Rohinton Mistry - Such A Long Journey

‘Very clever woman, Gustad. She said, if my enemies try to make trouble, all you have to say is…you imitated my voice. I laughed…who would believe this? But she said, under the proper conditions, people will believe anything. She promised…nothing would happen to me.

‘Like a fool I agreed…trusted her. Then she said, maybe we should make our plan watertight…you can write a few lines just now. A confession. That you imitated my voice…because you wanted to continue helping Mukti Bahini. This way, she would be prepared in advance…if any politician tried to make mischief. Any allegations, and she could stand up in Parliament with the written confession…that she was aware, and government was in control of the situation.

‘What can I say, Gustad? Even to this…I agreed. She gave me a blank sheet of paper and her own fountain-pen. I wrote my confession…like an idiot. My respect for her…grown so much over the months. Such a strong woman. Trusted her completely.’

It baffled Gustad. The worldly-wise Jimmy Bilimoria, the cynical Major he had known for so many years, whose motto in life was: when in doubt, keep doubting. Could he really have done the foolish things he is describing? What kind of woman is she?

‘Sorry Gustad…talking so much, forgot about your lunch. You want to eat?’

‘No, I had some tea while you were sleeping.’

Jimmy smiled, but upon his wasted face the smile became a painful grimace. ‘So often I have thought of Dilnavaz’s dhansak …those Sunday afternoons.’ He stared into the distance, his eyes cloudy. With a visible effort he began whispering again.

‘So my operation was in full swing, I thought…sent the good news to Mukti Bahini commander. But few weeks later…when I went to visit, total disappointment on his face. What happened to new financing, he said. Took me for inspection. I saw for myself. Ragged condition…bare feet, torn clothes, no helmets. A few had guns…rest drilling with sticks, branches. Something terribly wrong…I hurried back to Delhi…

‘Did some checking, through my private channels. Ghulam also investigated…at his end. They tried to finish him off on his Lambretta. Their favourite way, traffic accident. He was asking too many questions. But we discovered something impossible to believe. I checked again…Ghulam also. It made no sense…why this way, all she has to do is ask me…’ He choked and began coughing violently. Gustad supported his head till it stopped. He held up the glass of water but Jimmy waved it aside.

‘I have seen so much…bribery, double-cross, blackmail. This one…’ He paused, and now took the water.

‘What happened to the money?’ asked Gustad.

‘Money I was disbursing for supplies…intercepted. By Prime Minister’s office. Rerouted. To a private account.’

‘Are you sure of it?’

Jimmy made a gesture of despair: ‘Wish I could say no.’

‘But for what?’

‘That I am not sure of. One possibility — to finance her son’s car factory. Or could be for election fund, or maybe…’

‘What did you do then?’

‘Not what I should have done…but something very stupid. Should have exposed the whole thing. Told the press, opposition parties. Started an inquiry. But I thought, everything is controlled by her. RAW, the courts, broadcasting…everything is in her pocket, all will be covered up…’

Suddenly, Jimmy screamed, covering his face with his hands. ‘Stop! Please stop!’ He thrashed around, legs kicking air. ‘Stop! Aaaaa!’ Gustad tried to hold him but Jimmy kept him off with his flailing arms. He subsided of his own accord in a few moments, then lay panting, cold sweat running down his face, knees drawn up to his stomach.

Shaken, Gustad knew it was the telling that brought back the prison nightmare. He put his arm around him: ‘It’s OK, Jimmy. No one will hurt you, I’m still here.’

Gradually, Jimmy unclenched his fists and let his legs straighten. But he continued to shiver, and Gustad soothed him till it passed. He opened his eyes. ‘Gustad? Water, please.’ Gustad propped up the pillow again.

‘Whole day and night I sat in my flat. Doing nothing…just thinking. What hope for the country? With such crooked leaders? Whole day and night…I sat thinking of all the people I had come across in my life…men in the army, good men. And my Ghulam Mohammed. Khodadad Building…the families living there. You and Dilnavaz, the children, the ambitions you have for them. And those bastards, those ministers and politicians, those ugly buffaloes and pigs…getting fatter and fatter, sucking our blood…’ Jimmy trembled, choking with vehemence.

‘It drove me crazy to think of all this. But I decided — if they can profit from the sixty lakh, why not us? Her son, his Maruti car factory, whatever they use it for…we can also use some. You, your family, Ghulam, me. Why not? I put aside ten lakh, told Ghulam to expect a delivery…our usual channels in Chor Bazaar.’

As gently as he could, Gustad asked, ‘But why did you not tell me what was really happening?’

‘Gustad, I know you…your principles. Would you have agreed…if I told you the truth? My plan was to complete my assignment, resign. Return to Bombay and divide the money. You, Ghulam Mohammed, me. It was wrong, I know, two wrongs don’t make a right. But I was disgusted. And I was absolutely sure…if fifty lakh reached PM’s office…no one would bother about missing ten. Every pipeline has leaks.

‘But…I was mistaken. They came for me…arrested…made a case based on my confession. What they really wanted was the ten lakh. You know how it is in our jails when you refuse to…’

‘And you refused.’

‘Had to protect you and Ghulam…did not want any trouble for you. Once money was returned, everything fine. Transferred to hospital, proper treatment…’

Jimmy fell silent, and Gustad sensed he wanted to hear his reaction. ‘What shall I say, Jimmy? All this suffering. But can you not still talk to lawyers, or newspapers, tell them the truth about your ten lakh, and about the whole bloody crooked—’

‘Gustad, it has been tried. Everything is in their control…courts in their pockets. Only one way…quietly do my four years…then forget about it.’

‘Everyone knows there’s corruption,’ said Gustad. ‘But to this level? Hard to believe.’

‘Gustad, it is beyond the common man’s imagination, the things being done by those in power. But I did not call you here to make you worry…feel sorry for me. What has happened has happened. I just wanted to talk to you. To make sure you don’t think I tried to trick you. You were so angry, Ghulam told me…in your place I would also have been. But I was hoping…you will forgive me now.’

Gustad held his gaze. He saw his friend’s need for absolution, the pleading in his eyes. ‘Do you forgive me?’

There was only one answer to give: ‘Rubbish. Nothing to forgive, Jimmy.’

Trying to reach Gustad’s hand, Jimmy raised his, shaking with the effort. Gustad clasped it firmly. ‘Thank you, Gustad. For everything…for coming, listening…’

For a while they were silent. Then their conversation was of the old times, when the boys were still very little, when Major Uncle taught them how to march, left-right, left-right, and how to present arms, using rulers for rifles.

The nurse came to administer another injection shortly before it was time for Gustad to leave. The sinewy woman turned Jimmy over — the other side, this time — and plunged in the needle.

They managed to finish what they were talking about, say goodbye, before the drug silenced him. Gustad sat awhile on the edge of the bed, listening to the troubled breathing. He pulled the sheet up, tucked it in, then bent over and kissed his friend lightly on the forehead.