Rohinton Mistry - Such A Long Journey

The bundles of currency had tumbled when the plastic was unwrapped, and Dilnavaz restacked them. ‘What trouble is Jimmy trying to bring down on our heads, God only knows. Sending all this money in a package, like onions and potatoes.’ She began wrapping the plastic.

He stopped her. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Packing it. To send it back before there is any trouble.’

‘What are you saying, what trouble? You don’t even know whose money it is or what it is for.’

‘Trouble does not come with a big advertisement giving reasons and explanations. It just comes. And with idiots like Tehmul-Lungraa watching and blabbing, it comes faster. Take the money to Chor Bazaar, baba, give it back to your taxi-driver.’

He dismantled the neat stacks. ‘Not a word will pass from Tehmul’s mouth. I have spoken to him.’ He checked the first and last serial numbers in a few of the bundles: yes, there were a hundred notes to each. He counted the number of bundles: again a hundred. And yes, they were all in the hundred-rupee denomination. ‘My God!’ he whispered. ‘Ten lakh rupees!’

The vast sum, spoken, served to renew her fears. ‘Take it back, I beg you!’ She reached for a corner of the plastic, but he snatched it from her.

‘Take it back is the only thing stuck in your head. Makes you forget everything else.’ He began to fan through each bundle. ‘Jimmy said there would be a letter.’

She joined the search for the letter; the sooner they found it, the sooner this trouble could be sent back. ‘Nice smell,’ she said, bringing her nose closer to the bundle, to the pleasantly sharp odour of new banknotes.

‘Very nice. For twenty-four years I have worked with this smell in my nose. Never get tired of it.’ He paused to reflect. ‘Wonderful thing is, five-rupee bundles smell different from ten-rupee bundles. Each amount has its own smell. I like this hundred-rupee smell the best.’ He riffled, and a small folded paper fell out. ‘Here it is!’

The letter was very short. They read it together:

Dear Gustad,

Thanks for going to Chor Bazaar. Now all that remains is to deposit the money in a bank account.

Since you are savings supervisor, it will be easy to avoid all the rules and regulations about large deposits. But don’t worry, this is not black-market money, it is government money I am in charge of.

For the account, use the name of Mira Obili, and if you need an address, yours, or my post office box in Delhi. It does not matter, I trust you completely. The only reason for secrecy is that there are many people in our own government who would like to see my guerrilla operation fail. I will send more instructions when necessary.

Your loving friend,

Jimmy

P.S. Forget Iago’s advice. Ten lakh won’t fit in your purse. Good luck.

Gustad smiled. ‘I was wondering why Jimmy chose that line.’

‘Forget your wondering and help me pack this.’

‘Don’t you understand what this is about? He is trying to save the poor Bengalis being murdered by Pakistan.’

She was exasperated; sometimes he was like a little child, refusing to acknowledge reality. ‘Surely by now it’s gone into your brain that you cannot do this. Unless you want to do dangerous illegal things and lose your job!’

‘What about Jimmy? Do you know what dangerous things he must be doing in RAW?’ But even as he tried to imagine Jimmy’s heroics, he knew she was right.

‘For him, it is his job, he joined the secret service. Let him do all his secreting and servicing himself, without making us starve to death. That is what will happen if you ever lose your job, remember!’ Then, wishing she had not uttered the words, she added in a subdued voice, ‘ Owaaryoo, ’ and performed the God-forbid gestures, snapping her fingers three times while sweeping her hand outwards, away from Gustad, to ward off the bad vibrations of that dire possibility.

Reluctantly, he began putting the package together. She helped him stack the bundles. ‘I gave him my word. In my letter I said he could rely on me.’

‘It was before he told you what he wanted. To ask for a favour without telling what favour is not nice.’ She brightened. ‘I know. Refuse it in a way that won’t look bad. Write to him that you lost your bank job.’ She caught herself too late and performed the owaaryoo again. ‘No, no, don’t say that, say you got transferred to some other department, different duties. So you cannot do deposits.’

He considered her plan and liked it. ‘You are right. That way he won’t feel I let him down.’ He pushed the unfinished package to one side of the desk and wrote the letter.

There was a knock. Dilnavaz ran to the bedroom and came back with a sheet, throwing it over the heap of money before opening the door. It was only Sohrab. ‘Thank God,’ she said and removed the sheet.

‘Oh boy!’ said Sohrab. He started to laugh at the sight of so much money. ‘Daddy robbed his bank?’

Gustad turned to Dilnavaz with a face black as thunder. ‘Warn your son right now, I am in no mood for his senseless jokes.’

She knew it was not an empty ultimatum when he spoke in that tight low voice, as though his throat were choking. She cautioned Sohrab with a look. ‘Money is from Major Uncle, but we are sending it back.’ She handed him the note, as well as Gustad’s reply. ‘It’s too risky for Daddy.’

He read it and said, ‘How childish, this anagram.’

She did not know the word. ‘Anagram?’

‘You take a name, mix up the letters, and form a new name. Mira Obili is an anagram of Bilimoria.’ Gustad pretended not to listen. He verified the letters mentally, however. Sohrab fingered the bundles of currency and toyed with the notes. ‘Jimmy Uncle says this is government money, right? So let’s spend it on all the things government is supposed to do. Wouldn’t it be nice to fix the sewers in this area, install water tanks for everyone, repair the—’

Gustad sprang from his chair without warning and aimed a powerful slap at his face. ‘Shameless!’ Sohrab managed to deflect the blow. ‘Talks like a crazy rabid dog! My own son!’

Shaken and bewildered, Sohrab turned to his mother. ‘What’s the matter with him these days? I just made a joke!’

‘You know what the matter is,’ she said quietly, and silenced him as he tried to say something. He left the room, trembling with emotion.

Gustad continued wrapping the package as though nothing had happened. But he could not pretend for long. ‘Changed so completely, it’s hard to recognize him.’ The disquiet about the strange parcel, disappointment with Jimmy’s unseemly request, now mixed with the other, deeper sorrow, of filial disrespect and ingratitude. The pernicious mixture filled his mouth with wormwood. ‘Who would have thought he would turn out like this?’ He pulled on the twine and it snapped. She patiently knotted the pieces together.

‘Every year at exam-time we fed him seven almonds at daybreak.’ His bitterness turned to the past for nourishment. ‘With holes in my shoes I went to work, so we could buy almonds to sharpen his brain. At two hundred rupees a kilo. And all wasted. All gone in the gutter-water.’ She put her finger on the string to hold it in place while he tied the knots. ‘Remember,’ he said, loud enough for Sohrab to hear inside, ‘I kicked him once to save his life, and I can kick him again. Out of my house, this time! Out of my life!’

She extricated her finger from the tightening knots in the nick of time. O God, no, please no! Please don’t make him talk like this! The lime juice will work, I know. It must work, or what will happen?