Akhil Sharma - An Obedient Father

"All the BJP wants is for Hindus and Muslims to be treated the same."

"What do you care about Muslims?" I answered. My voice came out quivering and slight. "Muslims are a slogan. Let them have their mosques. Let them have thirty wives."

"No non-Muslim country other than India lets Muslims have more than one wife," Rajesh told Mr. Mishra.

"Egypt does. Saudi Arabia does," Mr. Mishra said softly. "India

has SO many worries, why should we care how many times someone gets married?"

Rajesh paused for a moment and then continued, "What kind of a country do we have where one group can do whatever it wants and the other group has to remain silent and get slapped? Can Hindus own land in Kashmir? People are tired of this. That's why the BJP is going to win."

"You know why Congress is doing badly?" I asked Rajesh.

"I know why"

"You know why the BJP is doing well?"

"I know"

"This is the first election where people will choose between completely different ideologies," Mr. Mishra said.

We ignored this commentary.

"It's about Indira Gandhi's Emergency. How many innocent people were jailed during that martial law? Sanjay Gandhi's forced vasectomies of poor villagers," Rajesh said.

"Twenty years later the Emergency matters?"

"Rajiv Gandhi taking bribes. It's about that too. At last people know the Nehrus can't change no matter what the punishment. After twenty years, as if nothing's happened, they're back to their sins. Congress has to be punished for its sins. Congress has to be made an example for all politicians. For the good of the country. So that other politicians know that you can't just do anything."

The idea of punishment sent my heart racing and silenced me.

Radha's elder sister Shakuntala arrived during the silence. Along with her came her husband, two sons, and a daughter. By the time they sat down and the daughter went to make tea, Radha's brother Bittu had arrived with his wife, Sharmila, and his son and daughter. None of them liked me. They all thought I was a drunk and a liar and so did not know how to behave. I moved off the bed onto the love seat next to the one Rajesh was on. By sitting alone I felt as if I were assuming the dignity of a mourning husband.

After some time, conversations started. Most were about the

assassination. Once the older people started talking, some of the children went into Anita and Asha's bedroom and began playing cards.

Shakuntala had heard on the radio that the Tamil Tigers were most likely responsible for the murder. Since no one knew or cared much about the Tamils, the talk quickly moved to the Congress versus the BJP.

Bittu talked the most. He was a superstitious and arrogant man who wore lucky stones on each finger and used to be a pole climber for the electricity company but introduced himself as an engineer. "Good he's dead. When the Muslim moved into Tailor's Alley and started a milk bar, I said to the people there, 'In my life this has always been a Hindu alley. Tomorrow this Muslim will be selling your children milk with cow bones ground in.'" He realized he was merely boasting and brought the conversation back on track. "The Congress Party let the Muslims have Pakistan and then the Muslims stayed here, too." Bittu had become a strong supporter of the BJP over the year and a half since he had retired. Massing the residents of Tailor's Alley to drive out the Muslim shopkeeper was his greatest achievement and he forced it into any conversation he could. He had even written about it to Kusum in America. She had responded with a postcard of a crucifix.

"Every religion in the world is here," Rajesh said. "The only way we can live together is if the government treats us all the same." Rajesh, I thought, was the modern face of the BJP.

"Wonderful," Bittu said. "You come into my home one night, take over one of my rooms, and then I should let you have my room. The Muslims invaded India."

"The Muslims aren't going anywhere. Christians are staying. Buddhists are staying."

"Buddhism started in India," Mr. Mishra volunteered.

"I don't care about them," Bittu said.

Anita groaned. She was sitting on the bed between Shakuntala and Sharmila. As she moaned, she hugged her shoulders and folded

into her lap. She stayed bent and we all looked at her. Her face was wet with tears. Shakuntala rubbed Anita's back. Shakuntala had Radha's oval face and crooked teeth. After a moment Anita wiped her face, stood, and left the room. I wanted to follow and comfort her, but knew this was absurd. Instead, I kept leaning toward the talk of politics, like a farmer bowing toward his fire in winter.

A moment or two later Mr. Mishra, who had been sitting at the edge of the sofa, restarted the conversation. "If the BJP comes in, they are going to make some noise about foreigners and make getting World Bank help harder."

"Let the foreigners in," Bittu said, "and they'll eat us. What happened with the British and their tea company?"

Mr. Mishra looked at Bittu and asked, "What is the difference between what the BJP wants and India's economic policy between 1947 and when Rajiv Gandhi came to power?" Mr. Mishra was smiling, as he always did when he knew more about something than the person he was talking with.

"I used to know," Bittu said, smiling slightly, almost like a shy child, "but I've forgotten."

"All right, then tell me, what will the repatriation policy for these companies be? If they have to keep seventy paisas of every rupee they earn here in the country for five years after earning it, what does that mean for the economy?"

"This is difficult," said Shakuntala. Mr. Mishra smiled at her and then turned his attention back to Bittu.

"I don't know," Bittu answered with the same smile.

"What about other countries like India? Taiwan. South Korea. Egypt. Algeria. Turkey How did they manage their economies? What did they do which would not work here?"

Bittu kept quiet.

I did not know the answers either. I was busy wondering what I would say to Anita later this afternoon.

Mr. Mishra waited a moment before he went on. "If you don't know India's old economic history, if you don't know how India

treats foreign companies now, if you don't know what other poor countries have done to save themselves, then why do you talk so loudly?" His voice rose as he spoke, and by the time he had finished, he looked ready to jump up and shake a finger.

"So you know everything and I know nothing," Bittu said.

Mr. Mishra hesitated. "No. I just know a lot more about this thing," he answered hesitantly.

"I know something which you couldn't know in ten years."

Finally Mr. Mishra recognized that this argument was the center of the room's attention. He looked around him. "I don't know that much."

"Om," Bittu shouted. Mr. Mishra, baffled no doubt at this display of religion, nodded and smiled. This enraged Bittu even more. "Om," he shouted again. "The universe begins with om." Mr. Mishra opened his mouth and Bittu boomed, "Om."

At that moment, Krishna arrived. Because my fight with my brothers was common knowledge, his arrival brought the card-playing children back to the living room. The world has changed, I thought.

Anita was the only one who did not come to the living room. Shakuntala went and tried getting her, but Anita said she had too much work.

Krishna sat down beside me. Rajesh moved to a stool near Mr. Mishra. At first, Krishna seemed to want us to ignore him. He was dressed in a white kurta pajama, and this made him look particularly humble. He watched the room with a glass of water balanced on one knee. Despite the small conversations which kept opening and closing, the room's attention was focused on him, and whenever it appeared to drift, Krishna would speak a word or two and draw it back to himself