Uday Prakash - The Walls of Delhi

That day Mohandas had a slight fever. He’d been weaving baskets all day and all night, hauling water to the seedlings they’d planted, and was so tired that he’d fallen asleep without eating anything. When he woke up, he felt a little warm. He was still resting on the terrace when Ghanshyam came. He’d also brought Gopaldas, Kasturi’s brother-in-law, along with him. The two of them told Mohandas that a friend of a friend of theirs knew the general manager of the Oriental Coal Mines, S.K. Singh. They told Mohandas to wash up and get dressed quickly and to catch the next bus to the mine. Ghanshyam and Gopaldas were nearly jumping out of their skins with excitement. They said that it was of the utmost importance that he go right away since the general manager was leaving to go on vacation the day after next. Gopaldas opened his bag and produced a pair of pants and shirt that he’d thought to bring with him. ‘Put these on! You’re not going to the manager looking like an old sack of bull’s balls,’ he said, and laughed along with Mohandas.

It proved not difficult at all to meet S.K. Singh, the general manager of the Oriental Coal Mines; the new shirt and pair of pants that Gopal had given Mohandas gave him a whole new level of confidence. He told S.K. Singh the whole story about how he’d come for the job interview on the eighteenth of August 1997, and had come in at the top of the list of candidates who were offered jobs; how on that day he deposited all his certificates and papers in the employment office, but never received the formal letter of offer; how Bisnath from Bichiya Tola had been working for five years having stolen Mohandas’s name as depot supervisor, earning a monthly pay cheque of ten thousand. Ghanshyam had advised him not to mention when he’d gone to the mine to collect his papers and been beaten up at the behest of the clerks of the employment office, and was later threatened in Lenin Nagar by police inspector Vijay Tiwari.

S.K. Singh had an excellent reputation as a manager who was on the level. If he did get mixed up in any funny business, it was merely due to his abiding fondness for a fine glass of whisky. Otherwise he was so on the level that he was capable of neither hurt nor help.

In any case, after listening to the story from beginning to end, the general manager summoned A.K. Srivastav, welfare manager of the Oriental Coal Mines, and instructed him to launch an enquiry, adding that he wanted a full report in a month’s time when he returned from holiday. Mohandas was so moved by this development that he was on the verge of tears, silently incanting the names of Kabir and Malihamai.

The enquiry took place the following week. Welfare Officer A.N. Srivastav arrived at the apartment located at A/11, Lenin Nagar. Bisnath had got wind of the entire affair beforehand and there was nowhere he hadn’t spun his web. He’d been living in Lenin Nagar under the name of Mohandas for five years, so everyone in the area knew him by this name. No matter who A.K. Srivastav asked what was the name of the person living in A/11, the answer was invariably ‘Mohandas!’ And the name of the man he himself had approved a loan from the welfare fund, and whom he’d himself known for over five years, was called ‘Mohandas.’ And the individual he saw in the office of the general manager, the man who called himself Mohandas — well, he had a hard time believing that someone who looked like that could be a college graduate. Srivastav had his doubts. Despite the clothing that Gopaldas had provided, years of hardship and penury and labour had imbued Mohandas with the look of a slightly demented illiterate. Enquiry officer Srivastav thought it over and concluded that it was possible that the depot supervisor was really someone else and had taken the name ‘Mohandas,’ but he couldn’t believe that this person insisting he was the real Mohandas, could, in fact, be Mohandas.

Bisnath’s preparations had been stunning. He rolled out the red carpet in welcome for Srivastavji. He instructed his wife Amita, who was wearing a low-cut top under her sari, to come into the living room with a tray of cool sherbet. Amita had gone to Lenin Nagar’s newly-opened Shilpa Beauty Parlor for a full makeover. She commented while placing the tray on the table, ‘You didn’t bring sweet Sarita with you, sir?’ He smiled, and the atmosphere instantly became intimate, homely, sensual. The enquiry officer’s gaze was fixed on Amita’s exposed midriff. Those days, fashion shows from Delhi and Mumbai were shown non-stop on the TV news. But this was a living model standing before him, not the TV news, but the real thing.

‘Sir, this is my wife!’ Bisnath announced holding out a plateful of munchies for Srivastav. ‘Kasturi!’

‘It sounds like a rather old-fashioned name, no?’ the enquiry officer asked, picking up a cookie from a plate on the table rather than the munchies that’d been offered.

Amita, half laughing, gushed in, ‘You see sir what happened was that the astrologer told father that a Pisces girl should have a name based in astrology even for her nickname. And then it was settled, that’s why people also call me… oh, it’s not important. They call me what they call me.’

‘Oh! So Kasturi’s your zodiac name?’ he said, addressing Amita directly. ‘Okay, so then what is the name people call you?’ he asked, the grin growing wider, less formal.

Amita scrunched up her face in confusion, and didn’t respond. Bisnath jumped right in.

‘That’s rich, Kasturi! Why be shy about giving your name?’ he asked with a chuckle. ‘Fine, I’ll tell him. Sir, I guess you could say her more common name, what we all call her at home, is Amita. Amita Bhardwaj.’

Enquiry officer Srivastav let out a grunt of laughter.

‘You know, I’m always a little suspicious when ladies don’t exhibit any modesty. Some femininity should be there, shouldn’t it? I’ll tell you what, Kasturiji. From now on I’ll only refer to you as Amitaji! That is, if you don’t object?’

‘No sir, not in the least!’ she warbled. ‘But if you want to know the truth, whenever I hear someone calling me ‘Amita’ I think it’s someone from my very own family.’ She took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. ‘The problem around here is that there’s nobody like us. No one civilized, it’s just these backward people, and for me it gets boring!’

‘Naturally, it will take time to develop these people. There are plenty of projects here in progress for just that purpose. Two years ago what was there? Nothing.’ Srivastav said matter-of-factly. ‘So what do you do with yourself here in Lenin Nagar?’

‘Not much, whatever I can, we ladies have our kitty parties, I’m on a couple of committees for helping out the poorest workers, I like working in social services.’

‘And it’s good that you do, very good. Sarita’s got a deep interest in social services, too. You should come over to our place sometime, and see if you can bring Sarita on board.’ By then Srivastav had completely forgotten what it was he’d come for.

Bisnath was smiling from ear to ear. Now was the moment. He said:

‘It’s like this, sir. Lenin Nagar’s the kind of place where everyone’s suspicious and jealous of everyone else. There’s no easy conversation or having a laugh with your neighbour. And now this much ado about nothing. Someone didn’t get their way, so they found some perfect nobody, threw him a few peanuts, and next thing you know a complaint’s been filed. I know who’s been doing the meddling. There’s a lot of caste business going on. Those people are breathing down our necks. I know exactly who’s responsible for this funny stuff, but that doesn’t matter. I’m not afraid of the truth. Please conduct your investigation without prejudice.’