Akhil Sharma - An Obedient Father

After a moment, as the hand sank back into Pavan's lap, Anita took it between her own hands. "Don't worry yet," she said.

We watched the prayer in silence. Mrs. Gupta cried when, in the middle of reading from the Ramayana^ the pundit stood and closed the curtains of the window behind him so that the room became dim. An hour after we arrived, a servant whispered in my ear and brought me to Mr. Gupta.

Over the last two days I had begun to believe that I would have to split the money I had raised between Congress and the BJP. But I was waiting for some sign to act. Now, though, as I followed the servant through empty rooms, I felt that an omen was at last going to be given me.

Mr. Gupta was sitting on a sofa. He wore a suit and tie but was barefoot. Seeing me, he stood and laughed. "You look worried, Mr. Karan." The bare feet reminded me of my mother. Would he be murdered? I wondered.

"No, sir. iVe been sick. I've had a headache for three days."

"Good; you shouldn't be worried."

I wondered whether he was aware of how vulnerable he appeared. Whereas before, when I went to see Mr. Gupta, I felt as though I was being granted an appointment, now I had the sense that I was the one whose time was being taken up.

"I talked to Mr. Maurya yesterday and he said that he can win this election for us if we have the money" Mr. Gupta said this eagerly. I knew he was lying. The only way to guarantee victory in a close election was by stealing vote boxes, and this was not possible in the capital. Mr. Maurya would not even imply a guarantee, because he could not swindle a BJP candidate so obviously and hope later to do business with the BJP. When I did not respond, he added, "How much money do we have?"

I did not want to reveal anything to Mr. Gupta but, unable to see where a lie might lead, answered.

"That's good. Twelve is enough," he said.

This encouragement heightened the abjectness of his lie.

"Bring me the money today."

"Yes."

"Are you going to do it, Mr. Karan?" Mr. Gupta smiled as he asked this. I wondered if Mr. Gupta had chosen to ask today instead of during the phone call last night because he thought it would be hard to refuse a grieving father.

I did not think I would give him the money. "Yes, sir." The BJP and Congress would make any promise I asked for in exchange for my giving them the money I had collected. But it was doubtful that they would honor their promise. I looked away from him. "Have you talked to Mr. Bajwa?"

Mr. Gupta stared at me and I wondered whether he was deciding

to lie. "Yes, for a minute. He hadn't phoned because he was afraid of

my being angry. I told him I wasn't."

The obvious impossibility of this made me think that if Mr.

Gupta could say something this ridiculous, he must be lost inside

his worries.

"A broken pot can't be made whole by anger." Mr. Gupta nodded. "Bring me the money today."

I went to see my doctor after leaving Mr. Gupta's house. Anita stayed behind at the prayer. Dr. Aziz's narrow office was next to a bakery in Khan Market. When he saw me, he immediately said, "You are not well."

"No."

"How long have you been feeling this way?" Dr. Aziz was a short, bearded Muslim with a feminine smile. His examination room had a long table to lie on and a large metal desk whose top and sides were covered with plywood. In the nearly one year I had known him, he had never said a thing to make me think he was stupid or unconcerned.

"A few days." I told him about the nosebleeds.

"And when did your weight start to drop?" I now realized that he had not been referring to my concerned face when he suggested I looked bad.

"A month and a half ago, I lost my appetite and it hasn't come back. When I'm hungry I take two bites and I'm full."

Dr. Aziz took my blood pressure, which was low, and collected blood and urine samples. "It could be that you've lost weight and your medicine needs to be readjusted. That might be good." I smiled so broadly that Dr. Aziz immediately said, "We'll see."

The possibility of good health gave me confidence that I would be able to maneuver Congress and the BJP. In the autorickshaw home, I thought of the various people in Congress and the BJP whom I could approach to negotiate my security.

My brother Krishna was drinking tea in the living room. He was

sitting on a love seat with his legs folded under him, his saucer in his left hand, and the cup held above it with the right. Anita sat across from him on the sofa, the edges of her lips curving down as they sometimes did in sleep. She was still in her green sari, which meant that Krishna must have arrived immediately after she returned home. They were not talking, and there was an air of offended dignity to Krishna's thin white mustache. As I entered the living room, Asha came in holding a plate full of biscuits. "I bring good news," Krishna said. "Munna is getting married." He sounded relieved to see me.

"Congratulations." For me, Munna remarrying had all the meaning of his changing jobs. Asha put the biscuits on the table and sat beside me on the bed.

"He's young," Krishna said. "It's important that he have a wife." The unnecessary justification suggested that Anita had put Krishna on the defensive. Krishna would take a sip of tea and then press down his mustache with his fingers.

"He's marrying the sister of the one who hanged herself" Anita looked at me as she said this. She looked ready to cry

"Water?" Asha asked. I nodded yes.

"It's good for Munna and for the girl. Otherwise, who would marry a suicide's sister?" I said.

Anita kept looking at me.

"It's good for everyone," Krishna agreed. "The girl's name is Vineeta." Asha brought a glass of water and sat back on the bed.

Anita opened her mouth but did not speak.

Krishna invited me to the engagement ceremony and started to leave. Politeness required me to ask him to linger, but I did not.

I stood and was about to go change my clothes when Anita said, "No wonder I am angry all the time." I could not tell whether she wanted me to say anything. "The girl says she will only marry Munna if he lives away from home and they live alone."

"That's smart."

"Asha, do you understand what has happened?"

Asha nodded.

"A woman has to fight just to avoid being murdered. What kind of world is this?" Anita asked her.

I waited, and when Anita appeared to want a reaction, I said, "It's a bad one."

"You're stupid." I did not respond, and Anita said, "Do you think I'm being unfair to be angry at you about Munna?"

I shrugged. I did not know if she was. The sadness of Asha watching this made me imagine a world where I had not committed my crimes.

"This is your fault, too, because you are the same as everybody else and everybody else is the same as you. So I might as well hate you as everyone else." Anita laughed. I stayed quiet. "Go change your clothes."

I left for my room. A minute or two later Anita appeared in my doorway. "You know that Pavan and Ajay's marriage was a love marriage."

"Yes." I hung my pants on a hook.

"She loves him." Anita said this with such intensity that I wondered what love meant to her. "Pavan and I ate lunch." She paused. "Why should she love him? He's a fool. He was drunk at his own wedding reception." She stopped after this. Though her voice was angry, the pauses made her sound puzzled.

"A heart is what does not listen."

"I know. I told her she shouldn't blame herself"

"She shouldn't."

"I know. Why are you saying that? I need your permission to tell her not to blame herself?"

I took off my shirt.

That night, a little before eight, one of Mr. Gupta's servants, a boy judging from his voice, phoned and said that Ajay's body had been found and would I please meet Mr. Gupta at the morgue near the ISBT He gave me the address.