Aravind Adiga - Last Man in Tower

Sipping tea, he listened to Masterji’s story with fast-blinking eyes (Masterji wondered if the lack of eyebrows affected the beating of the eyelashes), and then turned to a younger man, who was quietly sitting in a corner chair.

‘I know of Vishram Society. It is a famous building in Vakola.’

The younger man said: ‘It used to be a jungle there. Now it’s an up-and-coming area.’

‘These builders — all criminals. Engaged in nothing but number two activities. Who is this Confidence Shah? Must be some slum rat.’

The younger man said: ‘I think I’ve heard of him. Did redevelopment work in Mira Road. Or maybe Chembur.’

Old Parekh ran his hand over his three long silver hairs.

‘A slum rat .’ He smiled at Masterji. ‘You’ve come to the right place, sir. You’re looking at a man who deals with a baker’s dozen of slum rats every single day. But first, we must know, what is your position in the eyes of the law. And the law has very specific eyes: Are you the sovereign of the place, or a representative of the said sovereign?’

‘I’ve lived there for over thirty years. Since I came to Vakola to teach at the school.’

‘A teacher?’ Mr Parekh’s jaw dropped. He blew into his hand-kerchief. ‘It is against Hindu Dharma to threaten a teacher. I have studied Western law and Indian Dharma alike, sir. I have even been to see the world’s biggest temple—’ He tapped the glass-faced photograph behind him. ‘Name of Angkor Wat. Let us see your share certificate in the Society,’ he said, with inquiring fingers. ‘At once, at once.’ Masterji felt as if he were being asked to undress at the doctor’s office. He had brought the document in a manila folder, and produced it now.

‘It is in your wife’s name.’

‘In her will I am named as the inheritor.’

‘It should have been transferred to your name. We can manage. As long as you have her will in your secure possession.’

He gave the document to the younger man, who almost ran from the office.

Masterji’s entire legal claim to 3A, Vishram Society, was now out of his hands; he followed its progress — via footfalls, and then creaking in the wooden planks of the ceiling — into the body of a machine; a photocopier, presumably; levers moved and cameras clicked. His certificate — his claim to a piece of Vishram Society — was being multiplied. His case felt strengthened already. The thumps and footfalls repeated in reverse — the young man re-entered the office with the original certificate and three photocopies. He pulled his chair up next to Parekh’s; almost cheek to cheek, the two men looked over the certificate together. Father and son, Masterji decided.

‘There is also another petitioner in the matter,’ he said. ‘Mr Pinto. My neighbour.’

The senior Parekh spoke first.

‘Excellent. That doubles the sovereignty in the matter. Now, as per Mofa Act—’

A whisper from the young man: ‘He may not know…’

‘Do you know of Mofa?’

Masterji smiled meekly.

‘Maharashtra Ownership of Flats Act 1963. Mofa.’

‘Mofa,’ Masterji agreed. ‘Mofa Act.’

‘As per Mofa Act, 1963…’ The old lawyer paused; breathed. ‘… and also the MCSA Act 1960, which is to say, Maharashtra Co-operative Societies Act 1960, you are the sole sovereign authority of said flat. Now the Society cannot force you to sell said flat, even by majority vote. This is confirmed by Bombay High Court decision 1988, in Bombay Cases Reporter 1988, Volume 1, page 443.’

‘443?’ said the other man. ‘Not 443, Mr Parekh. 444.’

( Mr Parekh? Not his son, then , Masterji thought.)

The old man closed his eyes.

‘444. Correction acknowledged. Bombay Cases Reporter 1988, Volume 1, page 444. Dinoo F. Bandookwala versus Dolly Q. C. Mehta. The Honourable Judge has frankly stated as per the authentic interpretation of the Mofa Act and the MCSA Act, neither BMC nor MHADA nor the Building Society is the sovereign and supreme trustee of the flat but the said owner. In this case, your good self, acting as the legal inheritor of your deceased spouse. So there is every reasonable confidence and expectation of victory. As per authentic interpretation of Mofa Act 1963 and MCSA Act 1960.’

Masterji nodded. ‘I cannot pay you. It is a case you must take in the public interest. The security of senior citizens in this city is at stake.’

‘I understand, I understand,’ Parekh said. He swiped his hand through the air, like an experienced slayer of slum rats.

‘You can settle your bill when there is a settlement,’ his younger partner explained with a smile.

‘My share certificate, please’ — Masterji gestured. The lawyer did nothing, so he reached over and almost pulled it out of his hands. Now he felt strong enough to say: ‘There will be no settlement in this matter.’

‘ Eventually there will be a settlement,’ Parekh corrected him. ‘How long do you and your Mr Pinto plan on resisting this slum rat?’

‘For ever.’

For a moment everything in the office seemed to come to a stop: the fluids in Parekh’s head ceased to circulate, the rats in the wall and the termites in the old wooden ceiling stopped burrowing; even the particles of disinfectant spreading through the air stopped their dispersion.

Parekh smiled. ‘As you wish. We’ll fight him…’ He turned towards the spittoon: ‘… for ever.’

With a papaya wrapped in newspaper under his arm, Masterji returned to Vishram Society. Waiting for him at the gate were Ajwani, the Secretary, Mr Ganguly from the fifth floor, Ibrahim Kudwa, and the guard.

They did not make way for him. Ajwani’s hand was clamped down on the latch.

‘Gentleman,’ he said. ‘ English gentleman.’

Thinking they had heard about his visit to the lawyer, Masterji said: ‘It is my right: it is my right as a citizen to see a lawyer.’

‘He doesn’t know yet,’ Ram Khare shouted. ‘Let him go in and see. Please. It is a difficult hour for the Society.’

Ajwani removed his hand from the latch. As Masterji walked in, the guard said: ‘I told you, Masterji, that this would happen. God has seen that I have done my duty.’

He saw people standing around the plastic chairs: the two Pintos were the only ones sitting down. Mr Pinto’s foot was bandaged, and it was propped up on a cushion. Mrs Puri was dabbing Mrs Pinto’s forehead with a wet end of her sari.

When she saw Masterji, she let out a sharp cry: ‘Here comes the madman!’

Ajwani and the Secretary, along with Ibrahim Kudwa, walked behind Masterji.

‘What happened to you, Mr Pinto?’

‘Look at him, asking!’ Mrs Puri said. ‘Does this thing and pretends not to know about it. Tell him, Mr Pinto. Tell.’

On her command, the old man spoke: ‘He said he was going to hurt… my wife — at her age — old enough to be his grandmother. He… said he was going to come with a knife next time… he… and then I got frightened and fell into the gutter.’

‘ Who told you this?’ Masterji knelt to be at eye level with his oldest friend. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Just outside the gate… Shelley and I were walking… it must have been four o’clock, and then I heard this puppy whimpering, and I went outside, and got down into the gutter to save the puppy. Then this boy, he had a gold chain on his neck, eighteen-nineteen years old, and a hockey stick with him, he stood over me and said, are you the man from Vishram who wants nothing? And I said, who are you? And then… he put the stick on top of my head and he said, next time, it will be a knife…’ Mr Pinto swallowed. ‘… And then he said, “Do you understand now, what it means, to want nothing?” And then I turned and tried to run but I fell into the gutter and my foot…’