at a young stage? Besides, I can’t help thinking that considering I have already digressed, why not ride the enticing indulgence a tad farther? Now that I am past picking the knife to stab one, the reward of stabbing a few more comes at an unfairly lower risk!
Hence this is the best opportunity, right here, to stray more. And I am just going to avail it very immodestly!
Being the chosen one, I, the honored disciple of Sage Mangal, have fewer privileges already apropos to not coming to the point right away; because after Coinman had bidden us goodbye at the ashrama, Sage Mangal directed me to put all the pieces of his story together to fully underscore the masterpiece of a testimony on our portfolio of offerings.
“A lack of emotional engagement in the affair affirms higher credibility,” the sage had said, to explain why he chose me over many others. In short, since I was the only one at ashrama without a prior acquaintance with Coinman, Sage Mangal, with whose personality I can’t commit to bring about enough familiarity by the end, blessed me with this assignment.
His Politeness also bestowed me with a divine power to find almost everything that I needed to find. Such was this power that I could enter invisibly into situations of the past, could be at multiple places at the same time, and could even float in someone’s mind without them discovering. Before you get thinking too much, Sage Mangal did meticulously omit my access from certain activities and places; for example the bathroom where one of the main characters in the story spent most of his living time. The sage agreed in advance to bear any compromises that my lack of full access might potentially have on the story.
That’s all I wanted to convey to you about me and my job. I will pretend that you wouldn’t want to know more than that because not only will it make my job simpler, but also fulfill my wish to remain largely invisible in the story. Honestly, with the kind of story I am about to embark on, I almost know you couldn’t care less about me!
Moving on from myself to the story, I am about to describe an anecdote recited by Ratiram, one of the main reasons behind the story presented here, to a lunchtime jamboree. He witnessed the episode from his balcony overlooking a narrow street in a small town somewhere in northern India.
Sadly, despite a well-deserved mention, this anecdote could not be placed at any other spot appropriately in the story. Any attempt to get into whys and wherefores at this stage would be as futile as attempting to explain to someone why a certain wonderful ingredient was only discretionary for a certain dish, without revealing the name of the dish. Still, in order to establish some understanding for comfort factor, to at least draw a parallel, one may deem this anecdote similar to a washer-man’s donkey. A washer-man’s donkey, despite all its hard work, belongs neither to the house nor to the riverbank. As soon as it enters the house, it’s given marching orders to attend to work at the riverbank, and when it reaches there, it’s again kicked and given marching orders to attend to work back home.
Let’s start with the riverside-washer-man’s donkey. Start with probably what sounds to be the worst in the beginning; go through worse, to better than worse, so on, and keep rambling till the pointless donkey goes completely out of sight and we get to shake hands with the best. Let’s start at the boredom, rest at the excitement, and end at the climax. While it emerges as an experience, the excitement would seem to be the climax, and thus the climax an inestimably filling surprise.
Without further ado, here is the warmup anecdote with no modifications to how Ratiram described it—as though it’s him talking to you, not me.
On a random dry afternoon of otherwise ordinary consequence, two young men aged in their late teens—my neighbor and his hitherto close friend—walking on a narrow residential street in a small city somewhere in northern India, suddenly began to fight quite seriously.
Hardly a few minutes back, arms over shoulders, they were merrily whistling a song together. Then the friendly conversation had ceased in less than a second; as soon as the friend said something that the neighbor’s volatile temperament could not absorb. And the fight ensued.
The details of conversation were retrieved later through curious common friends.
“Who knows if the earth is just a mouthful of food for huge, lizard-like beings dwelling in a larger context in this universe?” the friend had said, only a couple of minutes prior to the beginning of the fight, with his eyes wide in awe. “Our technique perhaps is still not good enough to become aware of them. They might be at an infinite distance but coverable in few hours for them. Who knows if they cultivate planets as food, just like we grow apples? Just imagine if one of those lousy creatures mistakenly dines on sun; it will be worse than him dining on earth. I don’t give a rat’s arse what would happen to the creature for having the savory bite, or if the ambushed sun would be able to boil the nasty stuff in its stomach or not. Maybe the creature would just be fine. Who knows but that they grow stars as well like some sort of high-calorie food? My concern is for us, the damned mankind, especially boys our age. If the clumsy creature swallows the sun, there would be no light anymore. Offices would close down, throwing our parents back at home for the entire day to keep us under their miserable scrutiny. That would even be a more pronounced cruelty in the absence of a TV. All the vitality on earth would then perish. Everyone would die. You and I, the best of friends, would die, without fate allowing us a remote opportunity to oblige ourselves of a meaningful debut with female beauties.”
The neighbor listened attentively, without disruption, as they continued to walk. But as soon as the friend paused, the neighbor stopped the walk, backed one step away from the friend, stretched his left hand, and swung it rapidly like a horizontal pendulum. The hand kissed the friend’s right cheek amply hard to leave an exquisite red imprint.
The friend was taken aback. The neighbor had never come close to behaving this way in the entire history of their friendship. The friend speechlessly looked at him, completely dumbfounded, as if witnessing an eighth wonder of the world. It took him a few moments before he was able to breathe normal air again. He looked around to gauge the amount of self-respect that might have eroded him in any passerby’s eyes. Finding no one around, he spoke.
“Have you lost your mind, shameless son of a virgin? I pardon your momentary savagery this time, O dear friend. For your good, I advise that you not to repeat the act. You’d better not.”
The neighbor smiled. His hand swung again from the other direction and kissed the left cheek this time, harder than the previous.
“Let’s settle this,” said the friend, calming down a bit. “You are my friend, and I respect you for that, but O dirty sinner, if you render one more blow, the things between us may no longer remain melodic. One more blow and you will see how I return the bloody knock.”
Without saying a word, smiling, and slightly biting his lower lip with his teeth, the neighbor smacked a wild one on the right cheek.
“My friend, you seem to be really angry at me. But beware, my volatile friend! As soon as anger knocks at one’s door, wisdom prepares to leave. You seem to be completely dried of wisdom at this point, and that simply troubles me! It’s for this reason I have not retaliated yet to your disgraceful behavior. Do not think that I can’t give it back to you. I am no wimp! I am just trying to help here. Whack my hurting cheeks one more time, and it’s my promise that no one can be as wicked as I.”
The neighbor lazily thundered another one on the friend’s left cheek.
By this time a small crowd had formed a circle around them, mainly comprising middle-school boys and girls walking home, jobless men on their way to or from an interview, retired men trying to kill time, street vendors with half-rotten fruits, and a number of construction laborers on their way to buy lunch from the nearby tea stall that turned itself into an all-stand-up restaurant each afternoon. The proceedings in the middle treated them all to a fortuitous thrill amidst an otherwise unexcitingly passing day. So they did not wish to cause any intrusion to it.
“Look, my only true friend,” the friend tried to whisper in the neighbor’s ear, keeping his mouth as close to it as he could manage, “although you have crossed all the boundaries today, I am still willing to leave silently now and settle this matter later in private. Fool, your beloved sister’s only brother, try to see the point here! Even if there is an issue, it’s personal about us, and we can talk about it in privacy. Let’s not produce more material for these losers to laugh at behind our backs.”
The neighbor practiced another one but appeared to have lost much of his verve by now.
Covering both his cheeks with his hands, the friend then turned to the crowd and shouted, “Hell, why are you standing here like ruined statues? Is there an exhibition going on here—or a free mujra? Some shameless celestial clout seems to have come over my friend temporarily. He will be all right in a minute. You’d better start going your way.” Seeing no influence of his demand, he screamed with frustration. “Ah, you losers won’t even shake your rotten tails! You need more blood than I imagined!”
The neighbor saw the friend’s discourse as an attempt to divert his focus. He looked around the crowd, paid a passing attention to each face, and started detaching his belt from his trousers. He took the belt in both hands, just as an offering to God, and strolled solemnly along the inner side of the people-circle to allow everyone a close look at it. He swirled it in imperfect circles every few seconds, swearing loudly every time, and then placed it again on both hands in the offering form. The additional dash in the activity caused a momentary uproar in the crowd as the children and shorter people rushed to the inner side of the people-circle. The friend watched the neighbor’s activity in a nervous awe, sweating with fear, aware of what was coming next yet unable to move a limb.
After completing a full circle, the neighbor came back to the center, stood facing the friend, dropped himself to stand on his knees, and held the belt on his palms that stretched parallel to the ground facing the sky. He then closed his eyes and reverently brought his forehead down to touch the belt in slow motion to worship it as a sacred weapon before the first use. He came back from that position after a few seconds, in slow motion, drowsily opened his eyes, and whirled the belt with full force at the friend like a whip.
The friend writhed in horrid pain as the belt hit his buttocks, but quickly realized that he needed to be ready for his self-defense. He also thought that it was critical to get the neighbor to speak to help his friend escape the dangerous disposition he was caught in at the moment.
“All right, all right, I admit my unforgivable mistake. Tell me what can I do to nullify it?”
The answer was another monstrous whip of the leather blade. This time a little lower, on his legs.
“All right, beat me. All right! As a dutiful friend, I will offer myself in entirety to thee, but I still find myself at the pinnacle of a doubt-hill when I think if beating me is truly going to achieve you any satisfaction.”
The neighbor rendered another whip stroke, this time mixed with laziness and inaccuracy. Everyone in the crowd stood extraordinarily still, just as though one big, well-behaved body fearful about moving a limb to avoid Satan’s attention, and his leather whip.
The fear of dire consequences, if the current business continued, not courage, sparked innate strength of self-defense in the friend; as a result he grabbed at the other side of the leather blade. The unexpected rebellion irritated the neighbor–beast. He stretched his right hand as high as he could, hurled the belt hard in circles and threw it on the crowd after it had gained enough momentum. He then tore his upper clothes to expose his bare upper torso. His muscles swelled through the skin as though they were still unsatisfied and wanted to break free to batter everyone in the crowd!