Epedimic (standard:romance, 389884 words)
Author: Shamoil Ahmad	Added: Jul 22 2020	Views/Reads: 1636/2272	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The Epidemic is a novel weaved in a political milieu. Politics of the eighties and nineties was not the politics we have grown with. We are in a new realm of politics. We have all seen it from close quarters and have faced the consequences. It is too cont

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Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!! 

EPIDEMIC 

BY 

SHAMOIL AHMAD 

One 

It often occurred to Fahimuddin Shirwani that the age in which he lived
was the age where every man had collar band tied across his neck while 
the leash was in the hands of someone else. This feeling became all the 
more galling whenever he happened to be part of meetings which were 
attended, in addition to the officers, by the elected representatives 
of the people as well. Each one of them tightening the 
leash...MLAs...MPs...Mukhiyas (village heads)....and Kamalnath Mandal, 
of all of them, would tighten it a little harder than others... 

Kamalnath Mandal was the local member of the legislative assembly and he
maintained long nails. His face was like an upturned triangle. Forehead 
was flat and cheek bones seemed to have protruded out that abruptly 
sloped down on his chin. His hands were hairy and the fingers, like the 
twigs of cactus, were pointedly sharp. 

His tongue would keep licking back and forth like sword and his eyes
seemed to disgorge fire and brimstone sparkling like diamond...he would 
piercingly stare at each officer one by one as he sought their 
explanations on works done, ending it with the diktat of meeting him in 
his chamber. Such meetings had their own hierarchical importance and 
there was no way one could avoid them. Kamalnath Mandal himself had to 
regularly call on the CM and pay his obeisance. Collar band of the 
slavery age had been replaced by the acts of paying obeisance in this 
age of leash. 

This time when the 20-Point programme meeting was held, orders were
issued for Fahimuddin Sherwani for that meeting and he felt the leash 
tightening around his neck. Shirwani was the executive engineer in the 
state's Water Resources Department and was posted at Jahannagari. It 
was barely two ago that he had been posted to Jahannagari. But no 
sooner he took the charge than this hammer fell on him. He had to face 
this meeting of 20-point programme immediately on joining the 
department. His department was placed at point 5...supplying water in 
the far flung areas... 

Shirwani always tried to keep away from such meetings. It always made
him feel as though he was made to stand like an accused. 

It was at Jahannagari that he for the first time came to understand the
significance of the caste equations as to who is BHURA Bal (grey 
hair)....what meant MY...? Who are on the side of the social justice? 
Head Clerk was Brahmin...Despatch Clerk Rajput...Storekeeper Bhumihar 
and the Accounts Clerk Lala...they constituted BHURA Bal. The junior 
engineers of Chainpur and Hasanganj also belonged to BHURA Bal. 
Accountant was Mallah by caste, Cashier  Koeri and the Library 
Assistant was from the extremely low caste euphemistically referred to 
as Harijan. They were from the social justice category; Kailash Rai and 
the junior engineer Ramesh together with Fahimuddin Shirwani belonged 
to MY category. 

Those from the Muslim community were happy with the arrival of
Fahimuddin Shirwani. But they never made any overt display of their 
happiness. They communicated with Shirwani through eye contacts. 

When the 20-point programme meeting schedule was announced, Ramesh Yadav
had remarked with a benign smile, “You won't have any difficulty here, 
Sir...!” “Why?” “There is MY equation operating in the state...M comes 
first in MY followed by Y...so, you come first and we come only 
next...” “That's true!” Shirwani gave out a smile. “Most of the 
legislators here are from MY equation. But Ramchandra Jha is from BJP 
and Kamlesh Darpan also belongs to the opposition party.” And then he 
lowered his voice and whispered— “Beware of the Head Clerk...” “Why?” 
“He's Brahmin.” It did not go down well with Shirwani that a junior 
engineer should air his views on casteism in this manner. He stayed 
quiet. “These people have exploited us long enough, Sir.” “Now you 
people are doing the same thing.” “It is these people who have sowed 
the seeds of hatred...there was a promising leader from the backward, 
Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!! 

EPIDEMIC 

BY 

SHAMOIL AHMAD 

One 

It often occurred to Fahimuddin Shirwani that the age in which he lived
was the age where every man had collar band tied across his neck while 
the leash was in the hands of someone else. This feeling became all the 
more galling whenever he happened to be part of meetings which were 
attended, in addition to the officers, by the elected representatives 
of the people as well. Each one of them tightening the 
leash...MLAs...MPs...Mukhiyas (village heads)....and Kamalnath Mandal, 
of all of them, would tighten it a little harder than others... 

Kamalnath Mandal was the local member of the legislative assembly and he
maintained long nails. His face was like an upturned triangle. Forehead 
was flat and cheek bones seemed to have protruded out that abruptly 
sloped down on his chin. His hands were hairy and the fingers, like the 
twigs of cactus, were pointedly sharp. 

His tongue would keep licking back and forth like sword and his eyes
seemed to disgorge fire and brimstone sparkling like diamond...he would 
piercingly stare at each officer one by one as he sought their 
explanations on works done, ending it with the diktat of meeting him in 
his chamber. Such meetings had their own hierarchical importance and 
there was no way one could avoid them. Kamalnath Mandal himself had to 
regularly call on the CM and pay his obeisance. Collar band of the 
slavery age had been replaced by the acts of paying obeisance in this 
age of leash. 

This time when the 20-Point programme meeting was held, orders were
issued for Fahimuddin Sherwani for that meeting and he felt the leash 
tightening around his neck. Shirwani was the executive engineer in the 
state's Water Resources Department and was posted at Jahannagari. It 
was barely two ago that he had been posted to Jahannagari. But no 
sooner he took the charge than this hammer fell on him. He had to face 
this meeting of 20-point programme immediately on joining the 
department. His department was placed at point 5...supplying water in 
the far flung areas... 

Shirwani always tried to keep away from such meetings. It always made
him feel as though he was made to stand like an accused. 

It was at Jahannagari that he for the first time came to understand the
significance of the caste equations as to who is BHURA Bal (grey 
hair)....what meant MY...? Who are on the side of the social justice? 
Head Clerk was Brahmin...Despatch Clerk Rajput...Storekeeper Bhumihar 
and the Accounts Clerk Lala...they constituted BHURA Bal. The junior 
engineers of Chainpur and Hasanganj also belonged to BHURA Bal. 
Accountant was Mallah by caste, Cashier  Koeri and the Library 
Assistant was from the extremely low caste euphemistically referred to 
as Harijan. They were from the social justice category; Kailash Rai and 
the junior engineer Ramesh together with Fahimuddin Shirwani belonged 
to MY category. 

Those from the Muslim community were happy with the arrival of
Fahimuddin Shirwani. But they never made any overt display of their 
happiness. They communicated with Shirwani through eye contacts. 

When the 20-point programme meeting schedule was announced, Ramesh Yadav
had remarked with a benign smile, “You won't have any difficulty here, 
Sir...!” “Why?” “There is MY equation operating in the state...M comes 
first in MY followed by Y...so, you come first and we come only 
next...” “That's true!” Shirwani gave out a smile. “Most of the 
legislators here are from MY equation. But Ramchandra Jha is from BJP 
and Kamlesh Darpan also belongs to the opposition party.” And then he 
lowered his voice and whispered— “Beware of the Head Clerk...” “Why?” 
“He's Brahmin.” It did not go down well with Shirwani that a junior 
engineer should air his views on casteism in this manner. He stayed 
quiet. “These people have exploited us long enough, Sir.” “Now you 
people are doing the same thing.” “It is these people who have sowed 
the seeds of hatred...there was a promising leader from the backward, 
Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!! 

EPIDEMIC 

BY 

SHAMOIL AHMAD 

One 

It often occurred to Fahimuddin Shirwani that the age in which he lived
was the age where every man had collar band tied across his neck while 
the leash was in the hands of someone else. This feeling became all the 
more galling whenever he happened to be part of meetings which were 
attended, in addition to the officers, by the elected representatives 
of the people as well. Each one of them tightening the 
leash...MLAs...MPs...Mukhiyas (village heads)....and Kamalnath Mandal, 
of all of them, would tighten it a little harder than others... 

Kamalnath Mandal was the local member of the legislative assembly and he
maintained long nails. His face was like an upturned triangle. Forehead 
was flat and cheek bones seemed to have protruded out that abruptly 
sloped down on his chin. His hands were hairy and the fingers, like the 
twigs of cactus, were pointedly sharp. 

His tongue would keep licking back and forth like sword and his eyes
seemed to disgorge fire and brimstone sparkling like diamond...he would 
piercingly stare at each officer one by one as he sought their 
explanations on works done, ending it with the diktat of meeting him in 
his chamber. Such meetings had their own hierarchical importance and 
there was no way one could avoid them. Kamalnath Mandal himself had to 
regularly call on the CM and pay his obeisance. Collar band of the 
slavery age had been replaced by the acts of paying obeisance in this 
age of leash. 

This time when the 20-Point programme meeting was held, orders were
issued for Fahimuddin Sherwani for that meeting and he felt the leash 
tightening around his neck. Shirwani was the executive engineer in the 
state's Water Resources Department and was posted at Jahannagari. It 
was barely two ago that he had been posted to Jahannagari. But no 
sooner he took the charge than this hammer fell on him. He had to face 
this meeting of 20-point programme immediately on joining the 
department. His department was placed at point 5...supplying water in 
the far flung areas... 

Shirwani always tried to keep away from such meetings. It always made
him feel as though he was made to stand like an accused. 

It was at Jahannagari that he for the first time came to understand the
significance of the caste equations as to who is BHURA Bal (grey 
hair)....what meant MY...? Who are on the side of the social justice? 
Head Clerk was Brahmin...Despatch Clerk Rajput...Storekeeper Bhumihar 
and the Accounts Clerk Lala...they constituted BHURA Bal. The junior 
engineers of Chainpur and Hasanganj also belonged to BHURA Bal. 
Accountant was Mallah by caste, Cashier  Koeri and the Library 
Assistant was from the extremely low caste euphemistically referred to 
as Harijan. They were from the social justice category; Kailash Rai and 
the junior engineer Ramesh together with Fahimuddin Shirwani belonged 
to MY category. 

Those from the Muslim community were happy with the arrival of
Fahimuddin Shirwani. But they never made any overt display of their 
happiness. They communicated with Shirwani through eye contacts. 

When the 20-point programme meeting schedule was announced, Ramesh Yadav
had remarked with a benign smile, “You won't have any difficulty here, 
Sir...!” “Why?” “There is MY equation operating in the state...M comes 
first in MY followed by Y...so, you come first and we come only 
next...” “That's true!” Shirwani gave out a smile. “Most of the 
legislators here are from MY equation. But Ramchandra Jha is from BJP 
and Kamlesh Darpan also belongs to the opposition party.” And then he 
lowered his voice and whispered— “Beware of the Head Clerk...” “Why?” 
“He's Brahmin.” It did not go down well with Shirwani that a junior 
engineer should air his views on casteism in this manner. He stayed 
quiet. “These people have exploited us long enough, Sir.” “Now you 
people are doing the same thing.” “It is these people who have sowed 
the seeds of hatred...there was a promising leader from the backward, 
Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!! 

EPIDEMIC 

BY 

SHAMOIL AHMAD 

One 

It often occurred to Fahimuddin Shirwani that the age in which he lived
was the age where every man had collar band tied across his neck while 
the leash was in the hands of someone else. This feeling became all the 
more galling whenever he happened to be part of meetings which were 
attended, in addition to the officers, by the elected representatives 
of the people as well. Each one of them tightening the 
leash...MLAs...MPs...Mukhiyas (village heads)....and Kamalnath Mandal, 
of all of them, would tighten it a little harder than others... 

Kamalnath Mandal was the local member of the legislative assembly and he
maintained long nails. His face was like an upturned triangle. Forehead 
was flat and cheek bones seemed to have protruded out that abruptly 
sloped down on his chin. His hands were hairy and the fingers, like the 
twigs of cactus, were pointedly sharp. 

His tongue would keep licking back and forth like sword and his eyes
seemed to disgorge fire and brimstone sparkling like diamond...he would 
piercingly stare at each officer one by one as he sought their 
explanations on works done, ending it with the diktat of meeting him in 
his chamber. Such meetings had their own hierarchical importance and 
there was no way one could avoid them. Kamalnath Mandal himself had to 
regularly call on the CM and pay his obeisance. Collar band of the 
slavery age had been replaced by the acts of paying obeisance in this 
age of leash. 

This time when the 20-Point programme meeting was held, orders were
issued for Fahimuddin Sherwani for that meeting and he felt the leash 
tightening around his neck. Shirwani was the executive engineer in the 
state's Water Resources Department and was posted at Jahannagari. It 
was barely two ago that he had been posted to Jahannagari. But no 
sooner he took the charge than this hammer fell on him. He had to face 
this meeting of 20-point programme immediately on joining the 
department. His department was placed at point 5...supplying water in 
the far flung areas... 

Shirwani always tried to keep away from such meetings. It always made
him feel as though he was made to stand like an accused. 

It was at Jahannagari that he for the first time came to understand the
significance of the caste equations as to who is BHURA Bal (grey 
hair)....what meant MY...? Who are on the side of the social justice? 
Head Clerk was Brahmin...Despatch Clerk Rajput...Storekeeper Bhumihar 
and the Accounts Clerk Lala...they constituted BHURA Bal. The junior 
engineers of Chainpur and Hasanganj also belonged to BHURA Bal. 
Accountant was Mallah by caste, Cashier  Koeri and the Library 
Assistant was from the extremely low caste euphemistically referred to 
as Harijan. They were from the social justice category; Kailash Rai and 
the junior engineer Ramesh together with Fahimuddin Shirwani belonged 
to MY category. 

Those from the Muslim community were happy with the arrival of
Fahimuddin Shirwani. But they never made any overt display of their 
happiness. They communicated with Shirwani through eye contacts. 

When the 20-point programme meeting schedule was announced, Ramesh Yadav
had remarked with a benign smile, “You won't have any difficulty here, 
Sir...!” “Why?” “There is MY equation operating in the state...M comes 
first in MY followed by Y...so, you come first and we come only 
next...” “That's true!” Shirwani gave out a smile. “Most of the 
legislators here are from MY equation. But Ramchandra Jha is from BJP 
and Kamlesh Darpan also belongs to the opposition party.” And then he 
lowered his voice and whispered— “Beware of the Head Clerk...” “Why?” 
“He's Brahmin.” It did not go down well with Shirwani that a junior 
engineer should air his views on casteism in this manner. He stayed 
quiet. “These people have exploited us long enough, Sir.” “Now you 
people are doing the same thing.” “It is these people who have sowed 
the seeds of hatred...there was a promising leader from the backward, 
Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!! 

EPIDEMIC 

BY 

SHAMOIL AHMAD 

One 

It often occurred to Fahimuddin Shirwani that the age in which he lived
was the age where every man had collar band tied across his neck while 
the leash was in the hands of someone else. This feeling became all the 
more galling whenever he happened to be part of meetings which were 
attended, in addition to the officers, by the elected representatives 
of the people as well. Each one of them tightening the 
leash...MLAs...MPs...Mukhiyas (village heads)....and Kamalnath Mandal, 
of all of them, would tighten it a little harder than others... 

Kamalnath Mandal was the local member of the legislative assembly and he
maintained long nails. His face was like an upturned triangle. Forehead 
was flat and cheek bones seemed to have protruded out that abruptly 
sloped down on his chin. His hands were hairy and the fingers, like the 
twigs of cactus, were pointedly sharp. 

His tongue would keep licking back and forth like sword and his eyes
seemed to disgorge fire and brimstone sparkling like diamond...he would 
piercingly stare at each officer one by one as he sought their 
explanations on works done, ending it with the diktat of meeting him in 
his chamber. Such meetings had their own hierarchical importance and 
there was no way one could avoid them. Kamalnath Mandal himself had to 
regularly call on the CM and pay his obeisance. Collar band of the 
slavery age had been replaced by the acts of paying obeisance in this 
age of leash. 

This time when the 20-Point programme meeting was held, orders were
issued for Fahimuddin Sherwani for that meeting and he felt the leash 
tightening around his neck. Shirwani was the executive engineer in the 
state's Water Resources Department and was posted at Jahannagari. It 
was barely two ago that he had been posted to Jahannagari. But no 
sooner he took the charge than this hammer fell on him. He had to face 
this meeting of 20-point programme immediately on joining the 
department. His department was placed at point 5...supplying water in 
the far flung areas... 

Shirwani always tried to keep away from such meetings. It always made
him feel as though he was made to stand like an accused. 

It was at Jahannagari that he for the first time came to understand the
significance of the caste equations as to who is BHURA Bal (grey 
hair)....what meant MY...? Who are on the side of the social justice? 
Head Clerk was Brahmin...Despatch Clerk Rajput...Storekeeper Bhumihar 
and the Accounts Clerk Lala...they constituted BHURA Bal. The junior 
engineers of Chainpur and Hasanganj also belonged to BHURA Bal. 
Accountant was Mallah by caste, Cashier  Koeri and the Library 
Assistant was from the extremely low caste euphemistically referred to 
as Harijan. They were from the social justice category; Kailash Rai and 
the junior engineer Ramesh together with Fahimuddin Shirwani belonged 
to MY category. 

Those from the Muslim community were happy with the arrival of
Fahimuddin Shirwani. But they never made any overt display of their 
happiness. They communicated with Shirwani through eye contacts. 

When the 20-point programme meeting schedule was announced, Ramesh Yadav
had remarked with a benign smile, “You won't have any difficulty here, 
Sir...!” “Why?” “There is MY equation operating in the state...M comes 
first in MY followed by Y...so, you come first and we come only 
next...” “That's true!” Shirwani gave out a smile. “Most of the 
legislators here are from MY equation. But Ramchandra Jha is from BJP 
and Kamlesh Darpan also belongs to the opposition party.” And then he 
lowered his voice and whispered— “Beware of the Head Clerk...” “Why?” 
“He's Brahmin.” It did not go down well with Shirwani that a junior 
engineer should air his views on casteism in this manner. He stayed 
quiet. “These people have exploited us long enough, Sir.” “Now you 
people are doing the same thing.” “It is these people who have sowed 
the seeds of hatred...there was a promising leader from the backward, 
Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!! 

EPIDEMIC 

BY 

SHAMOIL AHMAD 

One 

It often occurred to Fahimuddin Shirwani that the age in which he lived
was the age where every man had collar band tied across his neck while 
the leash was in the hands of someone else. This feeling became all the 
more galling whenever he happened to be part of meetings which were 
attended, in addition to the officers, by the elected representatives 
of the people as well. Each one of them tightening the 
leash...MLAs...MPs...Mukhiyas (village heads)....and Kamalnath Mandal, 
of all of them, would tighten it a little harder than others... 

Kamalnath Mandal was the local member of the legislative assembly and he
maintained long nails. His face was like an upturned triangle. Forehead 
was flat and cheek bones seemed to have protruded out that abruptly 
sloped down on his chin. His hands were hairy and the fingers, like the 
twigs of cactus, were pointedly sharp. 

His tongue would keep licking back and forth like sword and his eyes
seemed to disgorge fire and brimstone sparkling like diamond...he would 
piercingly stare at each officer one by one as he sought their 
explanations on works done, ending it with the diktat of meeting him in 
his chamber. Such meetings had their own hierarchical importance and 
there was no way one could avoid them. Kamalnath Mandal himself had to 
regularly call on the CM and pay his obeisance. Collar band of the 
slavery age had been replaced by the acts of paying obeisance in this 
age of leash. 

This time when the 20-Point programme meeting was held, orders were
issued for Fahimuddin Sherwani for that meeting and he felt the leash 
tightening around his neck. Shirwani was the executive engineer in the 
state's Water Resources Department and was posted at Jahannagari. It 
was barely two ago that he had been posted to Jahannagari. But no 
sooner he took the charge than this hammer fell on him. He had to face 
this meeting of 20-point programme immediately on joining the 
department. His department was placed at point 5...supplying water in 
the far flung areas... 

Shirwani always tried to keep away from such meetings. It always made
him feel as though he was made to stand like an accused. 

It was at Jahannagari that he for the first time came to understand the
significance of the caste equations as to who is BHURA Bal (grey 
hair)....what meant MY...? Who are on the side of the social justice? 
Head Clerk was Brahmin...Despatch Clerk Rajput...Storekeeper Bhumihar 
and the Accounts Clerk Lala...they constituted BHURA Bal. The junior 
engineers of Chainpur and Hasanganj also belonged to BHURA Bal. 
Accountant was Mallah by caste, Cashier  Koeri and the Library 
Assistant was from the extremely low caste euphemistically referred to 
as Harijan. They were from the social justice category; Kailash Rai and 
the junior engineer Ramesh together with Fahimuddin Shirwani belonged 
to MY category. 

Those from the Muslim community were happy with the arrival of
Fahimuddin Shirwani. But they never made any overt display of their 
happiness. They communicated with Shirwani through eye contacts. 

When the 20-point programme meeting schedule was announced, Ramesh Yadav
had remarked with a benign smile, “You won't have any difficulty here, 
Sir...!” “Why?” “There is MY equation operating in the state...M comes 
first in MY followed by Y...so, you come first and we come only 
next...” “That's true!” Shirwani gave out a smile. “Most of the 
legislators here are from MY equation. But Ramchandra Jha is from BJP 
and Kamlesh Darpan also belongs to the opposition party.” And then he 
lowered his voice and whispered— “Beware of the Head Clerk...” “Why?” 
“He's Brahmin.” It did not go down well with Shirwani that a junior 
engineer should air his views on casteism in this manner. He stayed 
quiet. “These people have exploited us long enough, Sir.” “Now you 
people are doing the same thing.” “It is these people who have sowed 
the seeds of hatred...there was a promising leader from the backward, 
Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!! 

EPIDEMIC 

BY 

SHAMOIL AHMAD 

One 

It often occurred to Fahimuddin Shirwani that the age in which he lived
was the age where every man had collar band tied across his neck while 
the leash was in the hands of someone else. This feeling became all the 
more galling whenever he happened to be part of meetings which were 
attended, in addition to the officers, by the elected representatives 
of the people as well. Each one of them tightening the 
leash...MLAs...MPs...Mukhiyas (village heads)....and Kamalnath Mandal, 
of all of them, would tighten it a little harder than others... 

Kamalnath Mandal was the local member of the legislative assembly and he
maintained long nails. His face was like an upturned triangle. Forehead 
was flat and cheek bones seemed to have protruded out that abruptly 
sloped down on his chin. His hands were hairy and the fingers, like the 
twigs of cactus, were pointedly sharp. 

His tongue would keep licking back and forth like sword and his eyes
seemed to disgorge fire and brimstone sparkling like diamond...he would 
piercingly stare at each officer one by one as he sought their 
explanations on works done, ending it with the diktat of meeting him in 
his chamber. Such meetings had their own hierarchical importance and 
there was no way one could avoid them. Kamalnath Mandal himself had to 
regularly call on the CM and pay his obeisance. Collar band of the 
slavery age had been replaced by the acts of paying obeisance in this 
age of leash. 

This time when the 20-Point programme meeting was held, orders were
issued for Fahimuddin Sherwani for that meeting and he felt the leash 
tightening around his neck. Shirwani was the executive engineer in the 
state's Water Resources Department and was posted at Jahannagari. It 
was barely two ago that he had been posted to Jahannagari. But no 
sooner he took the charge than this hammer fell on him. He had to face 
this meeting of 20-point programme immediately on joining the 
department. His department was placed at point 5...supplying water in 
the far flung areas... 

Shirwani always tried to keep away from such meetings. It always made
him feel as though he was made to stand like an accused. 

It was at Jahannagari that he for the first time came to understand the
significance of the caste equations as to who is BHURA Bal (grey 
hair)....what meant MY...? Who are on the side of the social justice? 
Head Clerk was Brahmin...Despatch Clerk Rajput...Storekeeper Bhumihar 
and the Accounts Clerk Lala...they constituted BHURA Bal. The junior 
engineers of Chainpur and Hasanganj also belonged to BHURA Bal. 
Accountant was Mallah by caste, Cashier  Koeri and the Library 
Assistant was from the extremely low caste euphemistically referred to 
as Harijan. They were from the social justice category; Kailash Rai and 
the junior engineer Ramesh together with Fahimuddin Shirwani belonged 
to MY category. 

Those from the Muslim community were happy with the arrival of
Fahimuddin Shirwani. But they never made any overt display of their 
happiness. They communicated with Shirwani through eye contacts. 

When the 20-point programme meeting schedule was announced, Ramesh Yadav
had remarked with a benign smile, “You won't have any difficulty here, 
Sir...!” “Why?” “There is MY equation operating in the state...M comes 
first in MY followed by Y...so, you come first and we come only 
next...” “That's true!” Shirwani gave out a smile. “Most of the 
legislators here are from MY equation. But Ramchandra Jha is from BJP 
and Kamlesh Darpan also belongs to the opposition party.” And then he 
lowered his voice and whispered— “Beware of the Head Clerk...” “Why?” 
“He's Brahmin.” It did not go down well with Shirwani that a junior 
engineer should air his views on casteism in this manner. He stayed 
quiet. “These people have exploited us long enough, Sir.” “Now you 
people are doing the same thing.” “It is these people who have sowed 
the seeds of hatred...there was a promising leader from the backward, 
Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!! 

EPIDEMIC 

BY 

SHAMOIL AHMAD 

One 

It often occurred to Fahimuddin Shirwani that the age in which he lived
was the age where every man had collar band tied across his neck while 
the leash was in the hands of someone else. This feeling became all the 
more galling whenever he happened to be part of meetings which were 
attended, in addition to the officers, by the elected representatives 
of the people as well. Each one of them tightening the 
leash...MLAs...MPs...Mukhiyas (village heads)....and Kamalnath Mandal, 
of all of them, would tighten it a little harder than others... 

Kamalnath Mandal was the local member of the legislative assembly and he
maintained long nails. His face was like an upturned triangle. Forehead 
was flat and cheek bones seemed to have protruded out that abruptly 
sloped down on his chin. His hands were hairy and the fingers, like the 
twigs of cactus, were pointedly sharp. 

His tongue would keep licking back and forth like sword and his eyes
seemed to disgorge fire and brimstone sparkling like diamond...he would 
piercingly stare at each officer one by one as he sought their 
explanations on works done, ending it with the diktat of meeting him in 
his chamber. Such meetings had their own hierarchical importance and 
there was no way one could avoid them. Kamalnath Mandal himself had to 
regularly call on the CM and pay his obeisance. Collar band of the 
slavery age had been replaced by the acts of paying obeisance in this 
age of leash. 

This time when the 20-Point programme meeting was held, orders were
issued for Fahimuddin Sherwani for that meeting and he felt the leash 
tightening around his neck. Shirwani was the executive engineer in the 
state's Water Resources Department and was posted at Jahannagari. It 
was barely two ago that he had been posted to Jahannagari. But no 
sooner he took the charge than this hammer fell on him. He had to face 
this meeting of 20-point programme immediately on joining the 
department. His department was placed at point 5...supplying water in 
the far flung areas... 

Shirwani always tried to keep away from such meetings. It always made
him feel as though he was made to stand like an accused. 

It was at Jahannagari that he for the first time came to understand the
significance of the caste equations as to who is BHURA Bal (grey 
hair)....what meant MY...? Who are on the side of the social justice? 
Head Clerk was Brahmin...Despatch Clerk Rajput...Storekeeper Bhumihar 
and the Accounts Clerk Lala...they constituted BHURA Bal. The junior 
engineers of Chainpur and Hasanganj also belonged to BHURA Bal. 
Accountant was Mallah by caste, Cashier  Koeri and the Library 
Assistant was from the extremely low caste euphemistically referred to 
as Harijan. They were from the social justice category; Kailash Rai and 
the junior engineer Ramesh together with Fahimuddin Shirwani belonged 
to MY category. 

Those from the Muslim community were happy with the arrival of
Fahimuddin Shirwani. But they never made any overt display of their 
happiness. They communicated with Shirwani through eye contacts. 

When the 20-point programme meeting schedule was announced, Ramesh Yadav
had remarked with a benign smile, “You won't have any difficulty here, 
Sir...!” “Why?” “There is MY equation operating in the state...M comes 
first in MY followed by Y...so, you come first and we come only 
next...” “That's true!” Shirwani gave out a smile. “Most of the 
legislators here are from MY equation. But Ramchandra Jha is from BJP 
and Kamlesh Darpan also belongs to the opposition party.” And then he 
lowered his voice and whispered— “Beware of the Head Clerk...” “Why?” 
“He's Brahmin.” It did not go down well with Shirwani that a junior 
engineer should air his views on casteism in this manner. He stayed 
quiet. “These people have exploited us long enough, Sir.” “Now you 
people are doing the same thing.” “It is these people who have sowed 
the seeds of hatred...there was a promising leader from the backward, 
Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!! 

EPIDEMIC 

BY 

SHAMOIL AHMAD 

One 

It often occurred to Fahimuddin Shirwani that the age in which he lived
was the age where every man had collar band tied across his neck while 
the leash was in the hands of someone else. This feeling became all the 
more galling whenever he happened to be part of meetings which were 
attended, in addition to the officers, by the elected representatives 
of the people as well. Each one of them tightening the 
leash...MLAs...MPs...Mukhiyas (village heads)....and Kamalnath Mandal, 
of all of them, would tighten it a little harder than others... 

Kamalnath Mandal was the local member of the legislative assembly and he
maintained long nails. His face was like an upturned triangle. Forehead 
was flat and cheek bones seemed to have protruded out that abruptly 
sloped down on his chin. His hands were hairy and the fingers, like the 
twigs of cactus, were pointedly sharp. 

His tongue would keep licking back and forth like sword and his eyes
seemed to disgorge fire and brimstone sparkling like diamond...he would 
piercingly stare at each officer one by one as he sought their 
explanations on works done, ending it with the diktat of meeting him in 
his chamber. Such meetings had their own hierarchical importance and 
there was no way one could avoid them. Kamalnath Mandal himself had to 
regularly call on the CM and pay his obeisance. Collar band of the 
slavery age had been replaced by the acts of paying obeisance in this 
age of leash. 

This time when the 20-Point programme meeting was held, orders were
issued for Fahimuddin Sherwani for that meeting and he felt the leash 
tightening around his neck. Shirwani was the executive engineer in the 
state's Water Resources Department and was posted at Jahannagari. It 
was barely two ago that he had been posted to Jahannagari. But no 
sooner he took the charge than this hammer fell on him. He had to face 
this meeting of 20-point programme immediately on joining the 
department. His department was placed at point 5...supplying water in 
the far flung areas... 

Shirwani always tried to keep away from such meetings. It always made
him feel as though he was made to stand like an accused. 

It was at Jahannagari that he for the first time came to understand the
significance of the caste equations as to who is BHURA Bal (grey 
hair)....what meant MY...? Who are on the side of the social justice? 
Head Clerk was Brahmin...Despatch Clerk Rajput...Storekeeper Bhumihar 
and the Accounts Clerk Lala...they constituted BHURA Bal. The junior 
engineers of Chainpur and Hasanganj also belonged to BHURA Bal. 
Accountant was Mallah by caste, Cashier  Koeri and the Library 
Assistant was from the extremely low caste euphemistically referred to 
as Harijan. They were from the social justice category; Kailash Rai and 
the junior engineer Ramesh together with Fahimuddin Shirwani belonged 
to MY category. 

Those from the Muslim community were happy with the arrival of
Fahimuddin Shirwani. But they never made any overt display of their 
happiness. They communicated with Shirwani through eye contacts. 

When the 20-point programme meeting schedule was announced, Ramesh Yadav
had remarked with a benign smile, “You won't have any difficulty here, 
Sir...!” “Why?” “There is MY equation operating in the state...M comes 
first in MY followed by Y...so, you come first and we come only 
next...” “That's true!” Shirwani gave out a smile. “Most of the 
legislators here are from MY equation. But Ramchandra Jha is from BJP 
and Kamlesh Darpan also belongs to the opposition party.” And then he 
lowered his voice and whispered— “Beware of the Head Clerk...” “Why?” 
“He's Brahmin.” It did not go down well with Shirwani that a junior 
engineer should air his views on casteism in this manner. He stayed 
quiet. “These people have exploited us long enough, Sir.” “Now you 
people are doing the same thing.” “It is these people who have sowed 
the seeds of hatred...there was a promising leader from the backward, 
Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!! 

EPIDEMIC 

BY 

SHAMOIL AHMAD 

One 

It often occurred to Fahimuddin Shirwani that the age in which he lived
was the age where every man had collar band tied across his neck while 
the leash was in the hands of someone else. This feeling became all the 
more galling whenever he happened to be part of meetings which were 
attended, in addition to the officers, by the elected representatives 
of the people as well. Each one of them tightening the 
leash...MLAs...MPs...Mukhiyas (village heads)....and Kamalnath Mandal, 
of all of them, would tighten it a little harder than others... 

Kamalnath Mandal was the local member of the legislative assembly and he
maintained long nails. His face was like an upturned triangle. Forehead 
was flat and cheek bones seemed to have protruded out that abruptly 
sloped down on his chin. His hands were hairy and the fingers, like the 
twigs of cactus, were pointedly sharp. 

His tongue would keep licking back and forth like sword and his eyes
seemed to disgorge fire and brimstone sparkling like diamond...he would 
piercingly stare at each officer one by one as he sought their 
explanations on works done, ending it with the diktat of meeting him in 
his chamber. Such meetings had their own hierarchical importance and 
there was no way one could avoid them. Kamalnath Mandal himself had to 
regularly call on the CM and pay his obeisance. Collar band of the 
slavery age had been replaced by the acts of paying obeisance in this 
age of leash. 

This time when the 20-Point programme meeting was held, orders were
issued for Fahimuddin Sherwani for that meeting and he felt the leash 
tightening around his neck. Shirwani was the executive engineer in the 
state's Water Resources Department and was posted at Jahannagari. It 
was barely two ago that he had been posted to Jahannagari. But no 
sooner he took the charge than this hammer fell on him. He had to face 
this meeting of 20-point programme immediately on joining the 
department. His department was placed at point 5...supplying water in 
the far flung areas... 

Shirwani always tried to keep away from such meetings. It always made
him feel as though he was made to stand like an accused. 

It was at Jahannagari that he for the first time came to understand the
significance of the caste equations as to who is BHURA Bal (grey 
hair)....what meant MY...? Who are on the side of the social justice? 
Head Clerk was Brahmin...Despatch Clerk Rajput...Storekeeper Bhumihar 
and the Accounts Clerk Lala...they constituted BHURA Bal. The junior 
engineers of Chainpur and Hasanganj also belonged to BHURA Bal. 
Accountant was Mallah by caste, Cashier  Koeri and the Library 
Assistant was from the extremely low caste euphemistically referred to 
as Harijan. They were from the social justice category; Kailash Rai and 
the junior engineer Ramesh together with Fahimuddin Shirwani belonged 
to MY category. 

Those from the Muslim community were happy with the arrival of
Fahimuddin Shirwani. But they never made any overt display of their 
happiness. They communicated with Shirwani through eye contacts. 

When the 20-point programme meeting schedule was announced, Ramesh Yadav
had remarked with a benign smile, “You won't have any difficulty here, 
Sir...!” “Why?” “There is MY equation operating in the state...M comes 
first in MY followed by Y...so, you come first and we come only 
next...” “That's true!” Shirwani gave out a smile. “Most of the 
legislators here are from MY equation. But Ramchandra Jha is from BJP 
and Kamlesh Darpan also belongs to the opposition party.” And then he 
lowered his voice and whispered— “Beware of the Head Clerk...” “Why?” 
“He's Brahmin.” It did not go down well with Shirwani that a junior 
engineer should air his views on casteism in this manner. He stayed 
quiet. “These people have exploited us long enough, Sir.” “Now you 
people are doing the same thing.” “It is these people who have sowed 
the seeds of hatred...there was a promising leader from the backward, 
Mahender....the Bhumihar DSP targeted him and shot him dead.” Shirwani 
changed the topic. “Let me go through some of the files.” Ramesh Yadav 
went out of the chamber. Shirwani noted a few things down in his 
diary...which programme was going on, which one was shelved...how many 
tube wells were in working condition...how many are defunct...? He kept 
the report of the last meeting in the file and proceeded to the 
Collectorate. 

Political representatives were already present in the conference room.
Kamalnath Mandal arrived a little late. No sooner he walked in than he 
looked menacingly at those present and said in the manner of complaint. 
“I am coming straight away from my constituency, nothing is happening 
anywhere.” Then he looked around as if searching for something. “Is 
Kusumpur BDO here...?” “Yes, Sir!” came the voice from a corner of the 
room. “Why has the culvert work stopped?” “There's no fund.” “What 
happened to fund?” Kamalnath Mandal growled. The District Magistrate 
explained that the work was to be completed under IRDP scheme. Fund has 
not come yet. “And the school building...?” “The work is in progress.” 
“The quality of work is very poor,” Mukhiya butted in. “Their 
supervisor sells the cement.” “Allocation...?” “Two lakh.” 
“Expenditure?” “Seventy thousand.” “Seventy thousand spent and the roof 
is not yet laid?” “The work is in progress.” BDO said. “DM Saheb! 
Please inspect the site and give report.” “Grameen Bank...?” DM looked 
around where officers were seated...there was a brief silence after 
which a lean and moribund figure rose from the chair. “Manager Saheb 
has gone to attend the meeting at the head office.” “Who are you?” 
“Cashier.” “Head office meeting is important, not this one?” Kamalnath 
growled. The cashier remained quiet. “Why is loan not being disbursed?” 
“Block hasn't sent us the list.” “Why BDO Saheb, what's the matter?” 
“It is almost ready...will be sent in a day or two.” “Jersey cows were 
to be arranged for those below the poverty line...what became of 
that...?” “The list is being prepared,” replied the BDO. “Keep 
preparing the list throughout the year.” Mukhiya once again butted in 
and began to laugh. “Education Department...?” Education officer rose. 
“Your teachers are a fugitive lot...not a single teacher is there in 
the village.” Education officer was silent... “These people take their 
cut and disburse salary.” “This is not correct.” Education Officer 
protested. “All right, if this is not true, then I am getting the 
matter probed.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. The officer remained silent. 
“You meet me ...” “REO...?” Executive Engineer stood up. “Roads are in 
pathetic condition in my area.” “Haven't received the fund.” “How about 
the estimate?” “It's been sent already.” “Could this not have been done 
under the district plan?” Kamalnath Mandal asked the District 
Magistrate. “There's no fund in the district plan.” DM smiled. 
Kamalnath Mandal remained silent momentarily, looked around for a while 
and then said,” has the block doctor come?” “Yes!” “I have twice 
crossed Mirzachak Health Centre. Neither compounder nor nurse was 
sighted there.” “Compounder has been transferred.” “When do you visit 
the Health Centre?” “He goes nowhere...” a local leader, who was a 
nominated member on the 20-point programme implementation committee, 
blurted out. “He does not reside here,” added the village head. “You'll 
be penalized if you do not stay at the headquarter.” “Electricity 
Department?” The executive engineer changed the course of discussion. 
“Why is it dark at Hasanganj?” “Terrorists have snapped the wire.” 
Silence descended...as though they were all stung by a poisonous 
snake....Kamalnath Mandal changed the topic. “Water Resources 
Department...?” Shirwani rose. This was his first meeting. DM 
introduced him. For a brief moment Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
Kamalnath Mandal...MY...and he read the message in his eyes...but other 
leaders began to speak simultaneously. “There are far too many problems 
in your department.” “The contractor has been installing local pipes in 
place of Tata pipes.” “None of your tube-wells are working properly.” 
“Your mechanic is also not available in the area.” “There are problems 
in the store as well.” Shirwani was just looking at their faces. “How 
many tube-wells are there in Kusumpur.” Shirwani quickly flipped 
through the pages of his diary— “One thousand one hundred and 
fifty-five.” “How many of them are dysfunctional?” “Two hundred and 
ten.” “When will you repair them?” “Fund hasn't been received.” “When 
did you join?” “On 1st ....” “Meet me after the meeting.” The meeting 
went on till evening. Shirwani sought to be excused after lunch as he 
had to prepare replies to the questions asked in the legislative 
assembly. When he emerged out of the conference room, he was surrounded 
by the locals. “Sir...! My tube-well has not been installed...” 
“Sir...!” “Sir...!” Shirwani collected all applications and somehow got 
rid of them, got into the jeep and went back to his office, prepared 
his replies to the questions and went to the circuit house in the 
evening. Kamalnath Mandal was presiding over an informal meeting with 
his supporters. There were a few officials as well. Kamalnath took 
Shirwani to the adjoining room. “It's good that you are posted 
here...if it were some Bhumihar or Rajput, it would have spoiled 
everything.” Shirwani remained silent. “But your storekeeper is a 
Bhumihar...put someone there from the social justice group.” “This is 
decided at the head office.” “He's a thief...he has built two-storied 
building.” “I do not know...” “How will you know...? You are new to 
this place...We know who is what...You make Chandrakant Sahni the 
storekeeper...” “Sahni is from the work charge establishment and this 
is a regular establishment post.” “You can do it if you want.” “This 
power is with the Chief Engineer. He alone can change the cadre.” “I'll 
speak to him, but you keep an eye on him or else I'll have the store 
sealed.” “There's going to be Gobardhan Puja at my place...CM will 
come.” “Yes...!” “This work requires co-operation of all.” “Yes...!” 
“Give your share of co-operation by tomorrow.” “Very well.” Shirwani 
bowed his head and moved out. Ramesh Yadav was standing outside. He 
quipped: “What happened, Sir...?” “There is Gobardhan Puja at his 
place.” “It happens every year, Sir. CM also comes.” “He wants us to 
donate our share.” “Agree to do it, Sir. We'll make adjustments...” 
“Amount...?” “We'll have to pay at least 10,000...banquets are also 
organized every year.” “Where shall we get the money from...?” “There 
is fund in the repairs head....” Ramesh Yadav submitted an application 
for leakage repair work placing a demand of Rs. 15,000. “Why...why 
15,000?” “Office expenses...refreshments...petrol...!” Shirwani 
scribbled on the application: “Cashier! Please pay rupees fifteen 
thousand for leak repair...” 

Shirwani's association with collar band tied to chain is from his very
childhood days... 

In fact, at Sonepur fair his eyes once fell on a wildly hairy
animal...this wildly hairy stuff was as white as snow and his eyes were 
shining like crystal the sparkler... 

Shirwani was overjoyed...tugged at his Ammi's apron... She also took an
instant liking to the hairy animal. Ammi bought that wildly hairy 
animal for rupees two thousand. “What name will you give him?” Shirwani 
thought for a while and then spoke gleefully. “Tuffy!” “Tuffy...from 
tough...good name.” “Ammi...will it bite...?” “Why will it bite you? 
You're his master.” “He'll bite the thief.” “Yes, he'll bite the 
thief...” Ammi burst into laughter. Shirwani carried the hairy stuff in 
his lap throughout the journey, caressingly running his hands over its 
woolly exterior...Tuffy kept wagging its tail as it craned out its head 
out of the window of the car. Upon reaching home, it vomited and 
sprawled out in a corner of the house. Ammi chained him down to one of 
the legs of a chair. At home the role of father is often that of a 
villain...what with his list of do's and don'ts! Seeing Tuffy around, 
his temperature rose. “Where did it come from...?” All quiet.... “Where 
did you bring it from...?” “Bought it from the fair.” Ammi submitted 
like an accused. “Bought it...? For how much...?” “For two thousand.” 
“Have you gone crazy?” “The lad took a fancy to it...what could I have 
done?” “Could have bought Doberman...could have taken Bulldog...this is 
Pamerian...” “It cannot guard your home.” “Let it go now...” “Shut up! 
How would you know what it takes to bring money?” Ammi went off to the 
kitchen...Shirwani sat down to complete his home work...Tuffy began to 
growl...! 

The villain smiled...”Showing red eyes to the master of the house?”
Tuffy growled again and this exacerbated the anger of the villain,” get 
out...!” The villain pulled at the chain. Tuffy resisted...he firmed up 
his claws on the floor... “Get lost...!” the villain applied as much 
force as he could...Tuffy trudged along the floor and kept barking 
continually. The villain gave a forceful jerk on the chain which 
released the collar band tied across his neck. Once free, it ran amuck 
and finally took shelter under the sofa. 

“Where will you run away...?” The villain moved the sofa aside...Tuffy
moved under Dewan. The villain looked around...he could not find any 
stick around...then his eyes fell on the curtain...he removed the 
curtain from the pelmet and brought the stick out and began to coax 
Tuffy out from under Dewan. “Out...out...out...!” 

Tuffy was constantly growling with his teeth protruding. Moving out from
under Dewan it entered the adjoining room. There was no furniture 
there. There was no hiding place for it. The villain advanced 
menacingly with the collar band in his hand. As he attempted to put the 
band across his neck, Tuffy bit his hand...the villain his hand 
back...the hand secured marks of laceration.... “The bastard has bit 
me...I have to take injections now.” Shirwani in the adjacent room was 
shivering in trepidation. “Everything happened because of this 
guy...will rear a dog...?  Come, let me put this band across your 
neck...and fulfil your desire...” And thus the villain put that collar 
band across Shirwani's neck and tightened the leash... 
“Stupid...mischievous fellow!” 

The leash was tightening around his neck like noose and his eyes had
begun to get red hot... 

“What the hell are you doing?” Ammi came rushing, pulled the band out
and threw it off. “Rupees two thousand went down the drain!” The 
villain screamed. Shirwani wept bitterly...Ammi took him into her 
embrace and wept too. 

Injection was not required to be taken. Not all dogs have the virus of
rabies, and the Pamerians certainly do not...but if dog has to be 
retained, injection will have to be given and collar band will also be 
essential. A dog recognizes as his master only the man who has the 
leash in his hand, otherwise even Pamerian moves like a lion when free. 


The villain was chiefly concerned with how to recover rupees two
thousand. He began to look for a prospective buyer. But as the doctor 
revealed Tuffy's age was anything around two and a half year. No one 
likes to take a grown up dog. Everyone wants puppy. 

Tuffy became friendly with Shirwani. Holding the chain in his hand, he
took him for evening walk. Tuffy always stayed ahead of him while 
Shirwani followed him. When Shirwani returned from school, Tuffy would 
cling to him and would often leap up to kiss him...Shirwani was happy 
and pushing him away would say joyfully... “Arrey...arrey...arrey...!” 

But the hostility between Tuffy and the villain was firmly established.
Each looked menacingly at one another as though given a chance they 
would devour the other. Whenever the villain happened to be seated at 
the dining table, Tuffy would bark. Ammi did not like this wee bit. 

One day he was trying to suck marrow from the bone. He put one end of
the bone into his mouth and tried to pull it by breathing in, and then 
he surveyed the hole to see where the marrow was settled inside the 
bone. To extricate marrow he would hit one end of the bone on the 
plate...tun...tun...But marrow would not come out and Tuffy tied to a 
tether post was constantly barking...the villain got wild.... 

“Bastard...!” And he flung his sandal at him...Tuffy leaped in the
air...the band tied across his neck snapped off...barking, he came very 
close...the villain climbed up on the dining table and shouted at the 
top of his voice. 

“Tie the band...tie the band...” He was perspiring in trepidation. Tuffy
was growling with his teeth protruding out. 

Shirwani came from behind and quietly put the band across his neck. The
villain heaved a sigh of relief. He was back to the dining table to try 
and suck the marrow that had stuck in the bone. 

“Tun...tun...tun...!” “Bastard, I'll show you...!” 

After eating his lunch, the villain took out his scooter. Shirwani with
Tuffy in his lap was made to occupy the pinion rider's seat. After 
sauntering around for a while, he stopped the scooter near a bush at a 
secluded place and thundered— “Dismount...!” 

No sooner Shirwani put Tuffy on the ground than he rode off at full
speed ...Tuffy too ran after the scooter at the top of his speed. 
Scooter kept increasing its speed...Shirwani occasionally looked 
back...Tuffy was trying hard to keep pace...the distance was only of 
one inch...just one inch...Oh, Tuffy....! If only it could leap into 
his lap....! Alas, Pamerian the useless breed....! 

And Ammi wiped his tears...Maya too gave him solace...! “Dogs recognize
the route” “Tuffy will come home...!” 

Shirwani could not forget the spectacle for quite some time...the scene
enacted again and again before his eyes...Tuffy running behind 
them...only at a distance of one inch...just one inch...could have 
jumped on the footrest and bit his feet...Oh, Gosh...the bastard bit 
me...will have to take injection...injection...!” 

“Across whose neck was the belt tied...?” It was around the neck of the
father and it was removed with the help of son. Maya explained this. 

Maya lived in the neighbourhood. Shirwani was acknowledged by her as her
brother. She tied the sacred thread on his writ every year. Shirwani 
too confided everything to her...when he was chided...? When he did not 
complete his home work...? Besides Ammi she was the only person from 
whom he received some encouragement and assurances. Her father was a 
small time employee in the department of education. They were barber by 
caste. Shirwani's father was allergic to him. He referred to him as 
belonging to the ‘reserved quota'. He dreaded the very thought of him 
ever ending up as his officer. 

Shirwani had an elder brother too...Dhanchoo....and Jasimuddin was
highly dismissive of it...what kind of a name is this Dhanchoo....? In 
Syed families this kind of name was a taboo...such names are found in 
backward families...Dhanchoo....Babloo...Mangoo...Phekoo...But the name 
was given by the grandfather which Jasimuddin could not alter. In fact, 
when for full four years there was no child birth in the family, he 
presented himself at the tomb of Dhan Pari and paid obeisance...and 
with the grace of the saint, he was conceived. Grandfather at once 
named him after the name of the saint. 

Jasimuddin was allergic to this son of his. He did not even like to look
at his face...plastered down ears...twined brows ...small face...sunken 
lips and emaciated cheek, edgy bones...! He found his eyes more 
irritating. Dhanchoo's eyes were under a pall of mist wherein 
unrealized dreams kept flapping like the wings of an injured bird. 

As a matter of fact, Dhanchoo was prone to seeing wild dreams which
usually fructified. The scenes he saw enacted through his closed eyes 
were actually happening somewhere...like the Mukhiya on a horse buying 
spree in the capital... 

Mukhiya invariably found space in Dhanchoo's dream in one shape or the
other. Sometimes he would be seen in some of the mysterious cells of 
the massive minaret in the capital...on occasions he would be gulping 
down wine from a tumbler made of silver...and on occasions he would 
look down from the top floor of the minaret into the dark horizon below 
and raise the slogan...”We'll remove poverty...” If Dhanchoo had to 
address someone, his sunken lips would open up like the mouth of lizard 
and it would appear as if he was not speaking, rather he was catching 
flies. He repeated the name of the person he addressed...for example, 
Abba-Abba...Amma-Amma...Bhaiya-Bhaiya....and this to Jasimuddin was 
irritating: how does he call Abba-Abba...he cannot do anything in his 
life...he's a burden...it's pointless to expend on him. But on 
occasions he got scary and wondered if his son had really got that 
power to foresee things...the ability to see through things...? He's an 
idiot...having got a face like camel' knee....came into this world 
because of the blessings of the saint...did he imbibe the qualities of 
the saint or what...? 

It so happened that one day when he was leaving for office Dhanchoo
caught a fly. 

“Abba-Abbha...your bag has been nibbled up by the rat...” 

“Stupid...!” Cursing him under his breath, Jasimuddin moved on. In fact,
he had an old dust-coloured bag which he carried to office. There were 
some documents that had the silver wrappings...like transfer orders of 
teachers...grants for Madarsa...allocation of fund...but that day the 
bag was nibbled up by rat...the office assistant put up these documents 
straightaway to the director. He returned home with the deflated bag. 

Dhanchoo was seven years older than Fahimuddin but he addressed him as
Bhaiya and Fahimuddin too respected him a great deal. In his opinion 
Dhanchoo was an unassuming innocent being for whom truth was like a bad 
dream and bad dream like a truth...but it's not that Dhanchoo dreamt 
only bad dreams...! 

Dhanchoo at times dreamt some very alluring and charming dreams. 

Those were the childhood days. The nation had just been liberated.
Hooting of cuckoos was prominently heard in mango-groves. Chirping 
birds were seen all around and colourful butterflies were seen dancing 
merrily. Those days Ammi sang lullabies and narrated fairy tales. 

Dhanchoo had realized that in fairy tales there were invariable
allusions to demons. He once asked Ammi. “Ammi, why in your stories 
demon is invariably present”? Ammi had burst into laughter and had 
said. “Prince is also present in my stories!” “But why demon”? 

Seeing him insistent, Ammi would embrace him and declare that wherever
there was a fairy there was a demon and also a prince who annihilated 
the demon... 

Danchoo dreaded the idea of demon. Whenever a prince came to the rescue
of the fairy in distress, he became happy. His curiosity would go a few 
notches up when the fairy would turn the prince into a fly and hide him 
in her locks. When the demon would come on sniffing the presence of a 
human, his tiny heart would tremble with fear...he would cling to the 
bosom of Ammi...what will happen now...? Will the demon find the prince 
out...? But soon thereafter the demon would fall into deep slumber and 
the fairy would release the prince from her charm and he would acquire 
his human form back. The prince then would make it to the cage where 
the life of the demon was held captive in a parrot. Dhanchoo would 
dance in joy when prince would twist the neck of the parrot. 

Grandfather had told him a story...the story of Juhak...that how he had
led a revolt by using the blacksmith's leather apron on a spear as a 
standard to end the tyranny of the king. 

Grandfather knew only this story which he related time and again. He
invariably repeated at the end of each story session that when king's 
belly got inflated, snakes would grow on his shoulders demanding the 
heads of humans...and saying this he would throw him up in the air, 
swing him round and round while declaring in a stentorian 
voice...”...and then unfurls Derafsh-Kavian... Derafsh-Kavian... 
Derafsh-Kavian ....” ‘Derafsh-Kavian', the Iranian flag made by using 
the blacksmith's apron thrown up in the air with arms swinging roundly, 
constantly chanting Derafsh-Kavian Derafsh-Kavian. Dhanchoo's arms 
would begin to ache as grandfather enacted the act using Dhanchoo as 
the Iranian flag.... 

Grandfather was a soldier in Azad Hind Fauz. He had taken active part in
the freedom struggle. Dhanchoo vividly remembered the day when 
independence was being celebrated in the town. The town was decked up 
like a bride. Every lane was reverberating with the mellifluous sound 
of clarinet. Grandfather had adorned a long turban and had been 
spiritedly singing the national anthem. That day he had consumed sweets 
in abundance and had leaped around like young calves in the cowshed. 

And Dhanchoo saw a romantic dream. 

“A beautiful fairy was tied in chains. Grandfather came swinging his
sword and cut off the chains. She was then attired in finest of linen. 
Her hands with decorated with bangles. A garland was put across her 
neck. Nose-ring in the nose and a net across ears were put with care. A 
golden crown was put on her head was given a golden stick in her hand. 
The fairy went from door to door. She touched everyone with her stick 
one by one...and the Dhanchoo saw there was no poor in the 
village...children were giggling happily...women were laughing...men 
were fearless...!” When Dhanchoo acquainted grandfather with the 
contents of his dream, he became very happy. He lifted him up and 
looking into his eyes declared in a thunderous voice. 

“A new sun has emerged from the womb of the light...the emergence of a
new sun...” and as was his wont, he flung him in the air and taking him 
by his arms kept swinging him...and his thunderous voice piercing 
through the air...”new sun...new sun...new sun...!” 

Those days in the neighbourhood of Dhanchoo lived a girl. She had golden
hair...lips were rosy red...teeth sparkled like pearls...! To Dhanchoo 
she looked like a fairy. Both sauntered around in the mango 
groves...whenever cuckoo hooted they also repeated and ran after the 
colourful butterflies...! Ammi was happy to see them together. Dhanchoo 
saw a dream one of those days. 

It was a starry night. The moon was shining in the middle of the sky. He
was sitting on the bank of a river with his feet dangling down. Someone 
tiptoed to him and covered his eyes. He looked back. It was that very 
girl. She had wings and a golden stick in her hand. The girl touched 
him with the stick. His clothes acquired golden hue. He was turned into 
a prince. Both then ran around in the mango grove and soon turned into 
butterflies.” 

When Dhanchoo narrated his dream to Ammi, she laughed a great deal, and
then cupped his face into her palms, rained him with kisses and 
declared. “When you grow up, we'll make her your bride...” “Tussh...” 
Blushing profusely, he ran into the mango grove. 

There was no demon in the dream Dhanchoo saw. But wherever there is a
fairy there has to be a demon. All of a sudden, one day, her dead body 
was fished out of a pond of the village. It was Diwali that day. It 
transpired that a chameleon had come out of the house of Mukhiya and 
devoured the butterfly...! 

When dreams are stolen, they leave a gaping hole in the heart which
never heals. A hole had developed in the heart of Dhanchoo too that 
kept growing with the passage of time...the mist in Dhanchoo's eyes 
kept settling. He began to see weird things in his dreams and one day 
it surprised him no ends that the fairy the grandfather had adorned in 
the resplendent red attire, in the course of time, had begun to warm 
the beds of the lumpen elements. That day Dhanchoo had cried loudly in 
his dream. 

“Were you decorated for this day that a tomb will be erected in the
market and you'll spread out your legs...you are accursed...and I am 
doomed to face this ignominy... 

Two 

A beloved who fails to become wife often ends up as someone's mistress.
An MLA who cannot become minister is usually made member of some 
committee....To Fahimuddin Shirwani various committees of the 
legislative assembly and legislative council were something like 
this...the same decoration...the same ornaments...the same 
moon...bungalows, vehicles and entourage of officials and 
attendants...! Their share in the power game was the same as the share 
of a concubine in the patrimonial estate. 

Committees were of various kinds and types. Public Service Committee,
Estimate Committee, Solicitation Committee, Calling Attention 
Committee, Appeal Committee, Panchayat Committee, Public Welfare 
Committee, Equipments Committee, Slum Committee, Wellness Committee, 
Environment Committee, Central Assistance Committee, Internal Resources 
Committee... 

Committees had sub-committees...sub-committee one...sub-committee
two...three...four...the duties of these committees was to cohabit with 
the local officers...their areas of operation were wide and expansive. 
They were empowered to examine the functioning of any and every 
officer. An adverse report from these committees could put paid to the 
life of officers. 

Committees' bodily movements were subtle...in the blink of an eye, they
could move from one place to another. In one day a committee could 
cover eight hundred kilometers and attend sixteen meetings...the 
members received allowances at the rate of rupees eight per kilometer 
and if they were required travel beyond the boundaries of the province, 
it was rupees ten per kilometer. In the days gone by, the Sub-Committee 
Two of the Solicitation Committee was on tour of the states of 
Maharashtra and Goa. The Sub-Committee had completed the inspection of 
Bhabha Research Institute, Tata Memorial Hospital and Indian Institute 
of Cancer in fifteen minutes. In fifteen days the committee journeyed 
down a distance of five thousand three hundred ten kilometers. Public 
Welfare Committee came to Jahannagari on April 18 and returned the same 
evening, but the distance travelled was three thousand five hundred 
kilometers. 

Committee members always stayed in the circuit house and the hospitality
was invariably extended by some of the departments...while returning, 
the committee would demand a ceremonial send-off, and they were duly 
obliged. Shirwani had termed it as ‘Rangdari Tax'. If this tax was 
paid, everything was in order and the committee made no adverse comment 
on the requisitions made. Even when spot inspections were done, no 
fault was found or observed. But if there was any representation or 
complaint against any officer, the committee took a surcharge. Last 
time it was Public Welfare Officer who was caught in the web. Someone 
put a complaint that the scholarship that was paid to the Harijan 
students was paid after deducting rupees five while signatures were 
secured for full amount. The committee wanted to order a probe, but the 
officer met the chairman and chose to pay the surcharge. 

And Fahimuddin Shirwani got irritated...! 

A facsimile message received in the office announced about the impending
arrival of Sub-Committee 2 of the Calling Attention Committee. DDC too 
called up to inform him that the hospitality of the sub-committee was 
on him this time. Shirwani did some mental calculation...chairman, 
deputy secretary, security paraphernalia, driver...the lumpen 
elements...all in all it was an entourage of twenty people, plus there 
was the cost of petrol for the vehicles...it all boiled down to an 
expenditure of rupees ten thousand... 

This time Ramesh Yadav chose to fall back on repair of pumps head... 

Shirwani busied himself in preparing the report. Just then a dark
complexioned man dashed into his chamber. “I am Ramcharitar Paswan, 
P.A. to Chairman, Calling Attention Committee.” 

Shirwani surveyed him. His shirt was torn around pocket and the collar
of the shirt was inwardly turned...a few buttons were unbuttoned and 
the dirty vest was peeping from behind his shirt. 

“I am Chairman's P.A.” He repeated. “Yes!” “The platform that is being
made for the hand pump does not have sufficient rods.” “I'll enquire 
into it.” “The committee too will make an enquiry.” “It's free to do 
that.” Shirwani gave a terse reply. “The committee will break open the 
platform to examine it.” Shirwani looked at him with leisurely care. 
There was a thin film of fungus on his lips. “What exactly do you want 
to say?” Shirwani asked in a stern voice. Ramesh Yadav entered the 
chamber. “Pranam, Sir...!” With folded hands he greeted Ramesh Yadav. 
“What are you doing here?” “Came to see Saheb.” He smiled. From his 
pocket he brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a petition 
for hand pump, where should I give it?” “Give it in the office.” He 
went out to go to the office. Shirwani said to Yadav,” he claims to be 
the P.A. of Chamanlal Chanchal.” “He's a loafer...I know him well.” 
“Where is he from?” “He's from the village of Chamanlal Chanchal. He is 
his domestic help.” “Even a rat from the household of Kazi pretends to 
be Kazi.” “Every individual from his village is his P.A. and each one 
of them demands something or the other.” Ramcharitar Paswan returned to 
the chamber after handing over his petition. “Please pay some attention 
to us too, Sir...we are from the social justice category...!” “Oh, 
sure.” Shirwani smiled. “See, even my shirt is torn.” He indicated 
towards the pocket of his shirt with a sheepish smile. Shirwani looked 
at him for a while and then said,” come in the evening.” “Very fine, 
Sir....pranam!” “Pranam!” In fact, the Panchtantra story suddenly 
flashed through Shirwani's mind. 

There was a scavenger. His duty was to clean up the royal bedroom of the
king. One of the ministers of the king once announced a banquet at his 
home. He invited everyone but the scavenger. The scavenger went 
nevertheless. The minister got wild. He pushed him out of the banquet 
hall. The scavenger decided to avenge it. 

One day while sweeping the royal bedroom of the king he muttered:
“Hey...hey...hey...the queen is entangled with the minister.” The king 
heard him muttering. He became with the minister. The minister was 
wise. He understood that it was the misdeed of the scavenger as he had 
the access to the royal bedroom of the king. The minister treated the 
scavenger to a feast. The scavenger became happy and the following day 
while sweeping the royal bed room of the king, he muttered,” 
hey...hey...hey...the king eats cucumber while defecating...” The king 
held him by the scruff of his neck. 

“What the hell are you muttering, bloody fool....?” 

“Forgive me, the lordship. I have this habit of murmuring...don't know
what nonsensical things I keep murmuring....” 

It became clear to the king that what was said about his queen was a
lie. He once again became chummy with his minister. 

Shirwani got a pair of khadi kurta and pajama brought Khadi shop that
day. 

The surprised Ramesh Yadav blurted,” Where was the need for this,
Sir...?” 

“His access is up to the bedroom...who can tell he'll not make one eat
cucumber in the toilet...?” 

The following day when he went to the circuit house, he saw Ramcharitar
Paswan donning the dress he had got for him from the khadi shop. On 
seeing Shirwani, he gave him a smart salute. 

“Pranam, Sir...!” 

The dress has made the difference...Shirwani thought and smiled. 

A few khadi clad were loitering about in the lobby. Ramcharitar Paswan
was collecting petitions from the locals. He moved close to Shirwani 
and said,” 

“Sir...! For you everything is well settled.” “How come?” “I told
Chairman Sahib that you are our own. No question will be asked to you, 
but the Manager sahib cannot escape the dragnet.” “Why so?” “He's Lala 
and he works only for the Lalas...see the number of petitions that have 
come up against him.” Ramcharitar said with a chuckle. “These have been 
written by the petitioners or you got them to write these?” “But the 
BDO is also a Lala?” “He keeps meeting the Chairman.” “Means if the 
Chairman is in good humour, everything is fine...?” “Now if you have to 
live in water, you won't quarrel with the crocodile, will you?” “But 
what if each of them is crocodile, where's the question of quarrel..?” 
And then he whispered. “Meet the Secretary sahib.” “You mean small 
crocodile...?” “Ha...ha...ha...!” 

Some officers were calling on the secretary in person while some were
sending their subordinates. Shirwani with the twinkling of an eye 
advised his junior engineer Kailash Rai to meet the secretary and 
himself proceeded towards the conference room. 

The committee comprised of three legislators. There was a lady too. She
was a nominated member. She had a comely face. Her lips had the tinge 
of violet and on her cheeks had rolled down a few beads of perspiration 
from parts of her temple. She was constantly twitching her lips whereby 
the upper part of her lips was perennially wet. But the thing that was 
distracting Shirwani was the upper part of her sari that served the 
purpose of apron. It was regularly dropping off from her 
shoulders...which she rearranged in a very stylized 
manner...willy-nilly Shirwani's kept roving in her direction. Once 
their eyes met too. The lady bent down to pick up the hem of her 
sari..and when it again slipped out of its place, she did not 
immediately retrieve it. Shirwani once stealthily looked in her 
direction as she was busy rearranging her sari and saw her twitching 
her lips again whereupon the upper portion of lips got wet. It appeared 
as if Shirwani was standing on the wet and muddy bank of a river. 

And yes, the manager was taken to task. Chamanlal Chanchal lashed him
with questions after questions and showed him the petitions that had 
been filed against him. 

“You do not do anything for the dalits and the extremely backward caste
people. Look at the number of petitions we have received against 
you...?” The manager remained silent. “Should I set up an enquiry...?” 
Other officers were also pulled up but the ire fell on R.E.O. It was 
resolved that the committee would inspect the spot the following day. 
No questions were asked to Shirwani. He received directions to ‘meet' 
after the meeting. When he went to see the chairman after the meeting, 
the lady was present in the room. 

“There's a problem, Engineer Sahib.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed him.
“Sir...” “Madam's flat is not getting water.” Chamanlal Chanchal 
indicated towards the lady. “There is a hand pump in the courtyard of 
my house. I want to lift water from this pump to the roof top.” The 
lady looked directly at Shirwani for the first time. “I'll fix it. 
Please give your address.” “27, Patwardhan Road.” Shirwani scribbled 
down the address and went out with a mild bow...a slap of rupees ten 
thousand...at least a pump of ½ HP in addition to pipe... 

“How was the meeting, Sir...?” Asked Ramcharitar Paswan. “You had
already fixed everything beforehand.” The lady emerged from the room. 
Shirwani could not help looking in her direction. He espied a musical 
note in her gait...a mild and enticing movement in her buttocks and 
mildly swinging waistline... “Who is she?” Shirwani asked. Ramcharitar 
made a circle with his finger, blinked an eye and said with a smile, “ 
“She is what they all want on their bed...!” 

In government offices things are a little on the socialistic pattern.
Right from minister to peon everything was linked and tied to a chain 
that jingled with the sound of silver. This jingle fell in everyone's 
share in a prescribed manner. Any difference anywhere could snap the 
chain. That could sour the relations. Accusations and 
counter-accusations could result and may even lead to filing of 
complaints in the police stations. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani had made it a principle to accept whatever came
easily...he knew if he made extraneous efforts, it could land him in 
trouble like fodder scam people got caught. They transported buffaloes 
on scooters. This was sheer foolishness. Buffaloes must invariably be 
transported on trucks. Double the transportation cost! Execution of 
government works always costs more. Charge rupees two hundred for a 
work that can be executed in rupees one hundred. But to get paid for a 
work not done at all was certainly not on. If there is a probe, the 
official probing will take his cut. So whatever is earned will be 
squandered away. 

Whenever anyone complained about a mechanic selling off spare parts of
hand pumps, Shirwani would smile. 

“Don't see what the mechanic is selling. See what he is fixing. If he
sells a spare part, he puts another in its place so that the thing 
works.” He who takes money and executes the work is honest in the eyes 
of Shirwani. He who takes money but does not execute the work is 
dishonest in his eyes. One needs to be wary of such people. 

But when Ramesh Yadav gave him the formula of Plunder by three, he could
not help being taken aback... 

As a matter of fact, water supply scheme was lying in moribund state
everywhere. Due to non-availability of electricity, tube wells did not 
run and water was not available in any of these tube wells. Out of 
sheer frustration people uprooted pipes from wherever they could. Now 
the entire emphasis had shifted on hand pumps. Each year these were 
installed in thousands and each year they were repaired too. Department 
officers were not authorized to select the places where these hand 
pumps were to be installed. These powers were vested in political 
representatives. 

This was a place where not a single government owned tap was in place.
There were a few hand pumps with clogged filter that made them 
dysfunctional. They were plucked out and then re-installed. In the 
month of April a list of all such dysfunctional pumps was made. The 
repair work, as per the list, was spread out throughout the year. 

The list of the dysfunctional pumps at Karpichak that Ramesh Yadav
supplied contained about one hundred such pumps that were in working 
condition but were being shown as dysfunctional for the past two years. 
Ramesh Yadav wanted to seek fund for repairing these pumps and 
accordingly he was preparing bills...the cost of repairing one hand 
pump was rupees five thousand...which meant one hundred pumps were 
going to cost rupees five lakh....rupees five lakh was to be plundered 
by three...and that meant rupees one lakh sixty thousand was to go one 
individual... 

“There is risk in it.” “There is no risk, Sir.” “The list is already in
existence and is recorded in the head office as well.” Kailash Rai 
explained. “There is huge expenditure to meet, Sir... 
MLAs...MPs...ministers...!” Shirwani checked the list of other blocks. 
Such cases were not found there. 

Then a facsimile message was received in the office...”Chief Minister to
lay the foundation stone of Hasanganj water tower...4 Sept at 10 in the 
morning...” 

Shirwani was taken aback. There was no water supply scheme for
Hasanganj...where this tower thing came from then...? What water 
tower...? Where after all will the foundation stone be laid? On which 
piece of land...? 

Shirwani made an enquiry as to whether or not any such scheme had gone
from here for approval. 

He received no reply. He then called up head office. Everybody pleaded
ignorance. Ramesh Yadav said that it was a matter of CM. It was 
necessary to have a silver can and a scraping instrument for the laying 
of the foundation stone. He will have a large entourage as well and 
Hasanganj was the constituency of Kamlesh Darpan. At least two hundred 
people will take part in the banquet...an expenditure of rupees fifty 
thousand is a must... 

Shirwani was furious...bastards...! Tun tun, gulped...? Always on the
lookout for marrow...needed just a pretext to place his demand for 
advance...'which tower is CM going to lay foundation stone for? Was the 
site inspected? Has the design of the water tower been finalized?  
After all, where will cement and bricks be dropped with the help of 
silver cans? 

Kailash Rai advised that he should talk to DM. He is close to CM.
Shirwani liked the idea. He proceeded to meet DM at his residence. 

Words too have their status...! 

Dashing...gigantic...pre-eminent...! What these words connote is
indicative of the personality of the district magistrate. He is 
dashing...he is towering...and he is pre-eminently knowledgeable. He is 
in direct touch with the chief minister. He keeps ‘meeting' him from 
time to time and gives no importance whatsoever to the local leaders. 
Regular funds are received for the development of Jahannagari. As it is 
this is a terrorist affected area as a result of which new schemes are 
launched every now and then. DM has spread out a network of 
developmental activities. Schools...village assembly building...Indira 
houses...check dams...sanitary wells...hand 
pumps...roads...culverts...! 

He did not utilize the services of the contractors. All works were
executed by the concerned departments...junior 
engineers....VLWs...BDOs...SDOs...Cos...DDC...were all under his direct 
control and he held the leash tight, for it had the unmistakable 
jingling sound of silver. 

Allocation....two percent Supply....five percent Department work...ten
percent 

At times he made B.D.O. to discharge the duties of C.O. and at times he
utilized the services of C.O. to execute the works of B.D.O. If the 
roof of a school collapsed, he took junior engineer to task. If culvert 
capsized, the executive engineer was made to account for that. If the 
pond dried up, B.D.O. had to lose his job. But D.M. was invincible. No 
one dared to touch him. This year rupees two crore was received under 
literacy programme. D.M. bought slates worth rupees twenty five lakh. 
He will have them distributed from door to door...mats and lanterns 
too. D.M. is a good orator too. 

“Brethren dear! It is not fair to think that those who are not educated
are fools. The unlettered too can be scholarly if they contribute their 
mite in society building exercises. They have the ability to think, 
have the intelligence to take decisions. You have only one shortcoming 
and that is your non-acquaintance with alphabets. The programmes that 
are run to benefit the poor and weaker sections of society fail to take 
off because they do not get to know about these programmes...therefore, 
my brethren dear, it is essential for you to learn how to read and how 
to write.” 

This is what irritated Kamlesh Darpan! Bastard...! Why are you trying to
become leader? You're an officer, stay an officer. 

Kamlesh Darpan... 

Lomad...ghamad...thethar...ludbhuss...! 

Darpan Darpan was a contractor earlier. Earth filling of Karamchat Dam
was one of the works he had executed. Suddenly, he entered politics and 
became Hasanganj legislator. D.M. was M.D. earlier. He was the managing 
director of Leather Development Corporation and Kamlesh Darpan was the 
chairman. He kept demanding one thing or the thing from the 
M.D....blankets... bed 
sheets...pillows...buckets...utensils...crockery...M.D. was immensely 
vexed. It always rankled the chairman that he could not visit a foreign 
country. There were one hundred and twenty ministers in the state. More 
than half of them had visited foreign countries. The chairman was 
worried that if the government was toppled, he will get no opportunity. 
He wanted to take part in the American Trade Fair. He put his 
requisition for advance against travelling allowance. M.D. raised 
objection. This annoyed the chairman and he slapped M.D....Now M.D. was 
a daring person. He pulled the chairman by his hair and thrashed him 
with shoes. Chairman those days wore shoes made by the corporation and 
laid emphasis on the use of indigenously made goods. There was no 
hullaballoo over the scuffle. It was not possible to give the incident 
a political colour. M.D. was mallah (sailor, boatman) by caste and so 
was the chairman. One mallah beat up another mallah...one backward beat 
up another backward...head office enjoyed it a great deal...a case of 
enmity within the same caste...! Ha...ha...ha... 

M.D. was transferred. He became D.M. of Jahannagari. Kamlesh Darpan was
not happy. His constituency was in the district and he did not want 
this kind of district magistrate there. He tried his best have this 
over shelved, but Kamlesh Darpan was from the opposition party. CM did 
not heed his request. 

The two had another showdown. 

A new road in Jahannagari under Ward No. sixteen was constructed. The
executed under district development plan. M.L.A. fund was not involved 
in this. This road connected Ward No. sixteen with the hospital. DM 
wanted to inaugurate the road. Kamlesh Darpan did not approve of this. 
As a matter of fact, he himself wanted to inaugurate it. But DM got his 
name printed on the card and duly inaugurated it. When Kamlesh Darpan 
got the information, he came with his supporters. He was escorted by 
M.C.C. jawans. They flaunted AK 47 rifles. DM by that time had returned 
to his residence with his security paraphernalia. 

The crowd removed the foundation stone that had the inscription of DM's
name as the inaugurating dignitary. Kamlesh Darpan raised a slogan: 

“DM ki ek dawayi Lattam, juttam aur pitayi” (DM needed only one
treatment Trashing, bashing and thrashing) 

When D.M. heard about it, a venomous smile emerged on his
lips...”alright fella, if I stayed here till the elections, I'll put 
CRPF on every booth and I'll personally be there when the votes will be 
counted.” 

Shirwani had no encounter yet with Kamlesh Darpan. He had not attended
any of the previous meetings. On most of the occasions he was in the 
capital on pretext or the other. Once when he went to the capital on 
some specific reason, Shirwani was not present there. Besides, he was 
trying to avoid meeting him. It was famous about him that he could 
demand even a tube of tooth paste. 

But how long could he have avoided the inevitable! 

Shirwani met the D.M. He laughed to his heart's fill. He got Shirwani to
write a letter to the joint secretary informing him that there was no 
water supply scheme at operational at Hasanganj and there was 
consequently no provision for tower thereat. In the programme of the 
honourable chief minister the matter of laying of foundation stone for 
tower has been wrongly mentioned and that it needs to be corrected. The 
competent authority may therefore like to cancel the programme of 
foundation stone ceremony. When the scheme is approved the information 
shall be passed on. 

D.M. instructed that a copy of this letter be endorsed to the chief
engineer as also to the concerned ministry. 

On returning to the office, Shirwani at once got the letter typed and
reached chief's office. Things were in total mess there. Chief 
engineer's chamber was occupied by the public welfare minister. 
Minister's henchmen were cleaning up the office of the chief engineer. 
Someone was wheeling away the chair and someone else was pulling off 
the table. Someone else was dragging the almirah out. Engineer sahib 
will now sit in the main hall with his assistants, separated by a 
plywood wall in the middle. 

Shirwani faced a dilemma: whom to hand over the letter. He thought it
prudent to first speak to the minister. Shirwani went to the minister's 
office. There was a slight movement around. P.A. changed his position 
in the chair. Members of staff gazed at him. The peon showed his teeth. 
When Shirwani informed the P.A. the purpose of his visit, he took a 
long puff on his cigarette. “Minister is busy.” “You receive the 
letter.” Shirwani showed him the letter. Suddenly, it occurred to P.A. 
that it was very hot...he needed some cold water...! “Bring some cold 
drink!” He ordered the peon. Shirwani understood this was for 
him...P.A. needed cold drinks...else the minister will remain 
perennially busy. Shirwani fished out a fifty-rupee note from his 
pocket. The peon first looked at the P.A. and then at Shirwani. 
Shirwani could read the message in their eyes. 

“What can a fifty-rupee note can do, executive engineer...? Take out a
hundred-rupee note.” 

Shirwani took out a hundred-rupee note and P.A. moved in with the
letter. He was called in after a while. Kamlesh Darpan was present 
there. He looked disdainfully at Shirwani. 

“Are you the executive engineer?” “Yes!” “You don't meet?” “Forgive me!
I didn't recognize you.” Kamlesh Darpan flared up. “Are you in your 
senses...do you know who you are talking to?” Who could he be? Shirwani 
thought. “What work can you do when you do not recognize the legislator 
of your area?” “His ghost will recognize?” “I'll give him medicine 
right away.” “What's the name?” “Fahimuddin Shirwani!” “Where were you 
before coming to this place?” “Ramgarh.” “When did you come here?” “One 
month ago.” “You should keep meeting,” said the minister. “What meeting 
can be expected from him? When time for inauguration came, he has moved 
for cancellation.” “Why should it be cancelled?” “The scheme is not 
approved.” “Is it my fault if the scheme is not approved? You are all 
nincompoops. You could not make a scheme. I have committed to the 
people that piped water will be made available...? What will become of 
that...?” 

The peon walked in with the bottles of Thums Up. 

“Hon'ble minister! Please remove him from my area. How can I expect him
to do my work when the man does not recognize me...?” There was rancour 
in his voice. 

“Go and make arrangements for the foundation ceremony.” There was
rancour in the voice of the minister too. 

Shirwani came out. In the lobby was Ramcharitar Paswan. He sprang on his
feet on sighting Shirwani there. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam.” “CM is coming, Sir.” “That's what is worrying.”
“No worries, Sir...We are here.” Shirwani explained what the problem 
was. “Meet Kamla Babu”? “Kamla Babu who?” “He's P.A. to CM.” “I have a 
letter addressed to him too.” “What's the problem then, Sir? Come, I 
know him.” Shirwani was happy. “We are always at your service, Sir.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. He was then like the mythical bird Jatayu and he 
was then wearing the same dress he had gifted him. “You dressed me well 
enough, but my sandal has ruptured.” “New will arrive...” Shirwani said 
happily. 

When he advanced towards his jeep, Ramcharitar sprang up and occupied
front seat. Shirwani did not like this wee bit, but said nothing. 

The work was easily done at CM office. P.A. was a gentleman. After
reading the letter, he cursed Kamlesh Darpan. 

“It is his conspiracy. He's from the opposition party and wants to
tarnish the image of the chief minister. When this scheme is not 
approved, how can there be foundation stone laying ceremony?” 

P.A's attitude seemed to provide some relief to Shirwani. 

When he emerged from the office, Ramcharitar once again made his demand
for a pair of sandals. 

Shirwani got the jeep to stop at a shop. But the footpath stuff did not
enthuse him. 

“Liberty Shoe...!” “Liberty...?” Shirwani smiled. 

Once Ramchariter put his feet into a pair of Liberty shoes, he never
took them out. Got the old pair packed. But there was no respite for 
Shirwani yet. Went to a shop and gulped down a bottle of Mirinda, had a 
mouthful of betel, collected return fare from him and before letting 
him go, reminded him: “Kumud Chuganiji had asked you for something.” 
Shirwani remembered she had complained about water not coming to her 
flat. “You are in the capital, so you should meet her...else there will 
be complaint.” “All right!” Shirwani said in boredom and moved on. 

Three 

Mrs. Kumud Chugani's life was a mix of politics and sex. They were so
intermingled that often while in the act of cohabiting political scenes 
emerged before her eyes...she would at times be seen passing through 
the corridors of Rajya Sabha (the upper house), sometimes through the 
corridors of the legislative assembly and sometimes through the bedroom 
of some politician... 

On the Garib Rally day she was on the bed with Chamanlal Chanchal in one
of the rooms of Hotel Chanakya and this hotel room had gradually turned 
into a beautiful bedroom...wads of currency notes amounting to rupees 
three and a half crore were lying scattered on the floor. A white-clad 
man was lying prostrate on the bed with his head buried down. Mrs. 
Chugani tried to identify him, but his face was covered with currency 
notes and his private parts were open to view. She bent down and pulled 
out a five hundred-rupee note from the stack, rolled it like a fag and 
clutched it under her lips. Planting her left foot on the buttocks of 
the man, she stood up with her hands steadied on her waist. Suddenly, 
there was a movement in the body that lay dormant so long. He raised a 
loud slogan...'murder of democracy...' and rising, he threw his hands 
up in the air and made a victory sign with his fingers. Mrs. Chugani 
now recognized him. He was in Congress earlier. He has floated his own 
party now. Mrs. Chugani fixed one end of the cigarette roll into his 
fingers that had shaped up the victory sign and closed her eyes. 

The white-clad was constantly shouting out the slogan and Mrs. Chugani
was getting excited, her blood seemed to have been boiling with strong 
urge for sex. She was breathing heavily and between her unbalanced 
breathings she tried to embrace Chamanlal Chanchal while from his mouth 
kept flowing out those very slogans...”murder of democracy...nation's 
integrity in danger...danger...danger...” 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes. She looked at Chamanlal Chanchal for once
and then began to gaze into the vacuum before her eyes. 

This was what happened every time. Her fantasies invariably ended on
some political note or sloganeering. In fact, these political slogans 
had the same relation with her that cuss words had with sexual 
intercourse. Political slogans excited her. Expressions like 
secularism, national integrity, socialism, poverty elimination, threats 
to national integrity, murder of democracy and social justice gave her 
a thrill. It appeared to Mrs. Chugani that political leaders showed 
their private parts...and whenever they spoke against corruption in a 
stentorian voice, they looked completely nude...fantasies would then 
grip Mrs. Chugani and the scene of bedroom would start revolving around 
her eyes. 

It's not that Mrs. Chugani was of a loose character. It was not the
desire of sex that drove her to have physical relations with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Such relations were like political alliances of convenience. 
For instance, it was not the ideology that brought BJP and Samata, 
Congress and Janata Dal or Congress and B.S.P. together. There was no 
manifesto, but the objective was power...Mrs. Chugani too wanted to 
move through the corridors of power and for that she had to enter into 
some kind of alliance. At the moment she had aligned with Chamanlal 
Chanchal. Chamanlal was the chairman of public accounts committee and 
was the personal advisor of the high command. He had assured her that 
this time he was going to recommend her name for election ticket. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her married life. Mister Chugani was the
head in the department of animal husbandry in the agriculture college 
and was also CM's personal adviser for farming. It was under his direct 
supervision that the CM had expanded his cowshed. For the upkeep of 
forty to fifty animals a hundred feet cowshed was erected where a 
vapour lamp was installed together with four window type air 
conditioners. Whenever mister Chugani returned from C.M.'s residence, 
he ruefully observed that these days consumer culture had replaced 
pisciculture. This practice had begun in the eighties itself. Governor 
had got trees uprooted from his official gubernatorial palace and had 
it converted into a farm house. There was a poultry farm in one corner 
of the farm while at the centre of it a pond was dug up for rearing 
fish. Vegetables were grown in the remaining areas. This tradition was 
gradually picked up by ministers and officers who likewise utilized the 
empty space in their bungalows and converted them into poultry farms. 
The irrigation minister reared quails and sold them in Kolkata. Every 
year pond was auctioned out. On occasions mister Chugani also received 
gifts of fish and quails. He did not eat quail, but taking it as a 
personal gift from the minister, she relished kebab made of quail. 

Mrs. Chugani was happy with her conjugal life. Mister Chugani never
tried to peep into her political life, never interfered with it. There 
was just one thing that disturbed her a little and that was his 
laughter... 

Mister Chugani laughed in two ways. One of it was whimper-like...it
sounded like a tube releasing air. When he laughed in this manner, his 
mouth remained half-ope and two or three front teeth would protrude out 
and with that whimper-like sound he would release the air...Mrs. 
Chugani found it abominable. It appeared to her that mister Chugani was 
not laughing, rather he was releasing gas. It reminded her of the 
B.D.O. from her block who made similar whimper-like sound. He had made 
lot of money from Jawahar Rojgar Yojna. He had the problem of 
indigestion and his belly was always full like a drum. He would belch 
frequently...making that whimper-like sound. Whenever Mrs. Chugani made 
a political statement or observation, he would listen attentively and 
leave the place without making any comment except that whining and 
whimper-like sound. It irritated Mrs. Chugani no ends. There was yet 
another kind of laughter that he occasionally resorted 
to...kain...kain...kain. This was a special kind of laughter he 
indulged in while reading newspaper in the morning or while cracking 
jokes or even while passing some remarks. On such occasions, his mouth 
opened wide, tongue lashed out, eyes got closed and his body began to 
vacillate violently and from his throat rang out that strange sound of 
laughter. It embarrassed Mrs. Chugani immensely. She often rushed in 
the bath and ran the flush. The noise of flush drowned for a while the 
nauseating sound of his laughter. In this laughter she always noticed a 
kind of acerbity for her. During normal conversations also mister 
Chugani occasionally uttered some sentences that pierced her while he 
burst into that embarrassing laughter. For instance, whenever she 
referred to her speeches, mister Chugani at once added “Janta ko 
bhashan aur neta ko ration (speeches for public and ration for 
leaders)...kain...kain...kain!” Or if ever she alluded to giving 
donation to the party kitty, he blurted out, “give them a cheque of 
kangal (bankrupt) bank...kain...kain...kain...!” 

Whenever he laughed this way, to Mrs. Chugani he looked crude and
rustic. She was filled with hated on such occasions and thought how low 
on I.Q. this man was...How could C.M. appoint him as his adviser! 
School-going children use expressions like ‘ration' ‘bhashan' and 
‘kangal bank ka cheque'. 

Mrs. Chugani was irritated by his way of reading newspaper. He clung to
the paper and gulped down two cups of tea during this period. Mrs. 
Chugani then remembered Nietzse. She had read it somewhere that Nietzse 
disapproved of two things: reading of newspapers in the morning and 
democracy. He strongly believed that both of these did not allow 
supermen to emerge in this society. 

Mrs. Chugani was not always like this. Although her interest in politics
was right from the initial days, there was no intermingling of sex and 
politics those. She used to be Kumud Tirki those days, a brilliant 
student of economics. She had once delivered a spirited and scholarly 
speech in a seminar on the education system the essence of which was 
the education has been sullied after independence for which political 
leaders were primarily responsible. Before independence the country had 
such luminaries as Jagdish Chandra Bose, C.V. Raman, Meghnath Saha and 
Birbal Sahni. They were great scientists acclaimed internationally. But 
this tradition came to an end after the independence. Perpetual 
experimentations have destroyed the education system of the country. 
There is only exploitation in the name of education. Teaching was now 
restricted to the missionary schools bequeathed to us by the English. 
Education minister was present in the seminar as the chief guest who 
seemed to be squirming with discomfort. He could only say that it was 
his fond belief that all of them will play a constructive role in 
building a new society. 

It was after this that she was elected the general secretary of the
students' union. 

After passing out from the college Kumud Tirki had associated herself
with the literacy campaign. In this campaign she had to visit remote 
rural areas in the district of Chhotanagpur wherein she was often 
accompanied by the district officials. Once while she was returning 
from Kusmadi panchayat, the jeep in which she was travelling broke down 
on the way. The rest of the journey had to be completed on foot. B.D.O. 
was also with her. The road was desolate. From the opposite direction a 
Jharkhandi was coming. He was in tattered clothes with a pair of broken 
footwear in his feet. On sighting the B.D.O. in front of him, he 
stopped there and picked up his footwear and clutched it under his 
armpit. He knelt down and saluted him with folded hands. In response 
the B.D.O. just nodded his head. Kumud Tirki felt that by kneeling down 
before the B.D.O. the Jharkhandi reminded him of his status and he 
began to walk majestically therefrom, throwing his chest up. She looked 
back. The Jharkhandi was still standing there, as if waiting for the 
B.D.O. to go out of his sight so that he could put back his footwear 
into his feet... Kumud Tirki thought for a while that after 
independence a new feudal class is born in India...this salutation that 
the Jharkhandi offered was not a salutation to any particular officer; 
rather, it was the salutation of three crore Jharkhandis to a class of 
people who had to be respected in this customary manner by removing 
shoes while crossing them. Not doing that would have amounted to 
showing disrespect. This sent a shiver of pain in the chest of Kumud 
Tirki...and she decided at once that she would associate herself with 
the Jharkhand movement and seek to fight for a separate state for the 
Jharkhandis. 

Kumud Tirki began to evince interest in Jharkhand movement. She enlisted
as a member of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha. A general body meeting was held 
at Firaye Lal Chowk wherein she got an opportunity to deliver a 
forceful speech. 

“Jharkhandi Brethren! Jharkhand land is rich, but Jharkhandis are poor.
90% of government revenue comes from Jharkhand but the government 
spends only 2% of it on Jharkhand. Today the farmers of Jharkhand are 
hungry, labourers are hungry, the Harijans are depressed and deprived, 
women are sad. How long will this exploitation go on...? There is all 
round corruption. Today, we are bugged by the question as to who will 
lead us out and show the path. 

Brethren! We ourselves have to find our ways; we have to fight it out;
we have to sacrifice; we have to arouse those who are still sleeping; 
we have to carve out a new state of Jharkhand for ourselves.” 

Kumud Tirki's speech ended on massive clapping. When she got down from
the dais, her face was resplendent. She was full of energy and she was 
beginning to realize that she had found an objective in her life...a 
long battle has to be waged...! 

This was her first major step in politics. She was growing more and more
active every passing day and soon she was noticed. Her acquaintances 
began to grow. This gave her an opportunity to rub shoulders with the 
likes of Chamanlal Chanchal, Md. Owaisi Durrani and Kaladhar Singh 
Santosh. It occurred to Kumud Tirki that a section of the leadership 
was not happy. Chamanlal Chanchal always espoused the political cause 
of the extremely backward castes: dalit. Md. Owaisi Durrani and 
Kaladhar Singh Santosh too did not look too happy. During this period 
she met mister Chugani. Mr. Chugani appeared to be a simple and easy 
going man. After a few rendezvous they decided to marry and from Kumud 
Tirki she became Mrs. Kumud Chugani. 

Soon Chamanlal Chanchal left the party and joined Dalit Morcha (a
political front of the extremely backward castes). But Mrs. Chugani 
kept campaigning for Jharkhand movement. It always occurred to her that 
the dream of a separate Jharkhand state was harboured not just in the 
courtyards but also in jungles, valleys and hills for ages. But one day 
Mrs. Chugani discovered that her chest had developed deep caverns like 
the ones seen between two hills; and there dwelt no dream...to Mrs. 
Chugani three and a half crore Jharkhandis seemed peeping through those 
caverns. 

The fateful evening of 26 July 1993. On the dazzling floor of the Andhra
House lay two known Jharkhandi leaders, holding on to the vacillating 
legs of Mukhiya's chair. On the back they held on to a bank stamped 
gunny bag containing currency notes. Fifty lakh. Forty lakh. Ten lakh 
transferred to the joint account. The residential plots of Hooda and 
dreams are stolen in this very manner...and that is how movements 
died... 

Chamanlal Chanchal caressingly patted her on the back...and this was the
day when sex and politics intermingled. 

“Kumudji! Everything is pass in democracy... especially in the
developing countries...nothing changes in democracy...only slogans 
change...the slogan of remove poverty took on the hue of socialism. Now 
socialism has been replaced by social justice. Poverty cannot be 
removed. Socialism too has been divided. There will not be social 
justice either. These are the trappings of words that keep ensnaring 
people. No matter what the system, the common man will continue to be 
exploited. Governments are always anti-people. 

Politics runs on the strength of slogans. It is necessary in a democracy
to keep knitting word-nets. Before independence Nehru used to have been 
a mass leader. After independence he was reduced to being a party 
leader. Democracy never produces a mass leader. Democracy always 
produces party leaders and a party leader will always work in the 
interest of the party and in his own interest. He cannot think of the 
nation, in the interest of the nation. To keep people entrapped in a 
vortex of elections is the ultimate objective. This is the shortcoming 
of democracy. Before Bangladesh came into existence, there was an 
election and Mujibur Rahman had secured majority, but Yahya Khan did 
not allow him to become the prime minister. Bhutto became the prime 
minister and Pakistan fell apart. Democracy permits dynastic rule. 
Benazir Bhutto too became prime minister and she has millions of 
dollars stashed away in Swiss Bank...this goes on in a democracy.” 

“But revolutions can happen...?” “Revolutions cannot happen. So long as
there is democracy, there can be no revolution. All revolutionary 
movements will die in this very manner. When there was revolution 
before India attaining independence, there was reason for that. We were 
slave and we wanted to get freedom and this desire to get freedom 
brought us together on one platform. Now we are free and so we are in a 
race for attaining power. Power brings money and money brings power. 
The Andhra House incident happened because power had to be retained at 
any cost and people have a short memory...they easily forget things. 
This phenomenon of forgetting things is a boon for democracy...there 
will be elections again and the same very people will be 
re-elected...they will return to power again...and there will be scams 
yet again...and this vicious circle will go on and on. So long as there 
is democracy, there's no respite from this.” 

“Any alternative?” “This is not our problem; this is the problem for the
coming generation.” “But there can be bloody revolutions...? 
Presidential type of government...?” “Revolution is not an incident 
that it will occur. Revolution is a phenomenon...it's a process...and 
the background is not yet ready for this.” 

He once again put his hand caressingly on her back. 

“Just forget these things...you're needlessly racking your brain on
these trifling matters...think of the whole nation...such a large chunk 
of the deprived class...backward castes...scheduled 
tribes...harijans...! They are exploited since time immemorial. We have 
to fight for their cause. We have to fight for social justice...we have 
to raise our banner of revolt against the primacy of caste-system. 

Mrs Chugani was enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. 

“Kumudji! You come to our party...you'll get the ticket, you'll win the
election.” 

His hand was now probing her waistline. Softly, he pulled her towards
himself. Mrs. Chugani leaned on his chest... and then she found her 
eyes had gone wet...Chamanlal seemed to be her true well-wisher...and 
he whispered into her ear... 

“Kumudji! You have the talent...you'll become a leader of national
fame.” 

He then tightened his embrace...Mrs. Chugani could sense the presence of
his warm breath on her face. She began to melt in his embrace. She got 
the feeling of crawling ants weaving a net on her person....and 
Chamanlal's hands had slowly crawled up to her breasts... 

And the very next moment she was out of her clothes... 

Mrs. Chugani's eyes were closed...the mild sound of sea waves was
ringing in her ear and the scene was floating before her eyes...the 
clean dazzling floor of the Andhra House...the vacillating chair of the 
Mukhiya...gunny bag filled with currency notes...the scuffling 
white-clad in the legislative assembly...kain...kain...kain...Churchill 
had said. 

Churchill... 

“Kumudji! Where you got lost...?” Chamnalal Chanchal mildly tapped her
cheek. Chugani opened her closed eyes...looked all around and then rose 
to slide back into her clothes. 

Mrs Chugani joined the political outfit of Chamanlal Chanchal. Now there
was a larger objective to achieve...to secure social justice for 
dalits... the oppressed...the suppressed...the exploited...! 

That day she delivered a long speech at the Garib Rally and at once she
became the topic of discussion. There was a wide coverage in the local 
newspapers and she appeared on the front page of the papers. The main 
points of her speech were printed in bold letters, and at the same time 
newspapers published yet another news item: AIDS was making long 
strides in India and was spreading far and wide. Mrs. Chugani had 
failed to notice this news item. She was reading the report again and 
again so that she could see her name. 

When mister Chugani took the newspaper in his hand, a mysterious smile
settled on his lips. 

“The accompanying news is about the spread of AIDS.” 

Mrs. Chugani had to stoop to see this news item. 

“AIDS in India...” 

She did not like it wee bit that such a horrid news item about the
perverted sex matters should appear together in the same column with 
serious political news. 

“These newspaper people...” 

“What should the newspaper people do? AIDS is
spreading...Bofors...Hawala...St. Kitts...Lahu Bhai Pathak...Jharkhand 
Scam...Fodder Scam....Urea Scam...Coal-Tar Scam...Shoes Scam...Sari 
Scam...Uniform Scam...Letter of Credit Scam...Writ in the High 
Court....Bail from the Supreme Court...Kain...kain...kain...”   Mrs. 
Chugani rushed into bathroom...and flushed it several times. 

That day the shoes were hurled in the assembly. After Mayawati, it was
Kalyan Singh who had formed the government. It was rumoured that all 
those joined BJP were given ministerial berths. Even proven criminals 
were made ministers. Vajpayee justified it by saying that every sage 
has a past and every criminal a future...and that while congress bought 
them with money, we prevailed on them by offering ministerial berth... 

It was on that fateful day that Shirwani visited Mrs. Chugani's to
inspect the hand pump. Mrs. Chugani welcomed him with a smile. She had 
just come out after taking a shower. Her hair was wet and her violet 
lips had the tinge of freshness. Her reddish blouse was gelling well 
with her blue sari which made her attractively presentable. She walked 
into the court yard and showed the hand pump. Shirwani examined it. 
Water discharge was adequate. Then he looked up at the roof and made a 
mental calculation that a thirty feet pipe will be required. Mrs. 
Chugani was standing very close to Shirwani...so close that he was able 
to feel her breath on his neck. Mrs. Chugani was continually twitching 
her lips whereby they were getting wetter and wetter. Shirwani felt 
like touching her lips to ascertain the level of wetness...and at his 
bizarre desire he could not help a smile within when suddenly the upper 
part of her sari fell off. 

“Shirwaniji! How long will it take?” Mrs. Chugani said with a swagger
and there was a slight stir in the dusty water. 

“I'll send things through the junior engineer.” “When?” “Tomorrow
itself.” “Thanks a lot.” “Now please permit me...?” “Have a cup of 
tea...” 

Shirwani was taken aback when he moved in to the drawing room. Chamanal
Chanchal with his entourage was present there. “Got trapped...?” 
Shirwani thought and then raising his hand, offered his salutation. 

“Make solid arrangements for water supply.” Chamanlal Chanchal addressed
Shirwani. “It will be done.” “What about my constituency? Elections are 
close. Instal some hand pumps.” “Right now there is no fund.” “I'll 
give you a list of the places where hand pumps are to be installed. You 
prepare the requisition and send it to the department. I'll have it 
sanctioned.” 

“What will be our strategy in this election?” One of the party workers
asked. “The high command should think of taking out a rally.” “Rally 
will be there. We'll demonstrate our strength.” “Rallies have become 
common since the nineties. Rallies taken out in the name of social 
justice got transformed into caste wars. The election tickets will also 
be distributed on the basis of caste. The high command will give most 
of the tickets to its own caste people.” “Corruption too can become an 
issue,” asked Mrs. Chugani. “Corruption is bound to happen in the 
developing countries. People have accepted it as part of development 
process.” “It appears to me BJP will form the next government,” Mrs. 
Chugani opined. “We'll have coalition government for one or two more 
elections; but yes, Ayodhya issue has certainly brought about a new 
political equation in the country. People regard BJP as a formidable 
pole. This polarized group has turned the question of Ayodhya into a 
question of national integrity. Earlier it was the question of bread 
that was associated with Ram and now social justice is also tagged to 
it. In a way they have hijacked the slogan of social justice.” 

“Congress too has hijacked the slogan of BJP...the slogan of great
Indian culture...now even the Italian lady has begun to talk of the 
great Indian culture.” “But social justice is not the objective of the 
BJP. The objective of the BJP is the restoration of Brahmanism to its 
prime position...that is why the party equates religion with 
nationalism. BJP's real face has been exposed after the centre-staging 
of Ayodhya issue. Now it has positioned itself as a staunch Hindu 
party. Its strength is growing by the day.” 

“Bread is the real problem of India...bread cannot be separated from the
electioneering slogans. When Indira Gandhi gave the clarion call of 
GARIBI HATAO the demand was for bread. When Advani achieved success 
with his chariot march, V.P. responded with Mandal and that proved that 
the real issue was bread, not Ram. That's why BJP now equates bread 
with religion.” “And Congress...?” “Congress has disintegrated.” “But 
crime has made an inroad into politics.” “What to do...? The henchmen 
we rear settled for a few crumbs of bread earlier; but now they demand 
party tickets.” Chamanlal Chanchal smiled. 

Mister Chugani too occupied a seat in the drawing room and switched on
the television set. Mrs. Chugani threw a stern look in his direction. 
But unmindful of that, he kept on watching TV. Mrs. Chugani was 
constantly changing the topic of discussion. She found the presence of 
mister Chugani at this point of time very irksome. When news began to 
be aired, everybody's attention was drawn towards that. Suddenly, the 
shoe-throwing and jostling MLAs were shown on the screen. The 
honourable members of the legislative assembly were fighting it out in 
the assembly throwing shoes at one another. If one was using his fist, 
someone else was throwing chairs. One of them pulled out the mike and 
threw it like missile. It hit one female member and injured her. 
Speaker too was hit with a missile thrown at him and was hurt. One 
legislator stood up on the table. Another one tugged at his feet to 
pull him down. Many of them were rendered in their tattered clothes. 
One legislator's dhoti got unfurled. When he tried to tie back his 
back, someone's shoes landed on his pate. 

“Kain...kain...kain...kain...Churchill had said. Churchill
had...kain...kain...kain...kain...” Suddenly mister Chugani burst into 
a peal of laughter. His entire body was shaking violently. His eyes 
were shut and the tongue had protruded out. Everybody was taken aback 
at the sight. None of them had seen him laugh in this manner ever 
before. Mrs. Chugani rose and took refuge in the bathroom. 

At long last, Chamanlal Chanchal intervened. 

“What did Churchill say that makes you so happy?” “Churchill had said
this for the likes of you. Kain...kain...kain...kain...” “Why don't you 
speak it out...?” Kaladhar Santosh said with sarcasm. Mrs. Chugani came 
out of the bathroom and occupied a seat next to Chamanlal Chanchal. 

“Churchill had said that if there was democracy in India, then after
fifty years of independence India will be ruled by the criminals. It's 
been fifty years since India became 
independent...kain...kain...kain...!” 

“What's so laughable in it? It's not such a joke that you start doing
kain...kain...!” “This is not joke, this is fiftieth anniversary of 
India's independence...kain...kain...kain!” Chamanlal Chanchal sought 
to be excused and stood up. “Kumudji, please permit me to leave now...I 
have to prepare for my trip to Lucknow.” “Spitting will be a problem at 
Lucknow...it could land on some ministers...kain...kain...kain...” 

Mrs. Chugani got terribly irritated. The remaining people also rose to
go. Mrs. Chugani escorted them all up to the gate. Shirwani too took 
his leave. 

Shirwani returned home. He was sad. When Ammi asked him for food, he
excused himself saying he had headache and lied down on the bed. From 
the adjoining room the sound of Jasimuddin coughing was coming. 
Dhanchoo was loitering in the courtyard while Maulana was reading 
homilies. 

“Take something...!” Ammi requested him. “I am not hungry.” “Just a
little bit...?” “What happened after all?” “Please let me sleep...” 
there was irritation in the voice of Shirwani. Heaving a cold sigh Ammi 
withdrew into her own room. 

Dhanchoo suddenly went silent. The sound of coughing from the adjoining
room became a little louder. Shirwani squirmed on the like a patient 
and closed his eyes...gradually... a lifeless mist seemed to pall on 
him...for a while the face of Mrs. Chugani appeared before his 
eyes...the lips of Mrs. Chugani...how close did she stand and 
Jarina...? 

A wave of sudden pang rose in his chest. Opening eyes, he looked about
himself. There was an embarrassing silence in the room. On the wall 
near the bulb a lizard was crawling along. Jasimuddin's coughing sound 
seemed to have ebbed. Shirwani felt the pang in his chest was growing. 
He felt like crying out loudly...but then he felt the presence 
Dhanchoo's hand on his shoulder. He lowered his crown and laid his 
cheek on Shirwani's. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how lonely have you become...!” 

Shirwani's eyes were filled with tears...the silent gaze was fixed on
Dhanchoo. Tears were flowing down his eyes...Shirwani too was slowly 
thought bitterly crying and the silence was crawling along like a 
lizard... 

“Khut...khut...khut”. From the adjoining room came the sound of movement
made by Jasimuddin. Maybe, he had risen to go to the toilet. 

“Chut!” The lizard snapped at an insect and gulped it instantly...and a
distant voice was heard. “This is my sentiment...mind it, Fahim...this 
is my sentiment.” “You can't do this...you can't...!” 

And in the inner soul of Shirwani a nail was hammered that remained
fixed for ever...! 

As a matter of fact, son is born to keep satisfying the ego of his
father all his life... 

And those were the early days. Shirwani had just completed his
engineering course and the villain had fixed his marriage with Zarina. 
Zarina was the only daughter of Haji Barkatullah. This alliance was not 
acceptable to Shirwani. He wanted to marry into an educated family 
whereas Haji Barkatullah was a businessman. Communal skirmishes brought 
cheers to him. He made money from the relief and rehabilitation camps 
as well. Those days when Advani's chariot was passing through towns 
there were communal riots. Camps were opened at places. Without losing 
a moment, Haji Barkatullah also opened a camp in his own premises and 
made appeal for help and charity. Donations came flowing in from the 
gulf countries where his relations had flourished. Muslim organizations 
also helped. For ten days Haji distributed blankets and fed the 
occupants on khichdi, an admixture of rice and pulse boiled together. 
Prostitutes too were the occupants of his camp. Their presence was a 
source of irritation to the religious minded as they complained they 
were tainting the society. The young ones kept moving around in the 
close vicinity and the volunteers too crowded along. Ultimately, the 
prostitutes had to be shifted out. A separate arrangement was made for 
them in a Muslim school. Haji Barkatullah stopped providing them relief 
on the plea that they no longer belonged to his camp. 

The normalcy returned and camps were closed down. Haji ended up opening
a cement agency for himself. Jasimuddin was an old acquaintance of Haji 
Barkatullah. He found Zarina appropriate for Shirwani. Dutifully 
religious and efficient in home-keeping matters...and then there was 
the problem of Dhanchoo too. It got settled in the mind of Jasimuddin 
that this dimwit could survive only in the care of Fahimuddin. He knew 
the two loved one another very much. He was sanguine that Zarina would 
not create any wedge between the two brothers. 

But Fahimuddin registered his protest without expressing it in words.
There was no direct communication with the villain. It was through Ammi 
that he sent his message to him. Ammi had seen Zarina. When she also 
recommended her, he became ready. Dhanchoo did not seem very happy with 
this alliance. On many occasions he embraced Shirwani and wept. The 
villain had chided him on a number of occasions. One day he chastised 
him thus: “Why do you do this, bloody fool...? Nincompoop...? 
Wicked...?” Shirwani took umbrage. Dhanchoo was respectable in his 
eyes. Shirwani protested. 

“Ammi...! Why does he chide him in this way...? What after all does he
do...? He embraces me and weeps, isn't it...? He doesn't do anything 
else...” 

Ammi wiped the tears off his eyes...! What else could Ammi have done and
Dhanchoo quietly moved in to say his prayers. 

Preparations were afoot for the impending marriage. This was the first
marriage ceremony in the house of Jasimuddin. There was no question of 
Dhanchoo's marriage and no one else was born after Shirwani. Every nook 
and corner of the house was cleaned up and made to sparkle, but there 
was one thing that Shirwani did not approve of but the villain would 
not accede to his request for improvement. On the roof was a water tank 
with a capacity of storing four hundred gallons of water and its 
connecting pipe had gone through Shirwani's room. This pipe running 
through the plinth wall at waist height gave a very odd look. At the 
connecting point it was loose. When the motor was switched it made a 
horrid sound and the pipe kept vibrating while water also kept leaking 
from the loose point. Shirwani told Ammi that the pipe should go 
through the outer wall. The villain did not agree to it. Even to Ammi's 
own sense of decency the existing arrangement of pipe running from 
inside the room, this was an oddity. She repeatedly pleaded with the 
villain. 

“If would have been better if the pipe was taken from outside the room.”
“It will require more pipes...unnecessary expenditure...!” “It's a 
matter of marriage...the bride will come to this room...” “So what? 
It's a matter of just one day.” 

Shirwani wanted to say that it was actually a matter of just one
day...and this one day came only once in life...it was for this one day 
that it was necessary for the pipe to go...but the Pamerian thing...it 
cannot provide security to its own room...it will bark from 
distance...just one rebuke and he will recoil within...!” 

The villain shouted. 

“Nothing will be removed...!” 

Ammi went into her kitchen and Shirwani walked out. 

Dhanchoo mostly spent his time reading hymns...occasionally, he mumbled
loudly and then went silent for long spell. The day the invitation card 
was printed and brought home, Dhanchoo clung to Shirwani and wept 
bitterly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...! Bhabhi came and vanished...?” “Bhabhi vanished...?”
“Stupid...speaking inauspicious things...?” Shouted the villain. 
Dhanchoo shouted back. “Abba made Bhabhi 
vanish...abba...abba...abba...” The villain was seething with anger. He 
pulled the shoe from one of his feet and struck Dhanchoo on his head. 
“Shut up, bastard...! Don't have the manners of how to talk to your 
father...?” “Arrey...arrey...what are you doing? Shoeing the son 
acquired through intervention of Sufi...?” “Is he Sufi blessed son? 
This idiot...!” “Be warned of God's lashings.” “An inauspicious idiot 
he is! On the auspicious occasion of marriage he is speaking things of 
bad omen.” “For God's sake, stay quiet...I am folding my 
hands...forgive me...!” Ammi began to weep. Ammi took Dhanchoo to her 
room. “Why do you speak like that, son...? Why do you speak...?” 
Dhanchoo buried his face within his knees. Shirwani entered his room, 
trembling. Dhanchoo looked at Shirwani with his misty eyes and extended 
his arms seeking to embrace. “Bhaiya...bhaiya...!” Shirwani embraced 
him and began to weep bitterly. 

An unknown fear settled in the mind of Shirwani. Ammi too got worried.
But Jasimuddin was busy in the preparations of marriage. Dhanchoo went 
into a silent zone. It seems his lips had been sealed. As the date of 
marriage was progressing, Shirwani's fear was also getting better of 
him...! Will the night of the marriage be a black night...? 

It was not a black night... It was a colourful night...! 

A delicate Zarina...wrapped up in red suit...fair complexioned sparkling
face....thick eyebrows...red-hot lips....aromatically scented 
room...and dimly lit room... 

Shirwani could feel the growing heart beat. For the first time he felt
the proximity of a women in his life. He was at a loss as to how to 
initiate interactions with Zarina. He was just watching Zarina seated 
on the bed. She was gradually recoiling. She was sitting with one of 
her legs folded up to her shoulder. Her chest was landed on her thigh 
and her neck was bent downwards. 

At long last Shirwani touched Jarina and she at once recoiled like a
touch-me-not plant...Shirwani could not help smiling. He took her hand 
into his own and mildly pressed it as he whispered. 

“Zarina! You're very beautiful...!” 

Zarina smiled softly as Shirwani rolled on the bed by her side. He still
held her hand into his own. He felt her hand was wet, but when he put 
his hand on her back he could not help feeling the roughness of the 
ornament. He glanced at her hands. They had the beauty of sandal. 
Myrtle decorated fingers were sparkling with silver rings adorning 
them. The golden hue of ornaments was adding to the glamour of sandal. 

“Your hands are beautiful too...!” 

Zarina smiled again. This time she looked furtively at him and it
appeared that the feeling of being strangers was on the declining side. 
Shirwani put his hand on her back. She definitely felt a shiver...and 
recoiled a little more. Shirwani felt that Zarina's body was 
vacillating. Shirwani pulled her into himself. Bangles rang out...and 
Zarina rolled out into his bosom...! He could feel Zarina's breath on 
his face. The glamour of sandal and the fragrance of myrtle had been 
descending on him as he discovered himself inhaling the smell of lather 
of the sea waves. His face was simmering. He tried to kiss Zarina but 
in the process her nose-ring hurt his lips. Zarina tenderly tended it 
with her own mouth. 

“Remove it!” Shirwani whispered into her ears. 

Zarina was silent. She lay on his chest like a mound of clothes. For the
first time a sandal like body had come within his grasp. It seemed he 
was losing his senses. Once more he whispered slowly 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” 

“Hudd...hudd...hudd...hudd...!” Zarina looked all around her like a
frightened hare. Shirwani too could not help being taken by surprise. 
The motor had been switched on. There was a violent movement in the 
pipes and it occurred to Shirwani he should shout loudly. 

“This is my father who is present here all the time...he has spread
himself out in this room...he constantly keeps reminding of his 
presence...” But he kept looking hatefully at the pipe...water had 
begun to seep through the socket. 

“Entire floor will get dirty.” Shirwani was seething with anger. 

Zarina picked up a saucer and put it under the socket. 

“That means we must keep doing this the whole night.” 

Zarina laughed. Shirwani too smiled. 

In Jarina's laughter he noticed the freshness of the sun. Shirwani's
anger evaporated. He once again pulled Jarina into his arms. 

Zarina found place in everybody's heart. 

Beautiful...smiling face...elegant...dexterous...! 

Ammi seemed to have been totally bowled over by her...Zarina east
this...Zarina eat that...Zarina, why are you sullying your hand...? 
Where's the need for you to do any work...? Zarina....Zarina...! 

Shirwani was at a loss as to how such pious lady was born into the
Barkatullahs and how Jasimuddin could select her? He must not have been 
aware of these virtuous qualities of Zarina. His eyes must have been on 
the assets of Barkatullah. One an officer, the other a greedy 
businessman...! Shirwani thought there must have been some secret 
understanding between the two. It was within his knowledge that 
Barkatullah brought someone or the other everyday to Jasimuddin and on 
every such day his dusty bag got inflated. 

Zarina had become a necessity for Shirwani. She used to take care of his
requirement no matter how small. When Shirwani perused classified ad 
columns she also evinced interest. She carefully kept paper cuttings, 
pasted stamps on the envelops and assured him of success. If Shirwani 
remained quiet, she sat by his side and combed his hair with her 
fingers. 

“What are you thinking?” “Nothing!” “Everything will be all right.”
“What?” “You'll get the job.” “I was thinking about you.” “Lie!” 
“Really.” “What about me?” “This about you...!” And Shirwani pulled her 
into his arms. JZrina rolled into his lap with a smile. “Why are you so 
good?” “You are good.” “No, you.” “No, you.” “Address me the way I 
address you.” “Good Lord...! You're the crown.” “Where did you read it? 
In Bahishti Jevar?” “What if I read?” “What else did you read?” “What 
did you read about menstruation?” “What are you talking about?” “Just 
read, and see how the priest has relished while stating it.” “It has 
taught on how to lead life.” “How to lead life or how to enjoy sex?” 
“Please stop it...” “In the name of teaching how to lead life, the 
priest has relished it.” “Let it go...” “Profane words at every 
step...shall I recount what are all written there?” “I won't hear 
that...” “Well, these bearded men...? There's need to be wary of them.” 
“Why do you speak like that?” “Children should not be allowed to be 
taught Urdu by them.” “Why?” “They keep touching their cheek on one 
pretext or the other and do other indecent things.” “Please talk about 
something else.” “The height of it is that even in religious magazines 
sex related advertisements appear. Magazines like Deen Duniya and 
Astana are full of such things. Take the potion of 
Jirmani...Maullaham...Majoom Muqavvi... Majoon Murakkab... Kushtaye 
Azam...it would appear as if all these sex ailments happen only in 
Muslim society. The same thing happens in Jantari too. So much so, even 
the actual Kokshastra of Pandit Kok is also found in them.” 

“Talk of something else...!” Zarina would be irritated. But he found her
irritation coated with honey manna dew. Shirwani would drag her into 
his bosom and repeat those very vulgar words into her ear...turning her 
face ruddy. Shirwani enjoyed his vulgarity...and he marvelled how so 
quickly he had become so much possessive about her...that he could talk 
to her about anything without any hitch...could present himself in any 
manner he liked. It appeared to him that Zarina was produced from his 
own ribs, that he could give her a bodily shape whenever he wished, 
enjoy some romantic moments and remit her back into his own being. The 
realization that he possessed Jarina had dawned on him on the night of 
the marriage itself. In those moments of passion when she clung to his 
chest and when they had stepped out in the whirlpool of unending 
bliss...man's first step towards a woman...Zarina had flung into his 
bosom and gradually they descended together into the depth of the 
sea... 

That moment...when Zarina gave out a cry of pain and Shirwani's
realization about the success of his first was the realization of the 
possessiveness. It appeared to Shirwani that he was victorious... and 
all of these things were now his...! 

But the wrath of god too has its virtuousness...! It always remains
lurking around, waiting for its moment...crawling on the wall of time 
like lizard... 

It was all silver for Jasimuddin those days. He was well adorned on the
chair of director and his dusty bag kept inflating. He had good 
equation with the education minister, but the minister himself was not 
on good terms with the high command. He did not call on the high 
command. Jasimuddin feared that the minister could be sacked anytime. 
There were a few educational institutions that issued forged 
certificates. When the matter came to light, the education minister 
stood exposed. The high command smirked and the CBI raided the premises 
of the minister's P.A. Some forged documents were recovered and a gunny 
bag full stuffed with currency notes... P.A. gave the statement that 
the amount was collected for party fund. The minister disowned it all 
by saying that it was the personal matter of the P.A. Officers were in 
terror. Jasimuddin too was scared. One day the information was received 
that his house was going to be raided the following day. He stuffed his 
suitcase with all that he had illegally amassed and made it to Haji 
Barkatullah's. He had great friendship with Haji Barkatullah. He could 
trust him with this treasure. He handed over the suitcase to him with 
the promise to return to take it back after a few days. Jarina had gone 
there to sight the Muharram Moon. 

The lizard crawled high up on the wall... 

There was no raid at Jasimuddin's house. With the danger having been
averted, he went to the Barkatulla's. He had just risen after offering 
his prayers and was counting the beads of rosary. When the counting 
ended, he turned towards Jasimuddin. “What suitcase...?” “What 
suitcase...?” Jasimuddin was taken aback. “You gave me an empty 
suitcase.” “Empty suitcase...? Are you in your senses?” But it was 
Jasimuddin who had lost his senses. “You gave an empty suitcase which I 
gave to Jarina.” “I gave you packed suitcase and said I'll collect it 
back in a few days.” “Not true!” “Aren't you ashamed that being a Haji 
you are cheating?” “Shut up!” roared Barkatullah. Jasimuddin lost his 
cool and pulled Barkatullah by his beard. “You rascal...son of a 
bitch...?” Haji Barkatullah gave a heavy punch in the belly of 
Jasimuddin. Jasimuddin cried in pain...tried to take out his shoe and 
hit him with it, but Barkatullah had put his foot on his 
chest...Jasimuddin cried out in pain once again. Hearing of this 
commotion, the inmates rushed in. Some of the neighbourly windows also 
flung open. Jarina stood there trembling in dread. Seeing Jarina 
around, Jasimuddin shouted loudly: 

“Bastard! You don't have any concern for your daughter as well...? Now
keep and maintain her all your life...” 

Haji Barkatullah roared again. 

“Shut up, you intemperate fellow! You threatening me?” 

The neighbours somehow intervened and saved the day. 

Jasimuddin returned home ogling fire and brimstone and inserted a
burning one into the soul of Shirwani. “What that bastard Barkatullah 
did to me not even the meanest of all would that to anyone. No more 
relations with that household.” 

Shirwani was stultified to hear this. “Listen, Fahim! You'll never meet
Zarina...nor will she ever come to this home. And you'll not divorce 
her either.” 

“Are you hearing me?” The villain shouted at the top of his voice. It
caused a massive pain in the heart of Shirwani. It appeared to him that 
he would swoon. 

“You're my son. I've given you birth. Will you not take care of my
sentiments...? Now you'll never meet that girl...you cannot do this to 
me...you can never....this is my sentiment...Mind it, Fahim...this is 
my sentiment...!” 

“Ammi...!” Shirwani cried out in pain. He fell down on the floor in a
swoon. Dhanchoo shouted loudly. 

“Abba....Abba...Abba...!” His eyes were disgorging fire. He ran and
engulfed Shirwani. Ammi was trembling in fear. 

Ammi rushed into her prayer...”Oh, Lord...please help...Oh Master...!” 

Lord shows leniency. Man does not. Haji Barkatullah filed a case against
Jasimuddin under Anti Dowry Act. In the report filed in the police 
station he alleged that he came to his place to demand dowry. When 
demand was not met, he beat him and left his daughter there. As witness 
he named some of his neighbours. 

Jasimuddin could not secure bail. He was dismissed from service. But
when providence closes one door it opens another. Shirwani got the job 
in the water resources department. He joined Sitaganj office as 
assistant engineer. 

The burden of running the household now shifted on his shoulders.
Whenever he was home, Dhanchoo's eyes would ferret out his 
loneliness...he often rested his cheek on Shirwani's cheek and cried, 
“bhaiya...bhaiya...bhaiya...!” 

Even today as he lay sadly on the bed, Dhanchoo's filial touch filled
his eyes with tears... 

“How deft you are, brother, in reading feelings....!” 

Four 

The following day Shirwani withdrew rupees ten thousand from the repairs
head and with necessary paraphernalia and sent a junior engineer on 
errand to Mrs. Chugani's. But he had continued to be sad. He also went 
on an errand to the capital. He had a personal work here. He had sent 
in an application for P.F. loan in the office of the chief. 

Secretariat is a place everybody's file was like an open book. The leash
was often in the hands of peons as well. The application had not yet 
been diarized. Rupees one hundred had to be coughed up to have it done. 
But the clerk who dealt the file was a big shot. No sooner he sighted 
Shirwani than he began to beat the plate. 

“Tun...tun...two thousand...!” “That's too much.” “One thousand will go
to the head clerk.” “Fifteen hundred.” “Nope.” 
“Tun...tun...tun...tun...” Shirwani opened his wallet. “Sudup.” (sound 
made while swallowing a thing, especially bone marrow) The file was 
disposed from that table. But who was to take it to the secretary's 
table? The peon kept readying his chewing tobacco... 
“tun...tun...tun...twenty rupees!” “Sudup.” Secretary was a gentleman. 
He made no ‘queries'. But the file had just crossed one hurdle only to 
come to another hurdle. It was necessary to obtain the opinion of the 
financial adviser. The clerk of this office had a special gait, he 
walked with a swagger. “Two thousand!” “Fifteen hundred.” “Please...!” 
The head smiled. He surveyed Shirwani from top to bottom. “You're in 
the works division?” “Where's the work there, brother? It's all 
non-work.” “Why?” “Where's the fund?” Head clerk settled at rupees 
fifteen hundred. The file reached the table of the secretary. Rupees 
one lakh was sanctioned. Shirwani heaved a sigh of relief. But the work 
was far from being complete. The order had to be typed out. Shirwani 
went up to the typist. 

“Tun...tun...two hundred rupees...!” “One hundred.” “Tun...tun...two
hundred.” “One hundred fifty!” “Sudup!” 

The typed out order was sent to the office of the secretary for his
signature, but it did not return to the concerned department. Shirwani 
got worried. Where did it get lost in the transit at the last moment? 
It then transpired that the head clerk of the cell had coiled up over 
the file. Somehow it was managed with rupees two hundred. But the file 
had to be physically transported to the concerned department, and only 
a peon could do that. Now he was the peon from the secretary's cell, 
not just anybody. He had a standard that could not be matched by anyone 
else...offer of rupees twenty did not make him budge. Finally, on 
payment of rupees fifty the file came to the office. It had not reached 
the point of completion yet. The order number had still to be allocated 
to it. The clerk was waiting for his turn. Shirwani went there. 
“Tun...tun...four hundred...!” 

Shirwani got wild. 

“Four hundred for what...? Is it a contractor's bill or what...?” 

“There's no provision for hand delivery.” 

“It's my money...deducted from my salary every month.” 

“This is also a way of converting black money into white money.” The
clerk smirked. 

“Four hundred rupees for just allotting a number...?” 

“I'll send it by post.” 

“Two hundred.” 

“You take your copy...the treasury copy will go by post.” 

This alerted Shirwani to the possible fall out. Sending by the post
meant document getting lost in transit...the despatch clerk was somehow 
mollified with the offer of rupees three hundred. Shirwani made a 
mental calculation...four thousand three hundred twenty...travelling 
expenses excepted...!  Suddenly, he noticed band across the neck of the 
storekeeper...bastard...! Selling pipes without let or hindrance? 

On returning to Jahannagari, he straightaway drove to the store. The
storekeeper was measuring pipes. He was taken aback on suddenly 
discovering Shirwani in front of him. He folded his hands and said 
‘pranam'. He cursorily surveyed the stack of pipes. None of them had 
any socket. “Why there are no sockets?” Shirwani asked. “Pilferage, 
Sir...which is why I have stacked them away.” “Pilferage or you sell 
them away?” 

The storekeeper took out a fifty-rupee note and gave it to the
chowkidar. 

“Go and get some cold drinks...” “It's not required.” Shirwani beckoned
him to stay on with the indication of his finger. “You've come for the 
first time, Sir.” “Where're the sockets...” Shirwani said sternly. 

The storekeeper took him inside the store and showed him a bag which was
filled with sockets. 

“This bag is now in the store...tomorrow it'll be in the market...isn't
it so?” 

“This isn't true, Sir.” “This is what is true. Your methodology of
measuring pipes is also wrong. It should be measured half-the socket.” 
“It'll be done exactly as you say, Sir.” “Get me the tape.” Shirwani 
fished out a measuring tape made of steel from his pocket and checked 
the tape the storekeeper produced. The difference was of one and a half 
inch. “Your tape is faulty...in this way you swallow an inch and a half 
of the pipe besides socket...!” “Sir...the work has always been going 
on in this manner and I have always been serving my superiors day in 
and day out.” “There are complaints against you...the twenty-point 
programme minister is going to inspect the store.” “Sir, I am 
Bhumihar...therefore, there will be enquiries. If I were a Yadav there 
would not have been any enquiry.” 

The office peon then came and informed him that the minister was asking
for him. Name the devil, the devil is here...! 

“So tell me, should I order an enquiry...?” Shirwani stared at the
storekeeper as he said this. 

There was no sign of worry on the face of the storekeeper. He folded his
hands and said,” I had served the previous executive engineer. I am 
more than willing to serve you too...!” 

“The minister does not like you at all. On several occasions he has
asked me to change you. You make immediate arrangement of rupees five 
thousand...!” 

“As you wish, Sir.” The storekeeper stayed put with a smile. 

Shirwani proceeded to the circuit house. On the verandah there were some
white-clad people. Kamalnath Mandal was inside the room. Shirwani was 
ushered in. A young man was also seated there. He looked much like 
Kamalnath Mandal. But he did not adorn khadi. He was wearing shirt and 
pant. He greeted Shirwani with his folded hands which Shirwani 
reciprocated in the like manner. 

“The district has the sanitary programme, I am sure.” Asked Kamalnath
Mandal. “Yes!” “How many toilets will be constructed?” “One thousand.” 
“Fund?” “We've received rupees thirty lakh from the centre.” “Give this 
work to him.” Kamalnath Mandal indicated towards the lad seated beside. 
“Only the registered contractors can execute works here.” “Bunkum, here 
only Bhumihar and Rajput are given work. Where will the dalits go?” 
“They will have to be registered.” “But you can execute works at the 
department level also.” “Yes!” “Then get them to do that.” “Junior 
engineer executes these works.” “Junior engineer can engage them to 
execute these works.” Shirwani remained silent. “I'll like to make one 
thing very clear. If these people cannot do the work, nobody else will. 
That's a Naxalite belt. Any contractor venturing into that area will 
get killed and will also have pay up donations.” “I have no problem 
allotting works to them. All I am concerned with is proper documents.” 
“That's your responsibility.” “Toilets will be made only for those who 
are below poverty line. The list is made available by DM's office.” 
“You'll get the list.” “There's another problem.” “What's that?” “We do 
not entrust works to self-help institutions. We have a contract system. 
Work is allotted by calling tenders. The contractor executes an 
agreement and deposits security money and then the work order is 
issued.” Kamalnath Mandal lost his cool. 

“Contract system is a feudal system. Self-help institutions have been
created to eliminate the problem of unemployment. Go and take a look at 
the B.D.O. office. Whether it is Jawahar Rojgar Yojana or any other 
project or scheme, entire work is executed by these self-help 
institutions and you people are making excuses and tantrums.” 

It was a well-laid trap...bastards will not execute any work and will
gormandize the entire amount and I will be suspended...Shirwani thought 
within. 

“I'll resolve this problem of yours.” Kamalnath Mandal smiled. “What?”
“I'll get the order from your department that works can be allotted to 
self-help institutions.” “What possible objections can I have?” 
Shirwani said with a wry smile on his face. 

When he started to leave, the young man came out and escorted him to his
vehicle. “What relation do you have with the minister...?” “I'm his 
younger brother, Sir...Shyamlal Mandal...!” “Being the brother of the 
minister can you do this work of contractor...?” “This is social 
service, Sir...” the brother of the minister grinned showing up his 
teeth. Shirwani simpered. The scavenger was making one eat cucumber in 
the toilet, the leader is setting forth to reap silver. 

The following day Shyalal came armed with the list... And Shirwani
realized he was very close to being caught in the swamp...! He was sure 
that the list did not contain the names of those below the poverty line 
who did not have toilets at their homes, but of those who already had 
toilets at their homes. 

Shyamlal explained that the list was supplied by DM, so it was his
responsibility...and it's even DM's responsibility as the list has been 
prepared by the BDO...and what even poor BDO could do when the survey 
at the ground level has been done by the village level workers...? 

“But it's my responsibility to make proper enquiries.” “Sir, when DM has
put his signature, your responsibility comes to an end...!” 

It seemed to Shirwani that he was held captive in a darkened room from
where it was difficult to come out unscathed. 

“It would be better if the work was executed expeditiously. Women have
to go out to defaecate in the open at night.” 

“How can the work order of rupees thirty lakh be passed without floating
of tender?” “Sir, this is Naxalite area. Others will not be allowed to 
work here.” “But even from self-help institutions we cannot take work 
unless tenders have been called for...the law does not permit it.” 
“Law...?” Shyamlal's eyes turned red...his tone changed. “Soon you'll 
get this order also.” He rose from the chair. 

Shirwani could feel the sharpness of fangs on his neck. It appeared to
him noose around him was tightening...at every step he could see the 
hovering vultures...sharp claws! 

Shirwani was consumed by the sense of insecurity...he was scared...he
rose without completing his work...but where to go? 

Home...? Where's home...? 

The home was desolate. Dhanchoo these days kept to himself and remained
silent. Earlier when Shirwani was here, he occasionally flocked into 
his room...at times recited some couplets, but not he was aloof from 
all of these. He had found a thick history book which he kept reading 
all the time. Sometimes he underlined something with pencil and made 
occasional entries in his diary. Ammi kept counting beads of rosary and 
spent most of her time in the prayers and Jasimuddin kept groaning on 
his bed. The only fear that burdened him like a mound placed on his 
chest for the past fifteen years was whether Fahim was moving 
towards....Whenever their eyes met there was only this entreaty in the 
father's eyes for the son...and Fahimuddin was embarrassed to note 
this....it occurred to him that the net weaving spiders had rubbed the 
glue it emitted from its mouth on to his palm...! 

And Zarina...? 

Zarina was present in the room like a dream...especially when Shirwani
was in tension, Zarina was close by...running her fingers through his 
hair and reassuring him with love and care. “It will be all 
right...everything will be all right.” “What'll be all right...these 
bloody plunderers...these political henchmen...?” “It is all ordained 
by Allah. Why troubling your heart...?” “Allah...?” “The innocence has 
been sacrificed at the altar of ego and Allah kept watching?” “Mind it, 
Fahim...you cannot meet her...you can never...!” 

Shirwani took a few days' leave and proceeded to the capital. He wanted
to spend some time away from home...far from all worries...! He did not 
even go to the chief's office. He took refuge in a little known hotel. 
In fact, he had very fondly been remembering Zarina lately. He wanted 
to get fully immersed in her thought, but that was not possible. From 
the adjoining room came that constantly coughing and groaning sound of 
Jasimuddin that kept him tied down to the tether post of reality. His 
coughs reminded him of his orders, his commandments...”Fahim, you can't 
do this...you can't meet...!” Shirwani closed himself in the hotel 
room...the layers of mist began to deepen gradually...and soon Shirwani 
was traversing through the land of reveries and he cried out... 
“Zarina...Zarina...!” Zarina's sobs emerged. “I am not an infidel...!” 
“A nail has been hammered into the depth of my soul...” “Zarina! What 
should do to this...!” “My lord! You should have beckoned me...! I 
would have swallowed all of your miseries. I would have covered myself 
with the mantle of your sorrow.” 

Shirwani writhed in pain...he pulled Zarina into his arms...rained her
with kisses...”how to make you understand...I cannot even touch 
you...!” “What's my folly...?” “It's not your folly.” “What have I been 
punished for...?” “Oh God! Recall me to yourself...!” “Ooff!” Shirwani 
once again writhed in pain...tears began to drain out of his eyes. 
Zarina too wept bitterly, clinging to his chest. “It is ordained for 
every living being to suffer retribution for an uncommitted sin...!” 
Shirwani planted his lips on the eyelids of Zarina...Zarina with an 
effort moved in a little more...gradually they began to breathe 
heavily... And Shirwani went into a deep slumber. 

Five 

Whenever the leaves on the trees in CM's compound showed signs of
greying, the messiah of the poor organized a rally. And the state was 
perennially in an autumnal state. The soil of the centre was hard and 
the sky was way up in the sky; the winds blowing from that direction 
carried sharp stings. Every now and then the dark clouds hovered. In 
such circumstances it was necessary for the messiah to flex and 
demonstrate his muscles which had acquired the shape of fish. 

The messiah organized a massive rally of the poor and of the oppressed
class. 

The messiah had the necessary expertise of organizing rallies. He had
taken active part in the movement of '74. Those days on the call of JP 
people united like never before and despite all restrictive measures 
people gathered in huge number in the historic Gandhi Maidan. But now 
the age was of collar band and chain. Now the system was both a 
spectacle and spectator at the same time. And the time was for 
rallies...rallies and rallies...rally for supporting Mandal Commission 
recommendations...Garib Rally....Bhandaphod Rally (rally to expose the 
misdeeds of...)...Sadbhavna Rally (goodwill rally)...Pichhda Varg Rally 
(backward class rally)... Kurmi Chetna Maharally (grand rally of Kurmi 
caste awareness rally)...Mahangai Virodhi Rally (rally to oppose price 
rise)...Ekjutata Rally (unity rally)...! 

Preparations were underway on war footing. Legislators and
parliamentarians were stationed at their respective constituencies. 
Quota had been fixed for each of them to bring in people for the rally. 
Party workers became active. Donations were being collected from all 
over the places in the state. Shirwani found a hiding place for 
himself. His assistant engineer was caught. He had to ‘donate' rupees 
twenty thousand. P.W.D. people took the responsibility of feedings 
guests in the camps. While ministers and M.L.As were in touch with big 
merchants and shopkeepers, party workers dealt with petty shoppers. 
Some of them had pulled down the shutters of their shops for a while. 
But how could those who had given their telephone number could escape 
the dragnet? 

Meanwhile, the newspapers reported that donations were being collected
forcibly. The report was at once dismissed as no reports were filed in 
the police stations. Rather, those keen to help the poor were making 
voluntary contributions. 

The district administration laid seize to the schools where security
forces could be stationed. Private schools too were shut down. From the 
nearby districts fifteen additional companies of security forces were 
requisitioned. This consisted of military police and para-military 
forces. The messiah decided that during the period of delimitation of 
roads and Gandhi Maidan the security forces should be at those places 
so that traffic flow remained flawless. 

‘Seize the vehicles' campaign was also in full swing. Workers loaded in
vans were making sporadic forays into the bus stands. If any driver 
refused to drive the vehicle, he was given a good dressing down. An old 
man got thrashed for no apparent reason. Seventy buses were seized on 
the first day...thirty from gate number seven...! But the owner of 
Bharat Travels decided not to release any bus. His henchmen were duly 
armed. The supporters of the messiah made a hasty retreat only to 
return with adequate reinforcements. But by this time the owner of 
Bharat Travels had left the scene with all his buses. They were greeted 
by a deadly silence at the bus stand. 

All roads leading to Gandhi Maidan were covered with hoardings and
posters. High arched gateways were erected at several places....Mahatma 
Gandhi Gateway...Sardar Ballabh Bhai Patel Gateway...Ambedkar 
Gate...Jai Prakash Narain....Subhash Chandra Bose...Birsa Munda...Pir 
Ali...BP Mandal...Frontier Gandhi...! 

Preparations for the rally were at its final stage. The administration
held a meeting to take stock of the situation. Besides the district 
magistrate the meeting was attended by the engineers of water board and 
public works division. This time the workers controlling the venue and 
the delimitation zones were changed. The size of the delimited area was 
increased this time and barricading had been done up to the last point. 
Earlier, barricading was done in a small areas and this facilitating 
the arrival of guests in their vehicles. This time bringing in of 
vehicles was going to be difficult. Area right in front of the stage 
was fenced off with nets. The messiah had made a few rounds. Other 
officials too make several inspections, but the PWD minister was 
nowhere to be seen. Ever since CBI was asked to probe coal-tar scam, 
the messiah was avoiding the minister as though he were untouchable. 

Pavilions are in place. The biggest pavilion is that of Kamalnath
Mandal. Boys will entertain the participants by performing like nautch 
girls and on the offer will be cooked rice-pulses and other eatables 
like puri-sabzi, chuda-sattu (beaten rice and powdered gram). In the 
highway pavilions tones of rice, pulses, wheat, sugar, and flour have 
been made available. Huge earthen ovens have been made. The biggest 
pavilion was in Gandhi Maidan. Arrangements have been made for the stay 
of lakhs of people. Special arrangements are made near the station for 
dance programme. Packaged food will be available at the ministers' 
place. The messiah is happy that water board people have made adequate 
arrangements for regular supply of water. A large network of pipes is 
laid in Gandhi Maidan. Water tankers are placed at vantage points. 
Machines to pump in water are also been put in place. 

The party's cultural wing is also active. There will be a programme of
folk songs as well. Bijli Bai's troupe has also come to regale the 
audience. Maya Music Co. has released a new cassette for the occasion. 

Dilli sarkar hai ji Unko hatana hai ji Samai ki pukar hai ji. 

{There's a govt. in Delhi It'll have to be uprooted It's the call of the
time.} 

Come 24th October. The town is decked up like a bride. Beauteous green
festoons...heart-warming solid arched gateways...hoardings and large 
cut-outs...these are showing up from the airport itself. The stage at 
the Gandhi Maidan is colourfully done up. Barricades and bamboos too 
have been given a facelift. Loudspeakers are planted at every possible 
place and angle. The high pavilion of the Gandhi Maidan is covered with 
green and white cloths...and tube lights are fitted high up on the 
bamboos.... 

Shops are closed right since morning. The president of the public
awareness committee is seen sending off a team to solicit public 
support. He waves the flag and the procession starts on its onward 
journey. Moving from Curzon Road to Phoolchand Path, the procession 
moves to Shaheed Chowk after traversing through Veer Chand Patel Marg 
and from there it proceeds straight to the Gandhi Maidan. Group of 
artists drawn from the cultural wing throng along the pathways with 
banners held high in their hands. Cassette is blaring out in full 
throttle: 

Messiah ki shakti badhaya karo Rally mein ghar se aaya karo. 

{Strengthen the hands of the messiah Come out of homes and join the
rally} 

People are on the road with their bands and musical gadgets. Every
leader according to his or her stature is showing off his or her 
strength. If someone has mounted on elephants, there are some who are 
mounted on camels. If someone is with band and musical instruments, 
there are some who are with the dancing parties. The northern end of 
the Ulta Pul is controlled by the president of Dalit Sewa Sangh having 
been projected cycle-borne in big cut-outs. Slogans are being shouted 
with gusto. Trucks, cars, Maruti Gypsy vans and buses are all Gandhi 
Maidan bound. Roads are full of people. One group is of the schedule 
tribes. Faces covered with mask and adorned with feathers, these folks 
ceremoniously dressed danced merrily on the road playing on drums and 
cymbals...women and children too are masked...Another group of State 
Betel Growers Association is also seen marching in. A large number 
Chaurasia caste people are part of this group. Others like the members 
of state's blacksmith community, Mushahar community and members of All 
India Dalit Sewa Sangh were also on the state highway raising slogans. 
They are followed by the women from social justice group carrying 
banners and flags. Members of Bind community led by their Jan Jagri 
Morcha, members of Sampoorna Samajik Nyaya Morcha and the members of 
Mahanagar Sonar Sangh too moved in from Phoolchand Path to join the 
procession on Vikram Marg. The retrenched employees of the census board 
under the banner of their employees too formed part of the procession. 
Cassette is blaring out: 

Messiah ne bulaya hai Lekar arman chalo Gandhi Maidan chalo. 

{Messiah has given the call Armed with conviction Proceed to Gandhi
Maidan} 

Those workers who were from the capital were doing Bhangra dance as they
proceeded along. They are visible also on police jeeps and on 
motorcycles. Entry of heavy vehicles is barred, but the vehicles 
carrying workers were demolishing all such barriers and merrily 
proceeding along. As Yarpur Gumti number two had a barrier, some of the 
heavy vehicles have crossed from Gumti number five. 

The vehicle carrying the messiah has reached Gandhi Maidan. The
minorities load the messiah with a huge rose garland and specially 
designed green cap is put on his head. 

The press gallery has been occupied by the party workers. The local
leaders, in an effort to sneak into the VIP area, have a tiff with the 
police. Mrs. Chugani with her retinue of women volunteers arrive at the 
gate. The policemen try to stop her. She raises tantrums. Chamanlal 
Chanchal intervenes and Mrs. Chugani manages to sneak in. Just below 
the stage a legislator is seen loitering around with a mobile phone. 
The special CBI court has issued a non bailable warrant against him. 
Some ministers are seen indicating towards him as they whisper into the 
ears of one another. Security forces are placed there for the security 
of leaders converged on the podium. 

It is three on clock. Only the half of the podium is filled. But people
are still streaming in. Looking at the crowd, it looked certain that 
the remaining portion of the field will also be occupied. But Gandhi 
Maidan is so big that no matter how many people come in, it always 
looked hungry for more. Half of it ever looks empty. 

This sea of humanity will capture Delhi...! 

Speeches begin. Some people have climbed up the trees to hear the
speech. Last time a branch had come hurtling down. Statue of Mahatma 
Gandhi is located in the centre of the field. On all the four sides of 
it there are marble pillars and a massive iron gate...outside the gate 
in the semi-circled area stood the common people...! A white-clad was 
also sighted there. Wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief people look at 
him....who is he...? 

“Minister...!” The sentry guarding him with stengun whispers. 

The minister is sitting in the midst of his supporters. He is going
through a newspaper. Suddenly it begins to drizzle. The supporters open 
up an umbrella over the head of the minister. The sound of the messiah 
comes through loudspeakers. 

“Put down the umbrella. Our fight is against Indra the progenitor of the
caste system. We've to lift this earth on our fingers.” 

The messiah raises his finger like Lord Krishna. The same style is also
depicted in the cut-outs. But the Lord Krishna had lifted the Nandan 
hill on his small finger. The messiah raises his ring finger. People 
laugh; they do not put down their umbrella. Some people scamper around 
and take refuge under trees. Women workers cover their heads with the 
polythene bags. From the podium emanates the fiery speech of a leader. 

“We'll chop off the finger if ever it is raised against our messiah.” 

People close to the podium once again open their umbrella over their
heads. The messiah speaks again. 

“Umbrella symbolizes feudalism. Those taking shelter under umbrella
cannot wage a war against the fascists.” 

It has stopped drizzling. The people who had scampered hither and
thither returned to the main podium area. Some people keep sitting on 
the wet grass as they eat ground nut. Eating ground nuts and hearing 
out the speech go on simultaneously. Right in front of the Maidan the 
security arrangements are made impeccable. Bijli Bai's musical troupe 
is kept in the readiness behind the podium. Faces laced with powder 
peep through car windows...thick film of lip stick on their lips...they 
doze off time and again...may have been fagged out because of constant 
dancing. 

Humidity has increased with the rain having come to an end. The sun has
begun to peep from behind the clouds. People are perspiring. There are 
a large number of vendors in the Maidan. 

“Pomegranate juice... Ten rupees...!” “It's costly...!” Dukhan Mochi
rummages through his pocket...he has received rupees eight for coming 
to the rally. Food in addition....! Costs have gone up because of the 
rally. This is a rally against the price rise. The messiah is now 
beginning to deliver his speech. Those seated stand up. Scattered crowd 
converge back towards the podium. 

“Three things have emerged from the war of independence. Secularism,
democracy and social justice. All these three things have come up under 
the leadership of Gandhiji. But today's politics has made a frontal 
attack on secularism. If this attack is allowed to continue, then 
brethren there will be chaos all around. BJP is responsible for this. 
The real face of BJP has been exposed after the Ayodhya issue came to 
fore.” 

There is silence in the crowd. There are no slogans. There are
occasional claps. The messiah's stentorian voice reverberates 
continually through the mike. 

“It was from here that Gandhiji and Jaiprakash Narain began their
movement. Later, Naxalites too began their movement from here. We have 
to unite against the forces of fascism. By exploding the nuclear bomb 
the BJP government has given fillip to price rise and India has been 
isolated from the mainstream world economy. I swear in the court of 
people that I have not indulged in any scam. I have prevented communal 
riot from escalating. I have destroyed the future of RSS and BJP. I am 
charged for being rustic and crude. Brethren! This rusticity is our 
strength. We'll not allow any anti-poor and anti-dalit bill to be 
passed by the parliament.” 

Claps burst out...but most of claps come from that part of the crowd
that is close to the podium. The local leader gives vote of thanks... 
and the crowd begins to disperse. 

Shirwani made his appearance at Jahannagari after two days. When he
reached office, he found everybody talking of only one thing: the 
rally. Ramesh Yadav in the company of ‘backward class' was seated in 
the office verandah. On seeing Shirwani they all rise from their chairs 
and greeted him with ‘pranam'. Shirwani returned the compliment with 
the nod of his head and went over to his chamber. Ramesh Yadav followed 
him there. 

“Did you see the rally, Sir?” “I did.” “Unique rally...one million
people...!” “It wasn't rally; it was ‘raila'”. “Demonstration of 
strength...the centre wants to somehow bring down this government, but 
the messiah demonstrated it that public support was with him.” “I 
realized one thing from this rally: most of the placards and banners 
were from the backward classes. Forward caste was nowhere to be seen.” 
“They'll go to the BJP rally, Sir...!” “But it is the forward castes 
that have always ruled.” Shirwani smiled. “Gone the days are when the 
queen will always deliver a king. Now the dalit awareness is on the 
ascendancy. ‘Your vote, our rule' will not cut any ice now.” The voice 
of Ramesh Yadav had become vitriolic. Raghunath Pandey came in with a 
file. “Did you see the rally...?” “The rally was sponsored by the 
administration. Everything was provided by the administration. 
Donations were forced, buses were commandeered!” “That's not true.” 
Ramesh Yadav took umbrage. A tall man then made an entry into the 
chamber. He was adorning a silk kurta...there was a long sandal mark on 
his forehead...sword like dhoti...and a dangling long cloth across his 
shoulder...! His chest was broad and waistline thin. Shirwani realized 
when he walked into the chamber, he walked with a swagger. He was 
accompanied by two more men. One of them had long beard. The other one 
was bald. A string of small beads was tied across his neck. All the 
three had a thread tied on their wrists. They pulled chairs and sat 
down. “There's going to be a yagna (a sacrifice and oblation ceremony 
performed by Hindus) in this village.” “Forgive me, I didn't recognize 
you...?” “I am the district president of Vishwa Hindu Parishad.” 
“That's your designation. May I know the good name of...?” Shirwani 
said with a smile. For a while a sign of exasperation appeared on the 
face of the district president. His associates seated beside him 
squirmed a little uncomfortably in their chairs. “They call me Ramakant 
Jha.” “Pleased to meet you.” “This Yagna is taking place in Chamanpur 
village. Please instal three hand pumps.” “This job is of the district 
magistrate.” “And you...?” “I instal pump only at those places for 
which the department gives orders.” “This is a religious work. I am not 
asking you to instal pumps in my house.” “Whether it is for religious 
work, some emergency work or cultural work...these come within the 
purview of the district magistrate.” Ramesh Yadav intervened. Shirwani 
felt a little relieved. “If I get you the order of the district 
magistrate...?” “Then I'll ask for fund. On getting fund the work will 
be executed.” “You can help us in a different way.” The man with a 
string of small beads tied across his neck said. Shirwani felt that 
those seated in front were getting to see his collar band. “What kind 
of help...?” Shirwani's voice was mild. And the leash was tightening. 
“Erection of pavilion...food etc...there are lot of expenses!” “On 10th 
there will be a BJP camp.” The district president smiled. His smile was 
significant. “Please extend some help, Sir.” The man with long beard 
said. Shirwani remained silent. “Our volunteers will call on you.” The 
president rose from the chair. Others too followed suit. After they had 
left, Ramesh Yadav turned towards him. “Did you see it, Sir...! How 
easily you parried the matter by saying that you do not have fund? If 
there was a BJP government in the state, you would have been forced to 
instal those pumps at your own cost.” Shirwani wanted to say something, 
but Raghunath Pandey and Ramesh Yadav entered into an argument. “Who's 
organizing this yagna?” “Vishwa Hindu Parishad people.” “Why...? Why a 
dalit cannot organize it?” “Now, yagna can be carried out only by a 
Brahmin!” A sarcastic smile spread out on the lips of Raghunath Pandey. 
“This is what is primogeniture...the Brahmins have imposed their 
superiority. You are forced to accept their mental slavery.” “That is 
why there's a jihad against Brahmanism.” Ramesh Yadav said with 
irritation. “Forgive me, this is not jihad...this is caste hatred...! 
You are not fighting. You are spreading hatred. Primogeniture should 
end, but so long as the upper caste people do not associate themselves 
in this fight, the war cannot be won. Brahmin alone can end 
Brahmanism.” “But why will the upper caste people fight against 
themselves...?” Shirwani butted in. “It's not a question of fighting 
against one's own self. The question is of fighting against the system. 
The fight should be against the Brahmanism...not against Brahmin the 
individual.” “The caste system should end,” said Shirwani. “These are 
mere words bereft of any meaning. The caste system will never end. 
Being Hindu means belonging to a caste. Caste system is another name of 
Brahmanism and its tools are superstition, falsehood and violence...!” 
Pandey's voice grew shriller. Shirwani was looking at him with 
surprise. 

“Chanakya said in his theory of economics that in order to keep ruling
over people, you need to keep them embroiled in the vicious circle of 
superstition. Quietly put an idol of god somewhere and make the 
pronouncement that god has made an appearance...Lord Ganesha sipping 
milk was a similar attempt in which Advani too evinced interest. That 
is how a Brahmin maintains his superiority over others.” 

“Pandeyji...! Being a Brahmain how could you...?” 

“I married into a dalit family, but because of this primogeniture system
my child did not remain a Brahmin, he became a wretch. I am not the 
father of my child. I am father of a wretch, a low caste 
wretch...ha...ha...ha...ha...”  Pandey began to laugh loudly and it 
left Shirwani in a state of shiver. 

Shirwani hid again. Now who could go on giving donations! BJP camp was
about to start. The extremist group of Male people was also taking out 
a procession. The only way to escape was to find a hiding place. But he 
had only one place to go to....He went back to the capital yet again. 

In the capital there are vehicles with red beacon atop carrying at the
back an inscription ‘power brake' that constantly warned people to stay 
back, else get crushed under their wheels...! Here every second 
legislator is a minister. One hundred and twenty ministers...and the 
rest accommodated as members of some committee enjoying the status of 
minister...chauffeur driven cars and two hundred and fifty litres of 
petrol free...house rent allowance...telephone...private secretary...a 
senior clerk...a junior clerk...two peons....right to travel by air 
without paying a penny...only the daily allowance was poor by that 
standard...rupees forty when travelling within the state and rupees 
fifty outside the state...! Free boarding and lodging at government 
owned guest houses...transport facilities with the accompanying 
amenities made available by the local administration. Government spent 
rupees one lakh on every minister...one hundred and twenty 
ministers....rupees twelve crore per month...and the coffer of the 
state treasury was empty...teachers did not get their 
salary...employees' demands are not met, but MLAs must get their 
pension. The defeated MLAs too are entitled to half pension...will 
travel abroad as well...more than half of them have already visited 
various foreign lands...others are in queue...rupees three lakh per 
minister...one hundred and twenty ministers....burden of rupees 
thirty-six crore...the state coffer is empty, but foreign trips are 
on... 

Public sector undertakings have slowly but steadily shut down...Heavy
Engineering Corporation...State Transport Corporation...Ware Housing 
Corporation...Leather Development Corporation....silk 
Industries...Indian Pharmaceutical Limited...paper mills...sugar 
mills...rice mills...cottage and small industries...all shut 
down...sick...tattered...irredeemable...and the ministry was expanding 
like that mythical snake...! 

The high command is magnanimous. Even non-legislators have been given
the status of ministers. The chairman of the Urdu Advisory Committee 
enjoyed the status of minister. He did not a vehicle, so he fitted 
beacon light on his two-wheeler. The high command learnt this modus 
operandi for running government from the congress...do not annoy 
people's representatives...they held the reins of democracy...make them 
all ministers...trade in horses...get the majority...! If horses go 
berserk, the cart could overturn. 

Where will you spit in the capital...? 

Shirwani went to Gandhi Maidan and got caught in the flame. BJP was
holding its public meeting here. Flames were flowing out of the 
loudspeaker. 

“Muslims came in as tenants here and settled down as owners. Mahmood
Gajnavi plundered the Somnath temple and laid the foundation of 
fascism. Those who engineered the creation of Pakistan are now harping 
on minorityism and are clamouring for special rights. My question is—is 
this not a new face of Muslim dictatorship? At the time of the division 
of the country, Hindus and Muslims were given special privilege to 
choose as to whether they wanted to live in India or desired to move to 
Pakistan. I demand to know if those Hindus who were left back in 
Pakistan have the right to pull down a mosque and erect a temple 
thee...?” 

And Shirwani had his fingers in his mouth. The one disgorging fire and
brimstone was none but Maya Sahni whom he had acknowledged as his 
sister...Shirwani at once moved out of the place. The following day he 
found out her address. It transpired that she was a BJP legislator and 
resided at MLA Flat No. 40. Next day he reached there with some fruits 
and sweets. 

Maya was taken aback. “Is it you, Shirwani...?” Shirwani stayed put with
a smile. “Can't trust my eyes.” “Even I couldn't trust my eyes when I 
heard you speak.” “Were you there...?” “I saw you there.” “Should have 
met.” “You were disgorging fire and brimstone.” “They call me 
firebrand.” “Where did you learn the language of Umadevi?” “I am in the 
BJP right from the beginning.” “Amazing.” “How come you here?” “I am 
executive engineer in the water sources department.” “Family...?” “I am 
alone...! And you...?” “I couldn't pull it along...anyway, how's 
uncle...?” “Grown very old.” “You had a brother too?” “He's still 
there...Dhanchoo...!” “He used to see lots of dreams.” “He sees them 
even now and they come true.” “I'll ask him about me...!” “What will 
you ask...? This that when the Muslims will be eliminated...?” “Why do 
you speak like that?” “This is your old dream.” “You people have a 
closed mind. You have divided human society into two parts. Muslim and 
kafir and you consider it your duty to launch jihad against kafirs.” 
“And you people have divided the Hindu society in two parts...backward 
and forward...and have sub-divided the backward into several cells and 
your religious edicts have made inhuman laws for them.” Maya was 
silent. Shirwani realized the atmosphere had become tensed up. After a 
brief silence, Shirwani asked. “You stay alone here?” “Yes!” “Your 
attendants are not visible...?” “They are all busy in preparations for 
the rally...come inside, take a seat.” They came inside the room. There 
was a big portrait of Gurugolwalkar on the wall. Shhirwani smiled. “So, 
you are from the RSS cadre?” “We are meeting after twenty years.” “We 
never met after Papa's transfer.” “I did my MA from BHU.” “That is why 
you joined BJP.” “Why?” “BHU guys go to BJP.” “Just as Aligarh people 
go to Jamait-e-Islami?” Shirwani laughed. “Do you remember you used to 
tie rakhi (sacred thread tied by a sister on the wrist of her 
brother)?” “Is it a thing to forget...?” “The thread didn't get tangled 
in the wheels of Advani's chariot?” “I always took you for my brother.” 
“But you hate my community.” “Forgive me. You people are not in the 
national mainstream.” “Meaning?” “You people believe in Hizarat. There 
is no concept of motherland with you people. The first condition for 
the development of a nation is to regard nation as your mother and pay 
respect...” “These are just words devoid of any substance. History 
bears evidence to the fact that Hindus were never united which was why 
the outsiders ruled over them. You have complaints against the Mughal 
emperors, but you should remember that these Muslim emperors made India 
their own homeland and tried to unite small princely states. Hindus 
were invariably placed very high in the hierarchy of their reign.” “But 
you people also plundered temples.” “You remember Mahmood Gajnavi 
alright, but you do not remember the names of those emperors who 
constructed temples and had Sanskrit shlokas and couplets inscribed on 
the walls of mosques.” “For example...?” “Adil Shah got a mosque 
constructed in which the foundation inscription about the petrology of 
rocks was carried out in Sanskrit.” Maya smiled. “You're very 
sentimental...shall I brew some tea for you..?” “Why take the trouble?” 
“Meeting my brother after such a long time.” “Brother or a brain closed 
Muslim.” Maya began to laugh. When she went inside the kitchen, 
Shirwani threw a cursory look around. In one corner some old newspapers 
were stacked away, folded. On the table lay Panchjanya. Shirwani 
flipped through the newspaper. When Maya came in with tea, Shirwani 
indicated towards the portrait of Gurugolwalkar. “You must be offering 
oblation to his portrait?” “It's not like that.” “I am amazed.” “What?” 
“Why did you join BJP?” “Why?” “This is an upper caste party.” “So 
what?” “Maya Sahni, you're not Brahmin...you are a low caste Shudra.” 
“What's the big deal?” “You grew out of Brahmin's feet, not from his 
belly or mouth.” Maya laughed again. “You are laughing but this is a 
system called primogeniture. The kind of Hindu society the BJP 
advocates, shudras do not exist there as humans but as servers destined 
to do all menial works. The penalty for killing a shudra is the same as 
for killing pets like dogs and cats. “This is bunkum.” “Read the 
scriptures.” “It has become outdated.” “This is not out of date. This 
is eternal. This is the very foundation on which the Hindu society 
hinges and this has given birth to the caste system. The caste system 
is the soul of Hinduism. When dalits talk of their rights, this caste 
system is endangered and that endangers Hindusim...” 

Maya remained silent. “BJP talks of changing the constitution because
the constitution is secular which gives equal rights to all. The view 
points of RSS have emerged from this religious outlook. Brahmins 
foisted this caste system on the society for their own benefits, not 
for the well-beings of the mass.” “You're communal.” “I am not communal 
but I am really surprised how could you be trapped by the 
primogenitors.” “Why?” “When primogenitors disgorge hatred against the 
Muslims, it is understandable. They see Mahmood Gajnavi in every 
Muslim, but your battle is not with the Muslims...your battle is with 
the purveyors of the caste-system, with the progenitors as they have 
deprived the shudras of their religious and social rights and imposed 
inhuman laws on you people.” “Talk about something else.” “What after 
all is the reason why you people are still denied access to 
temples...?” “Let's talk about something else.” “Just remember, you 
can't stay in BJP for long.” “I am asking you to talk about something 
else.” Maya said in a hardened tone. “Every leader in BJP is of the 
high caste. No one from backward caste can ever dream of holding a high 
post in BJP.” “Didn't you hear...?” Maya Sahni screamed. Shirwani was 
taken aback by her retort and went silent. Suddenly, the atmosphere 
became chilly as though they were chilled by a snake bite ...and there 
was complete silence for a while. Maya was trying to engrave something 
on the chair with her nail. Shirwani rose and said. “You must forgive 
me, Maya! You are my sister which is why I could dare to speak so 
freely with you, else before others, I do not...” “Why don't you enter 
politics...?” With a wry smile on her face, Maya said. Shirwani did not 
answer, bade good bye and left the room...! 

Six 

Pulling of strings has its own elements of joy. 

The storekeeper handed over the cash of rupees five thousand and
Shirwani felt the thrill of it. Whatever gifts Shirwani's subordinates 
gave him occasionally he took them as a matter of right. They made him 
happy, but this amount of rupees five thousand...? This had afforded 
him a different kind of joy. There was an element of guilt in it. He 
was aware of whatever went on in the store, but now with the acceptance 
of this money he had given the storekeeper a free hand in committing 
more irregularities. He had assured Shirwani that he would keep meeting 
him from time to time and had also informed him that Zenith Pipe 
Company's RR had been received and that the shortage certificate from 
the railways for short supply made the last time was also received. 
Shirwani smiled. It appeared to him that he had become Kamal Nath 
Mandal of the water supply department. 

But soon the joy of pulling strings turned into a pain giving collar
band. The very next day a FAX message was received that CM was paying 
visit to Hasanganj. 

Has it ever happened that CM enters the wash room and there is not a
drop of water...? 

This happened at Hasanganj... 

Hasanganj is surrounded by small hills on all sides. No river flows
here. Water level is very low. Hand pumps and wells dry in summer. 
Water is always a scarce commodity here. In the south at a distance of 
ten kilometers there is a hill with several caves around. There are 
some inscriptions in Pali language engraved on the walls of those 
caves. Maybe, Buddhists lived here in the past. On top of the hill 
there is an old temple of Lord Shiva. It is difficult to say when the 
temple was built. It is said that there was a Fakir by the name of 
Hasan who remained seated on the steps of the temple. Once during 
Shivratri fair there was a great rush. There was no water anywhere. 
People were dying of thirst. It is said that Hasan Fakir rubbed his 
heel on the ground with great force and shouted. 

“Shankar...! Open up your locks...! How long will you let your devotees
die...?” 

And lo! Water gushed forth from the earth. The place came to be known as
Hasanganj thereafter. Till recent times the water was available there. 
After independence, RSS organized a camp there. They wanted to take 
water up with the help of pump. 

This activity led to drying up of the source. 

DM got a new rest house built at Hasanganj and for water supply he had
entrusted the task to a private institution. No assistance was sought 
or taken from the water supply department. But even after installation 
of pump, water did not reach up to the tank. DM then asked Shirwani to 
make arrangements for water supply to the rest house. 

Kamlesh Darpan also sent him a message that though the laying of
foundation for tower was cancelled, banquet in the Panchayat Bhawan was 
on and Shirwani was expected to contribute his mite. 

Contribution...meaning thereby a slap of rupees fifty thousand...! 

Rahiman dekhe badai ko laghu na dinijiye dari... 

The poet Rahim had advised: do not despise the small on seeing the big. 

It was after all the Liberty sandal that provided the necessary respite.
Ramcharitar Paswan suddenly appeared in the office. 

“Pranam, Sir.” “Pranam!” “CM is coming, Sir.” “I know.” “CM will
distribute blanket.” “And the banquet...?” “CM is not attending the 
banquet.” “Why?” “Minority class votes will slip out of his hand.” “Why 
so?” “Kamlesh Darpan is a Samata Party MLA. Samata party is sitting in 
the lap of BJP. If CM attended the banquet, it'll be construed that the 
high command has entered into an understanding with the BJP.” “He was 
asking for assistance from me.” “Don't pay any money, Sir, else you'll 
have to pay on regular basis.” “But some assistance will have to be 
given.” “Get the Panchayat hand pumps repaired and make functional all 
those hand pumps that have been installed along the road side.” 
Ramcharitar smiled. There was a sparkle in his eyes. It occurred to 
Shirwani that he was going to make him pay for this advice... And he 
placed forth his requisition. “Sir...! My watch is broken. If only you 
were kind enough...?” “Sure...!” Shirwani smiled. “Don't you worry, 
Sir! Kamlesh Darpan will have his say.” “O.K....!” “My watch...?” 
Shirwani fished out a one hundred-rupee note from his pocket and gave 
him. “Thank you, Sir.” Ramcharitar was happy. 

CM was to come the next day. The early morning, Shirwani together with
his junior engineer and mechanic reached the rest house. 

Shirwani got irritated. Pipe fitting was carried out in a highly
non-technical way. A four hundred-gallon tank was perched high up on a 
mound which was connected with the rest house through a pipe, but the 
laughable thing was that delivery pipe was fitted at the rising point 
and rising point was fitted at delivery point. Ramesh Yadav burst into 
laughter. 

“Sir...! DM has taken his cut.” “Pipes will have to removed and
re-laid.” “That'll take time.” “No choice, else water will not reach 
there.” “Its' almost the time CM arrived. Hurry up...!” 

Local officers' vehicles began to stream in. Some political
personalities had already arrived. Party workers were also present in 
large numbers. Security wing of the BMP had taken their position in the 
premises of the rest house. Tents were put in place in the adjoining 
field where the commoners were seated to await the arrival of their 
messiah. 

The messiah will descend from above and will distribute blankets. 

It was 12 o'clock. The high bright sun was up in the sky. Pipe network
was almost complete. Only a T-connection was to be fitted. Kamlesh 
Darpan was not visible anywhere. But Ramcharitar Paswan was in the 
thick of it all. Shirwani saw him and smiled. A local leader came close 
and said. “What's happening?” “Nothing.” “The marriage party has 
arrived at the door and they are sowing the seed now.” Some more 
leaders thronged around the Tubewell. “You people start your work at 
the eleventh hour.” “CM has all but come.” “Zindabad...zindabad...!” 
Suddenly, the atmosphere charged up with slogans. 

Ghurr...ghurr...ghurr...the helicopter was descending down to land. The
commoners ran towards the chopper. The security personnel took up their 
position. 

“Stop...stop...move back...move ...!” 

CM disembarked from the chopper. 

“Zindabad...zindabad...!” “Messiah of the poor, zindabad.” 

CM looked at the gathering once and waived his hand, but did not make
victory sign. Instead, he hurriedly moved towards the rest house in 
long strides. He was in a tearing hurry. There was a mark of pain on 
his face which was suggestive of something happening in his belly. In 
fact, he was in a hurry to attend to nature's call. Almost sprinting, 
he hustled himself to the toilet...and the inevitable happened. CM 
attended to the nature's call and opened the tap. There was no 
water...and there was a veritable earthquake. 

“Where's the DM...BDO...DDC...bastards...sons of bitch...parasites...!” 

BDO fainted. DDC was shivering. DM too got worried. Two buckets of water
was fetched from a hand pump installed outside and somehow sneaked into 
the wash room. 

“Who's the engineer of the rest house?” The local leader pounced on
Shirwani. “CM did not get water and you playacting here.” “When you 
cannot provide water to CM, how can you provide it to the people?” 
“What can I do? DM got a faulty work done.” Shirwani protested. “Were 
you then plucking radish for this long?” “File an F.I.R. against him.” 
“Tie a rope across his waist and take him along.” The security guard 
arrived. “CM is calling you.” Shirwani's face turned white. “He's gone 
now...” “No one can save him.” “Now pluck radish in jail....?” 
Ramcharitar Paswan came close and whispered into his ears. “Fall on the 
feet of CM.” Shirwani looked at him with intense hatred and with 
trepidation in heart proceeded to the altar. The butcher sat half nude. 
He had only loin cloth tied across the lower part of his body. There 
were beads of sweat on his chest. An idea suddenly invaded his mind 
like lightning....MY...Oh Allah...if only MY message was somehow 
conveyed...just somehow...! And Shirwani in the traditional Muslim way 
offered salute and disclosed his name. 

“Huzoor! This lowest of the low goes by the name of Fahimuddin
Shirwani.” While disclosing his name Shirwani peeped into the eyes of 
the butcher in such a way as though he was trying to tell him... “Do 
you understand...! I am ...'M'...!” “Huzoor! Tehre's a minor fault in 
the pump. I'll rectify it immediately. Water will be available right 
away.” In reply the butcher took his palm up to the neck like a 
hack-saw used for cutting fodder and said,” you won't give water to 
me...? To me...? Shirwani leaped up...MY has been communicated...good 
communication...you won't give water to me...? To me...? I saved the 
life of you people, otherwise what is your status...? You lowly 
fellow...? At every nook and corner you people are butchered like lamb 
and goat...how dare you...? Your neck will be crushed under the wheels 
of Ram's chariot. It is we who ensure your security and you will not 
cast your vote for us...? You won't give us water...? No water to 
us...? And suddenly Shirwani ejected. 

“Water...? What is this water, Lord...? You ask for our blood...! We'll
give you our blood...!” “Wow! Bravo!” “The fella is smart...!” And the 
butcher burst into a peal of laughter. “Ha...ha...ha...ha...!” 
Everybody was stunned. What mantra did Shirwani employ that the angry 
CM turned so affable? Shirwani himself was amazed as to how such words 
could flow out of his mouth. CM was constantly laughing. When he 
finally stopped, he said, ”what did you way was your name...?” 
“Fahimuddin Shirwani.” “Shirwani!” CM surveyed him from top to bottom. 
Then he spoke, with a smile. “Shirwaniji...! You do your work with 
ease.” Shirwani gave a bow as he saluted him and walked out as if he 
was floating in air. 

When Shirwani returned to Jahannagri he was in a jubilant mood. The rest
house spectacle was enacting again and again before his eyes and the 
laughter of CM was reverberating in his ears, especially the honorific 
ji suffixed to his name by the CM while addressing him. 

This word ji had created a hell of a storm in his mind. He seemed to
have been engulfed by the pall of mist and someone from the high 
minaret close by was calling out his name continually...with Dhanchoo 
looking at him meaningfully: sometimes smiling and sometimes rocking 
his neck in a circular way. Shirwani felt that Dhanchoo was aware of 
some mystery that was soon going to unravel itself. 

Once he indicated towards the distant sky...”bhaiya...bhaiya...the
minaret...!” A majestic and gigantic minaret in one of the democracies 
of the Arab people which was swinging like a snake in Dhanchoo's dream 
had appeared in the form of a rainbow before the eyes of Shirwani. 
Shirwani seemed to be trembling... 

The steps to the minaret were under the pall of mist and the high
command was beckoning him to come. 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...!” 

It appeared to Shirwani that ji was a licence that the high command had
presented to him to enable him to make it to the minaret. 

It was just about the time when Advani was cleared of the charge of
Hawala and gradually everyone else was cleared too...so much so even 
the communication minister who was caught with scores of currency notes 
amounting to rupees one crore from under his pillow was acquitted too. 
On the hills he floated a new party of his own and became a minister in 
the coalition government led by BJP. 

They are invincible...Shirwani thought...the play-actors of
democracy...they are the masters...we the slaves...be is Hawala or 
Fodder scam...even the whiff of air cannot touch them...if there is any 
shelter to be found anywhere, it is under their feet...! 

Shirwani's eyes were blinded by the sparkles of the minaret in a
democracy of the Arabs...if only he could make it to that...then the 
leash will be in his hand and the collar band in India's...only...only 
an entry in the house is required...! 

There were two ways of making it to that house...! 

The first was election... 

The second was a short cut route for which the party high command made
nominations. 

The mist cleared and then Shirwani saw the path to the minaret was laden
with silver...and someone called out... 

“Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji...” Shirwani waved his hand, made a victory
sign and murmurred slowly. “Will pave it with gold bricks.” And a 
mysterious smile spread out on his face. 

An incident occurred those days. A small time leader visited his office
during lunch time. 

“Assalamalaikum!” “Alaikumsalam!” “The insignificant being is called
Sultan Hyder Josh.” “Glad to meet you.” Shirwani shook his hand. “I am 
the block secretary of the youth wing of the party.” “Please...!” “A 
mosque is being built in our locality.” “Matter of happiness!” “Be kind 
enough to instal a hand pump there.” “It's not within my power.” “I had 
come with great hopes.” “The fact of the matter is—we cannot instal any 
pump anywhere on our own. The government has given this power to the 
people's representatives.” “Make some donations for the mosque.” “Got 
it constructed within a year...” Shirwani smiled. “I am also a member 
of the corruption committee.” The youth stared at Shirwani as he said. 
Shirwani startled...collar band...? “I know pretty well what goes on in 
the office.” “What goes on in the office?” Shirwani got angry. 
“This...three five that you people indulge in.” “We indulge in three 
five.” “Exactly.” “And mother-fucker what you do? Sixty-one 
sixty-two...?” Shirwani ejected spontaneously. The youth was not 
expecting this kind of reply. It unnerved him. Shirwani too had not 
expected, but soon he realized the youth had been cornered was 
rattled...and he seized the occasion to lay complete siege on him...and 
he thundered...”bloody parasite...! Came to blackmail?” 

CM addresses him as Shirwaniji and this bloody small-time leader... 

Shirwani planted a resounding slap on his cheek...the youth was
stunned...! On hearing the commotion, the peon came running. On the 
beckoning of Shirwani, he picked the lad by his arm, pulled him out of 
the chair and dragged him out. A mysterious smile once again spread out 
on Shirwani's lips. 

The youth was shouting at the top of his voice—“will see this
Executive...will drag him to the court...!” “Do whatever you wish to 
do...now go out...!” The pushed him. The youth had come to know what 
his real worth was. 

Shirwani was smiling in the same way. He was surprised no ends and was
wondering what a dramatic turn the entire event had taken...! And this 
did not happen spontaneously...! Its implementation was done 
politically. Just as a politician first schemes it up and then 
implements it. He thought it was necessary to dominate and became 
dominant. Shirwani looked at his hands. His nails appeared to have 
become sharp...and the hands seemed to have become hirsute... 

Away from the velvety mist someone appeared to have been occasionally
calling out his name...”Shirwaniji....Shirwaniji....!” 

Of hemlock Shirwani appeared to have drunk with the pall of intoxication
enveloping him... 

How should the high command have reacted...?  “Muslim beating up a
Muslim...ho...ho...ho...!” 

This was a kind of incident that brought about a sparkle of confidence
in the eyes of Shirwani. The sting of collar band seemed to have lost 
its bite. Shirwani could not help thinking that he has nails and he can 
very well hold a chain in his hand...the only condition is—he should 
somehow make it to the minaret... 

A majestic minaret symbolizing democracy comprising of the Arab
population.... 

And in the lobby hyenas laughed and the honourable justices were worried
as to how to put a check on the activities of these...? 

The elections days were nearing and criminals were getting dissolved in
the politics just as sugar got dissolved in milk...! 

On the orders of the honourable court, the election commission directed
that the candidates in fray should give details of their property 
before filing nomination papers and should also file an affidavit that 
they were not involved in any criminal activity and that there was no 
criminal case pending against them in any court of law. 

The leopard smiled...hyenas laughed...wolves roared...horses, donkeys,
pigs all huddled together and unanimously resolved ‘NO'. “It is not 
necessary for the politicians to reveal their past.” 

And it is during such times when Mrs. Chugani develops strong urge for
sex. She was then watching TV. When the news came that all the 
parliamentarians had unanimously rejected the proposal of the election 
commission, she had the feeling of ants crawling on her person. She 
closed her eyes... members of different parties holding one another's 
hand were seen peeping through the corridors of power. Mrs. Chugani 
thought for a while that they did not allow passage of the women's 
bill...they kept opposing each other on smaller or trifling issues, but 
when their own interest was at stake, they forgot all differences and 
came together to fend off attacks. 

Mrs. Chugani had a strange desire of having group sex...with the eyes
closed, she was visualizing herself in the parliament...right in the 
‘well' of the house. 

There was commotion in the house. A Samata Party representative was
untying the knot of his dhoti. “It is not necessary for the politicians 
to file affidavits.” And one by one everybody began to shed clothes... 
One leader came running and stood up on the reporters' table. “First 
prove our guilt.” “Yes...yes...first prove our guilt.” The house echoed 
with voices coming from all around. “So long as the court does not give 
its verdict, no politician can be called criminal.” “And the crime 
should be of serious nature.” “Scam is not a serious crime.” 

Mrs. Chugani noticed a judge in the house. Seated close to him was an
administrative officer. On seeing Mrs. Both of them smiled and took 
position by her side, each standing on either side of her. Then both 
one by one fondled her posterior...! Mrs. Chugani smiled. “Oh, what a 
scene? Judiciary on one side and administration on the other!” “Enjoy! 
Do what you wish.” “Whatever you wish...! Both judiciary and 
administration are together.” 

One leader took out his dhoti and deposited it on the chair and then
began to slap the inner side of his thigh as if to challenge for a 
wrestling bout. Mrs. At once recognized him. He was a BJP MP and was 
caught in letter of credit scam. He was screaming: “Communal riot is 
not a serious crime.” “Mob carnage is not a serious crime.” “Scams 
committed by the politicians is not a serious crime.” “Then what is a 
serious crime?” Mrs. Chugani clung close to him. The MP pulled her down 
on the floor and mashed her breasts under his knees as he said— “If I 
were to rape you now, it will be a serious crime.” “But remember if you 
are raped in the mob, it will not be called a serious crime.” “Why?” 
“Imagine, you are a nun in a church and I rape you when there is mob 
around, then this is the reaction. The village head will demand there 
should be a discusion on religion and then the story will end...!” 

Mrs. Chugani looked amiably at the politician. She felt like kissing
him... 

“Discussion on religion...?” “I have heard this earlier too...? I
remember it now...! Someone from the mob had once attacked cross with 
trident. The sharp end of the trident had pierced into the cross. It 
began to spill blood like a fountainhead, but there was not a drop of 
blood on the trident...not even the part of the trident that had 
pierced through the heart remained free from the mark of blood. “ 

“Dear me! Trident does not get blood-stained...” “You cannot identify an
individual in the mob.” The judge gave a slap on the buttocks of Mrs. 
Chugani. “Sanjay Dutta caught because he was alone. He would not have 
been caught if he were in the mob. He was caught because he had an AK 
47 in his hand. If he had a trident, he would not have been caught. At 
least BJP would certainly have given him a ticket to fight election. 
Remember! Blood cannot smear a trident...if you are in a mob and you 
have a trident, you can do anything...you can burn down a complete 
locality...you can tear open the belly of a woman and spear the child 
within on its head by your sword...you can burn alive a Christian 
priest. You'll not be called a murderer. This act of yours will be 
termed as reaction...what else the village head will say...?” 

“The village head will say there should be a discussion on the
religion...” 

The officer groped the breast of Mrs. Chugani and began to laugh. 

“What happened to one of your breasts?” 

“Ha...ha...ha...this has become UTI scam.” The MP began to laugh. 

The finance minister darted in and said. 

“Escaped from the Mauritius route...Mauritius route...!” 

The MP shoved his hand inside the blouse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Searching for the route.” 

Mrs. Chugani moved her between the thighs of the finance minister. 

“Your sensex...?” 

The finance minister blushed. 

And Mrs. Chugani suddenly cried out. 

“Arrey...it's hanging on three thousand...?” 

“Hon'ble finance minister! It had closed at six thousand a year ago and
now it has dropped down to three thousand...?” 

The finance minister kept his head down. 

“Why don't you speak, the government with a difference...?” 

“One thousand crore vanished through Mauritius route...?” 

“This includes the money of my peon who had withdrawn money from his
G.P.F.” 

“It's a great feat, Mr. Finance minister! US 64 transported to Mauritius
in one stroke!” 

Mrs. Chugani went close up to the finance minister. 

“You're great! Make love to me...government with the difference...?” 

“Kiss me...you are really great...!” 

The finance minister began to kiss Mrs. Chugani. The judge clung to her
legs and the administrative officer hid his face into her belly. Mrs. 
Chugani began to breathe heavily. Her body was shaking violently and 
suppressed sound was emanating from her mouth...”wonderful 
coalition...no affidavits...first prove the 
guilt...accused...accused...accused...fled from the Mauritius 
route...fled...fled...!” 

“Where are you lost, Madam...?” Mister Chugani mildly stoked her cheek. 

Mrs. Chugani opened her eyes, looked around and sat up... 

The election commission announced the election
schedule...third...sixth...and tenth March...! 

The news spread like wild fire that Maya Sahni had resigned from BJP.
Kamalnath Manda resigned from Dalit Morcha and joined Samata Party and 
Mrs. Chugani took up the membership of BJP. 

If Maya Sahni had not turned the pages of her dictionary, she would not
have resigned from BJP. What enraged her was the definition of the word 
‘dusadh'...as a low caste in Hindu that rear pigs...vile...wicket...and 
hypocrite...! Maya recalled that it was Adam Sahib who had compiled 
dictionary wherein the word ‘dusadh' was defined as ‘a special caste 
that reared pigs'. Mister Adam was not a Hindu, therefore he did not 
understand caste equations and differences...he called ‘dusadh' a 
special caste, not ...mean or vile...but these Brahmins...? They always 
see us as mean and vile...and this Sridhar Tripathi went a step further 
and described us as ‘an extremely low caste'...! Why...? Why low...why 
mean...why vile...in the Puranas pig is regarded as the reincarnation 
of Vishnu...then how those rearing up pigs could be low, mean or 
vile...? And why wicked and hypocrite...? Are low caste people wicked? 

Maya Sahni's heart was filled with intense hatred...! These Brahmins...?
They always imposed their superiority on others by saying that this 
system of high and low caste was an eternal system. They will ever 
remain the pure and we the impure...! She was angry with herself for 
having remained in this party for such a long time and identified 
herself with the upper caste people...someone is shudra, then why this 
inferiority complex...? Ambedkar also suffered from this inferiority 
complex. He referred to shudras as Suryavanshis, the descendants of the 
Aryans. He regarded shudras as part of the Kshatriya clan. This is 
inferiority complex. Why should we align ourselves with the Kshatriya 
clan...meaning thereby that we are from low caste and that is why this 
urge to be identified with the upper caste...? This is what the 
Brahmins did...called us shudra dn proved their superiority. Ambedkar 
was a coward. He could not stand up to primogeniture and escaped to 
Buddhism. He regarded himself as low caste and fell in his own 
estimation. He was of the view that it was not possible to fight 
Brahmanism by remaining Hindu. He was wrong. Ambedkar found a shelter 
for himself in Buddhism, but left behind an entire generation to fend 
for themselves. A fight turned into escapism... 

Brahmanism must go lock stock and barrel...Brahmanism must be negated
from every aspect of life... 

Maya submitted her resignation from BJP. 

When Shirwani received a phone call from Maya he could not contain his
glee and sprang up in joy. “Really...?” “Really...?” “And that 
thread...?” “Got disentangled...!” “Can't believe this...?” “Will tie 
it on your wrist.” “Come down!” 

Shirwani welcomed Maya. Dhanchoo too was glad to see Maya. His eyes were
wet... “Didi...Didi...!” He indicated towards the distant sky. “Tell me 
something!” Maya asked joyfully. Dhanchoo suddenly became glum, went 
back to his room and rolled out. “What did he say...?” Maya asked 
Shirwani. “He indicated towards the distant sky...means you are getting 
your promotion.” “I have got to praise you at least for one thing.” 
“And what's that?” “Your political acumen!” “What's that?” “You were 
absolutely right when you said that Brahmins may fight with the Muslims 
because of Mahmood Gajnavi, but why will dalit Hindus fight with 
Muslims? Dalit will fight the Brahmins on the question of Manusmriti.” 

Shirwani smiled. 

“The backward do not understand this.” “They will have to understand.”
“I want to build an organization.” “What organization?” “So long as the 
dalits and the depressed class do not come together nothing will 
materialize.” “Unity amongst the backward castes is difficult...there 
are far too many castes...it's difficult to bring them together.” 
“That's true.” “Yadavas and Kurmis cannot become one. They do not 
consider themselves as backward. You can call them upper caste among 
the backward castes. Kurmi and Rajput can come together, but not Yadav 
and Kurmi.” “So long as we do not come on to one platform we cannot 
fight fascism.” “There are two poles now...BJP and the secular 
forces...!” “But a gradual shift of Muslims towards BJP is also 
discernible.” “Hindu religion is endangered when the caste system is in 
danger. Brahmanism mentally exploits dalits and the backward class. 
That killing of Brahmin is a sinful act is planted assiduously in the 
minds of the low caste people. “ “Do you remember how in a locality of 
the upper castes forty Bhumihars were mowed down in one night?” “Yes.” 
“One Brahman was let-off there saying they did not want to commit the 
sin of annihilating a Brahmin.” “We have to spearhead a movement that 
will eliminate Brahmanism from its very root.” “It's not that easy.” 
Maya said enthusiastically. “It will be possible when we will take 
control of their religious seats of power. We'll have to seize these 
controlling points. They are centres of power. So long as they remain 
elusive, it would not be possible to change this primogeniture.” “It's 
exceedingly difficult.” “We have to produce our own Brahmins. We have 
to create institutions where the dalits will be imparted lessons on 
religious matters. They will have to be made priests. They should be 
the substitutes of the Brahmins in the society.” Shirwani began to 
laugh. “Meaning thereby that we destroy one Brahmanism to start a new 
one...dalit Brahmanism.” “What else is the way out? BJP wants to bring 
back Brahmanism once again and that is why it wants to amend the 
constitution. The constitution is caste-centric. All castes are 
integrated in it. That is the reason why BJP considers secularism a 
malaise.” “Just remember one thing! Not all upper caste people have 
that mentality. The likes of Ram Mohan Roy, Vidyasagar, Gokhle and Ram 
Manohar Lohia always opposed fascism. We have to take such people 
along. People will join and the caravan will keep growing...” 

A brief silence ensued whereupon Shirwani asked. “Will you join Dalit
Morcha?” “I'll fight the election as an independent candidate. I want 
to continue my association with social institutions too...schools, 
colleges and sundry social service providing institutions that offer 
techno training facilities to dalits...where coaching facilities are 
available to cater to the needs of dalits.” “Why didn't you think of it 
earlier?” Shirwani smiled. “These people did not afford me an 
opportunity and kept using me.” “So much hatred all of a sudden?” “On 
reading dictionary!” Maya started to laugh. Shirwani too began to 
laugh. “Just think, Shirwani! When Brahmins got hold of the word 
‘dusadh' the centuries-old hatred got compressed into it. They write 
“exceedingly low caste...wicked...vile and hypocrite...! Why did they 
define us as ‘ exceedingly low caste' ...” They could well have 
described us as ‘people of special caste'; this would not have been 
that disrespectful, but the hatred nurtured for over thousands of years 
find a way out to express itself.” 

“You left them at a time when it will hurt them the most. You're a
firebrand leader. You know many of their secrets.” 

“The problem with the BJP is that it sees every issue from the angle of
the Hindus. Therefore, along with Ayodhya it will also rake up the 
controversial issue of mosques at Kashi and Mathura. So much so, even 
the Kashmir issue far from being an issue of national integrity is, for 
it, an issue of Hindu and Muslim divide. They have Muslim agenda. Hindu 
is not an agenda with them. The party seems to be obsessed with Muslim 
complex. In such a situation it does not appear to be fit for 
democratic set-up. This is a fascist party. It does not have a 
democratic temperament.” 

“So long as the BJP was a small party, it was possible to ignore and
form alliances with other parties and make a government. But now it's a 
big party. The regional parties should come together to keep it away 
from power, else it will devour all of these parties.” 

“BJP does not have so much strength at present to bring about the
envisaged changes in the constitution, but when in power it can fuel 
religious sentiments making it difficult to constitutionally run the 
country as it did by bringing down the Babri mosque. As long as BJP is 
in restricted to a province, there is a hope that centre will 
intervene. But once it occupies power at the centre, it will create 
such an atmosphere where all democratic values could be razed to the 
ground because BJP wants to alter the constitution...meaning thereby 
the rights of the minorities will be trampled upon.” 

“Therefore, the minorities and the dalits should come together.”
Shirwani smiled. “And those of the backward classes who can come 
along...” “What do you think, will BJP come to power?” “Fascism is 
rapidly growing all over the world. In our country it is growing in the 
form of BJP. In the next one or two elections the BJP will come to 
power.” 

And Maya grew emotional. 

“Shirwani! We have to do a lot. There is little time, the task is
arduous.” “I am with you.” Shirwani was serious. Dhanchoo came out of 
his room. “Should I ask Bhaiya...?” Maya asked for Shirwani's 
permission. ”Ask him.” Shirwani replied. Dhanchoo came and sat close by 
whereupon Maya turned to him. “Bhaiya...! Want your blessings.” 

Dhanchoo suddenly melted down. For a while he kept looking at Maya. Then
he placed his hand over her head and read out a couplet. 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

{There was just one green pasture on this forlorn head This too they
could not tolerate and turned it red} 

Shirwani was distressed at this stance of Dhanchoo. Dhanchoo went inside
his room, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I could not understand.” Maya too was saddened by the turn of events.
“This is his style.” Shirwani said with a wry smile. “I'll go now.” 
Maya said rising from the chair. “I'll introduce you to Pandeyji.” “Who 
Pandey?” “He's my subordinate. He's married into a dalit family. He's a 
man of a very mature mind. He will be ideal for your organization.” 
“Okay... bye!” “Bye.” 

Seven 

These are election days. 

And in the BJP camp the arrival of new personages was going on like
religious rituals. Yesterday, it was the former medical officer of 
AIIMS. Today it is a retired general of the army...film actors are also 
arriving. The trident has pierced the hand of the congress. Some of the 
old congressmen have taken a liking to the saffron colour. Samata was 
already in the alliance. In the BJP camp there were fruits, there were 
flowers, there was the sunshine and also a fresh whiff of air. These 
are election days...strategies are being worked out. The chief 
secretary of the state is about to retire. Director General of Police 
is also scheduled to retire this very month, but the high command 
applied its mind on the matter. Services of both key officials are 
extended by a year. Both of them are gentle persons. They do not ignore 
the orders. It will now be possible to have officers posted at vantage 
points. 

The election commission has put road blocks. Give account of day-to-day
expenses and do not campaign on loudspeakers...? Who cares for 
loudspeakers...? This is era of electronic media. Now films will be 
made and cassettes will be released. BJP head office is full of 
activities. People have gathered in large numbers outside the 
conference hall. Some taking puff on cigarettes and some loitering 
about anxiously and some just running helter-skelter with bags in their 
hands. They have come to bag contractual orders for BJP's election 
campaign. Last time an advertisement company of the task force had 
bagged the contract. A seventy-second film was released in which Atal 
ji was the hero...Atal ji shown reciting poem. The films made this time 
will also be shown on cable TV. Doordarshan allotted only one hundred 
twenty-two hours of campaign slot. Private channels will have to be 
engaged. Problem with Zee and Star channels is they accepted payments 
only in dollars. Three hundred cassettes will be distributed in the 
state. Last time's budget was rupees eight hundred crore. This time it 
is raised to twelve hundred crore. Congress has fixed its budget at 
rupees eight hundred crore. The main issue is to project the Italian 
lady...? The contracted company has designed some posters. Two films 
each of half-hour duration are being readied. Songs of Udit Narain and 
Kavita have already been recorded. RJD will fly pigeons. Last time it 
had flown parrots. The election commission has objection to pigeon. 
RJD's cultural wing has made a film and three audio cassettes. But the 
thing that added colour and flavour to the campaign was the dance of 
bar girls...ear tops in the shape of lantern... 

“Piya more... Dilli me baro lalten...!” 

But smaller parties have to depend on print media and on processions and
rallies. Now, there is no issue...neither corruption nor 
secularism...all issues are dead. In the election campaign there is 
need for a magical personality. RJD now felt the need for Dilip Kumar. 

The bugle is sounded... 

Nominations will be filed by 16th February. Yogendar Singh, Bhanu Sharma
and Sultan Miya filed their nomination papers from inside the jail. 
What if the cases of arson and murder are filed against them? The 
honourable courts have not delivered any verdict and did Atal ji not 
say that every saint has a past and every criminal a future? Vinod 
Togadia filed his nomination papers with massive fanfare. His 
procession of retinues traversed through the highway. Togadia adorned a 
sword-like sharp cap...aboard a chariot...mark of vermilion on his 
forehead...escorted by motorcyclists...motor cars...elephants...and 
camels...horses...duly accompanied by band players...Champa Bai dancing 
kathak...Togadia ji laden with flowers moving with the security 
paraphernalia...women watching from atop the roof of their 
dwellings...children counting the number of 
vehicles...one...two...three...four...! Last time Togadia ji had 
covered the distance on foot...this time he is on a chariot. Slogans 
reverberating in the sky...zindabad...zindabad...a child too joined the 
chorus...kamal chhap zindabad. 

The Italian lady is disturbed. She needed an aircraft with the capacity
of seating twenty-five people which the BJP has already booked. The 
cost of hiring an aircraft is rupees one lakh per hour. BJP has hired 
two sixteen-seater Dakota aircraft and three helicopters. But the 
daughter of the poor will make do with C:90. The sister of the poor 
will make do with a sixteen-seater Dakota. The Italian lady will have 
to endure a seven-seater aircraft. The cost of hiring it is rupees one 
and a half lakh per hour. 

When the Italian lady is on a campaign she eats only sandwiches and sips
coffee. 

In the Birsa lawn the tribal people saw the Italian lady...she was
waving her hands and people were swinging...her daughter too waved her 
hand and a youth almost swooned as though of hemlock he was drunk...she 
looked at me and waved her hand...! 

The Italian lady speaks haltingly and carefully. She is the daughter of
mother India. On the mention of her husband she becomes sentimental. 
India is the mark of her husband. It is her attachment to India that 
has brought her this far. She has no lust for any position of power. 
Now she has begun to talk of our country and our culture too. Alluding 
to the killers of Gandhiji she said that they sweet-talked people to 
mislead them. She talks about the growing violence in Jammu and Assam. 
She talks about the growing poverty in Bihar but refrains from alluding 
to local core issues. A youth jostles his way in...let me how she 
looks...? 

Vote...? Vote to a foreign lady...? These are election days...! 

Suddenly they all of them have become poor and are up against the king.
All of them will remove poverty...all of them will ensure social 
justice...daughter of the poor...sister of the poor...the messiah of 
the poor...even Atal ji had to say, “I am indeed poor...a teacher's 
son...!” 

When the daughter of the poor is on an election campaign, she does not
adorn diamond beads...! She picks up a broomstick and dismounts from 
C:90 aircraft. Women gathered there marvel at the sight. She beckons 
them close. 

“Got the ration card...?” “Getting your pension, aren't you...?” 

The daughter of the poor will sweep off the fascist forces and her
husband will light up lantern in Delhi. 

The retired judge is happy. He has recently joined the party. He
addresses the daughter of the poor as ‘Rajmata'. The word ‘Rajmata' is 
an anathema to the messiah of the poor. This smacks of 
bourgeoisie...like ‘Rajmata Gwalior'... 

The daughter of the poor eats litti and drinks sattu. The messiah of the
poor kisses the earth... he has grown out of the earth...as a fact, he 
is the one who holds his buffalo by horn and climbs on... 

The messiah of the poor is heavily burdened with indebtedness. If he
wins this time, he will liquidate it. He reminds them of where the 
roads are laid...? Someone from the crowd shouts “Where are the roads 
here...? Coal tar has been swallowed...?” The messiah ignores it as if 
it was not heard. Soon his thunderous speech starts. 

“Brothers! This is the land of social justice. Janata Dal's wheel has
become part of Advani's chariot. They are fraudulent people. Mandal has 
been put into a religious receptacle. Fascism cannot sprout here. Never 
make the mistake of casting your votes in their favour, else the 
history will never forgive you...?” 

The daughter of the poor lifts up the lantern and shows it to
people...claps...!! 

Suddenly, a slogan begins to reverberate through the atmosphere... 

“Jeet gaya bhai jeet gaya Garibon ka masiha jeet gaya.” 

The following day they also assemble there to take on might of the
messiah...Kamalnath Mandal...! 

After getting down from the helicopter, he looks around...does not use
the gypsy van parked there...goes on foot up to the pavilion, avoids 
looking into the eyes of the people belonging to the minority 
communities. He wants to convey that aligning with BJP is a mere 
electoral understanding. Their ideology was different. The mandate is 
for a coalition government...he constantly harps on the theme that the 
poor is pitted against the king. His caste is that of the poor...”my 
brethren! Cast your vote...vote is the weapon in the hands of the 
poor!” 

These are election days. 

Behenji, the sister of the poor, enters the locality of the minority
communities in salwar and jumper. Behenji's attire is always spotless. 
When Behenji delivers speech, the veins of her neck swell. 
Loudspeakers, often, fail to match up to her voice. Even before Behenji 
arrives there with her retinue, the Ramna lawn is full and brimming 
with people... 

Behenji always moves in two vehicles. Both of them air-conditioned. On
both sides of the route the party workers are standing in attention 
with their hands folded. Behenji's portrait is the portrait of deity. A 
high perched stage is specially erected for her which is separate from 
the stage of the local leaders. On the table there a silver crown is 
kept. Seeing the crown there, Behenji's eyes get dazzled. She withdraws 
her gaze from there and thunders in the loudspeaker. 

“When the Babri Masjid was pulled down, we shared and stood by your side
in your grief. To raise the level of the poor and the dalits we took 
several steps but the forces of primogeniture always put hurdles in the 
way. BJP wants to bring in Hindu ways of life. That will mean giving 
encouragement to superstition and conservatism. That is why the BJP 
uses shudra and other backward castes as fuel. Brethren! I want to say 
that even congress belongs to the forces of fascism. Congress is 
religiously more inclined towards Hindu ways than the BJP. Operation 
Blue Star and laying of foundation stone for Ram Janma Bhoomi are the 
instances of these.” 

“Brethren! If you make me win with huge margin then not just in state
but also at the centre we will form your government...!” 

The crowd is happy and accords approval by clapping. Behenji's
coronation is done by adorning her with the silver crown and the air 
reverberates with the ear piercing slogans: 

“Nahi chalega, nahi chalega Vote hamara rajya tumhara.” 

These are the election days. The congress has stolen the BJP slogan,”
the great culture of the nation...” 

BJP can feel the pulse of the people. It stole the slogan of social
justice and tagged Ram with bread. The former doctor of AIIMS is now 
with the BJP. He commences his journey after performing rituals and 
offering oblations at the temple. 

The bells at temple begin to ring. Elaborate ritualistic offerings are
made and in the midst of sounding of conch shells Sri Ram's march to 
victory is proclaimed. Sweets are distributed after defeating Pakistan 
in a cricket match and the procession heads towards Lajpat Park. 
Prominent leaders take refuge in bullet proof vehicles. They also adorn 
bullet proof jackets. Their vehicles are secured through remote 
control. Lajpat Park is spilling with people. Some people have climbed 
up the trees. Little known leaders speak first. 

“Muslims are basically separatists. They regard Hindus are kafir. The
only concern of the Muslim society is to protect and establish their 
separate entity. They do not follow family planning measures and keep 
multiplying their number. They hate the expression vande mataram. They 
believe in terrorism. In every part of the world terrorism is on the 
rise. Therefore my friends! Declare with pride that you are Hindu. 
Unite and form your own government.” 

A youth emerges from the crowd and raises slogan. 

“Yah to fakat ek jhanki hai Mathura Kashi baki hai.” 

And finally the tallest leader starts his speech. 

“We have pledged to wipe tears from every eye. We pledge and vow to
bring about smile on every face. Love your Bharat...love its great 
past...protect its ancient heritage. To achieve this objective it is 
necessary for all of us to come together and vote for us. Strengthen 
our hand.” 

These are election days... 

Maya Sahni saddles up her horse as an independent. The firebrand leader
of BJP is now swinging sword against BJP. People have gathered in the 
lawn beside the Ramna Road. Usually, pariah dogs roam here. Filled with 
excreta and other disposables the place reeks of foul smell, but its 
historical importance is not lost on anyone. Ambedkar and Lohia too 
have addressed the people from here. Seventy percent of those who 
inhabit the place are from the backward classes. 

One hour is past...she has not arrived yet...! 

People are getting restive. Everybody is curious whether Maya's fire and
brimstone speech had been replaced by dewy narratives...? 

At long last she arrived... 

With all splendours...accoutered in silk sari...diamond beads as ear
tops...golden bangles in the hands...someone in the crowd quips...the 
dress is like that of a royal lady...she retorts—this is primogeniture 
thought...why the daughter of a dalit cannot wear glamorous dress...? 
She wants to make her voters understand that glamour is not only for 
the elite class. 

Dalits too are entitled to glamour. In the age of consumerism glamour is
a strategy...splendour is an important ingredient today...the dalits 
have to be educated on the importance of wellness and beauty. 

Brethren! 

I did not come here to talk big. I do not even that if I win I will
remove poverty. These are empty slogans. There are no issues left in 
this election...no corruption...no communalism...no development of the 
country. The real issue is the tightening mesh of fascism in which the 
society is writhing in pain and so is politics. Today on the breast of 
history the fascist forces have supplanted their claws. By tying us 
down to conservatism, these forces have exploited us and this we need 
to understand. 

Brethren! In India there are only two types of people: the first is the
primogenitors and the second is the dalit class...! Minorities belong 
to the dalit class. It is important to understand that dalits are not 
fighting against the backward class. They have been exploited by the 
primogenitors. Using religion as a weapon they have established their 
superiority over us. They have exploited us physically, mentally and 
spiritually. 

Brethren! The Hindu society of which the BJP speaks has no place for the
dalits. Even today the low caste cannot enter the precincts of temples. 
Just remember this that dalits will never get their rightful place in 
this society. Therefore, my brethren! We have to come together and take 
our own decisions...! You give your votes to us. We will fight for your 
rights. Remember! Dalits have nothing against the Muslims. Dalits' 
fight is against the primogenitors. We have to remove primogeniture 
from its roots...!” 

Someone shouted from the crowd. 

“She has fled from the BJP.” “I did not flee from the BJP. BJP had
kidnapped me. I have returned to my home.” 

Claps reverberate in the air...”zindabad...zindabad...!” 

Suddenly there is a massive explosion. Maya Sahni is heard screaming.
The stage is filled with smoke. There is a stampede in the crowd. An 
armed youth in red Maruti car...with the blink of an eye, it 
disappears...! 

By the time she made it to the hospital, Maya Sahni's life had come to
an end...!! 

“ek rada jainab ke sir par ab bhi thi sarsabja Wo bhi rang na gair ko
bhaya chheen ke kar diya lal.” 

These are the election days...! 

The skyscraping minaret of an Arabic democracy...is flying before the
eyes of Shirwani like the apron of the beloved. 

Shirwani will pave the way to the beloved's with golden bricks... 

Shirwani has three gold mines. 

The L by three proposal of Ramesh Yadav in the guise of repairs to hand
pumps. 

The list duly signed by the DM authorizing construction of one thousand
toilets which will be constructed only on paper...! 

Short supply of five thousand meter pipes duly certified by the
railways...! 

One by one Shirwani puts his signature of approval on all of them. 

A gift of rupees thirty lakh to the high command... 

The high command is immensely pleased...they see the qualities of a
leader in Shirwani. The next month Shirwani will resign his post and 
the high command will nominate him for the legislative council... 

Dhanchoo smiles. 

Shirwani avoids meeting his eyes. Dhanchoo recites a poem. 

“You can't kill a vulture. You can kill a wolf. Yes, a wild pig And even
a lion. Not die will vulture Dies Doves Swallows And cooing pigeons in 
domes Vultures are perched high on royal forts.” 

Dhanchoo's despondency has been growing by and by. He loiters around
till late at night. Occasionally, he murmurs loudly. 

“Hey, the political dame! Take a grinder and make flour. Dethroned, sit
on the ashes You'll no longer be called soft and tender Nor shall you 
be the delicate beauty. 

Remove your mask, pick your garment. Bare your feet and cross the river.
Your body will be rendered nude, Rather, your vital parts will be 
viewed too.” 

16th March...! 

The storm is past... 

But the gale has not stopped yet. Outside the CM house there are
activities. CM is looking somewhat fagged out. The debate continues as 
to which party will get how many seats...at least one hundred and fifty 
seats will be available...the government will be formed...may have to 
ally with the congress. Paswan played the spoil-sport...whole life the 
fella kept abusing the Brahmins and now he is holding up 
their...power-lust...all afflicted with this disease of power-lust! 

There will be a coalition government at the centre yet again...BJP will
not get more than forty seats. Samata has benefited from it. Has Kurmi 
ever allied with Yadav...? Wow, Janata Dal. The ruptured head rolled 
into the lap of the trident...Kamlesh Darpan will take the Hasanganj 
seat once again...? The bastard is a smart guy...! He has managed the 
Muslim support from the area...Lalitji's son will lose...! Had joined 
BJP...Brahmin that he is...! Dada has also gone out...all stalwarts are 
falling apart. Development is not an issue now. Development no longer 
fetched votes...Vijayji! Oh, you made it! Inhaled lots of dust from 
your area...the youths of the area are like sportspersons...as for us 
if the situation goes from bad to worse, we will get at least one 
hundred and forty seats, not less than that in any case...the cheats 
trimmed it down to fifty...? What is this exit poll...? It's a trick 
played by the BJP...they have bought the media...raised the price of 
kerosene oil...when the onion price shot up, it fell on its face...! 
This time their dhoti will come off...BJP attacks the items of common 
man's use...it's a feudal party...and people do not understand 
this...Hindutwa...? Hindu society...? Great culture...? Is that why you 
pay obeisance to Michael Jackson and drive out Fateh Ali? They are the 
real culprits...threw the Aiyyar Report in the oven...whenever it 
wills, it digs up the cricket field...no one can do anything to them... 


This is the real face of fascism...its spreading fascism like
epidemic...if people do not understand this, it will rule the whole 
country...bastards say the state has been put behind the clock...seated 
as you are in Delhi, why can't you take it forward...? I alone visited 
more than two hundred fifty places...people used to come in great 
numbers...oh Gosh...without food...without water...without a wink of 
sleep...one photographer was amazed to see the size of the crowd...did 
not take press people along this time...who could have carried the big 
bag carriers along...? Took photographs...jumped and fled...it appears 
the photographs got lost in the press...BJP has bought up the media... 

Situation in the south is all right...received the votes of the
poor...there is a Muslim too in the BJP...ho...ho...ho...BJP is using 
him as a weapon...will give him a post and will use this Muslim against 
the Muslims...! The religious groups are like RSS...tell me...! The one 
who could ensure votes were cast, he won the election...the Rajputs 
from the south are with me...these people has already declared Vijay 
Krishna ji as the winner...the business class people have clung on to 
BJP...in fact, the capitalists are with BJP; therefore, the business 
class is also with BJP...! 

The BBC correspondent comes for the interview...the high command rises
and goes in to the drawing room and the correspondent is asked to come 
in too...! 

Eight 

The election results have come...! 

The same coalition government...and BJP emerged as the single largest
party. Regional parties are in the alliance. Congress has been reduced 
to playing the role of the opposition party. The messiah has managed to 
cobble up a government in the state, but had to fall back on the 
congress for support. Kamalnath Mandal has lost the election. Kumud 
Chugani has won. Kamlesh Darpan too managed to save his seat and 
Chamanlal Chanchal won with a huge margin of votes. 

Fahimuddin Shirwani is nominated as the member of legislative council.
His sudden resignation and elevation as MLC came as a big surprise to 
everyone. 

Shirwani having moved in to his MLC flat is somewhat despondent. It
seemed to him that he was held captive in a room the windows of which 
opened only during autumn. The fear in the eyes of Jasimuddin that had 
acquired the shape of a mound deepened further when he shifted to this 
flat...was he going to bring in Zarina here...? And this is what 
annoyed Fahimuddin Shirwani immensely...! What Zarina...? Zarina has 
long been sacrificed at the altar of ego...! During midnight he hears a 
billowing sound emanating from one of the dark corners...! Shirwani 
ignores it. 

Shirwani does not appear very enthusiastic about his new life. Even
though the high command has made him the chairman of Calling Attention 
Committee, the pall of despondency has enveloped him nevertheless. He 
does not even dare to meet the eyes of Dhanchoo. It appears to him that 
he is the vulture...perched high on the royal fort...! What tricks and 
ploys did he employ to become MLC...? Rupees thirty lakh was swallowed 
in one go like marrow from the bone...! This money was for those who 
are below the poverty line...? 

Murder of Maya Sahni is also one of the reasons for his despondency.
This incident has impacted his thought process. 

Dhanchoo says when you have become part of the system, you will survive.
If you oppose the system, you will get killed...and what kind of a 
system is it that it produces sword when you sow flowers...? 

After Maya there was not another political personality with whom he
could relate or interact. He is acquainted with Kumud Chugani but she 
is now with the BJP. 

In the centre, the government is running smoothly. Whatever bill the BJP
wants passed, it gets them passed. Regional parties do not oppose. 
Representatives from all parties are in the government. No one wants to 
raise any matter that could deprive them of their chair. New scams are 
being unearthed regularly in the BJP government, but scams no longer 
amaze anyone. What is amazing is that Kumud Chugani has fitted in so 
well in the BJP...! In the coalition government she has been installed 
as the petroleum minister. Shirwani is surprised. He always looked at 
the credentials of Mrs. Chugani with a degree of suspicion. But when he 
came to know that she had been nominated as member on the board of the 
district selection committee, it appeared to him that someone is 
constantly trying to touch him with fingers dipped in the mound of 
snow...! It made him happy to know that Mrs. Chugani has not forgotten 
him. After all, they belonged to the same class...playing and having a 
jolly time in the corridors of power these political people...! He 
remembered Mrs. Chugani's lips are violet and he has once passed 
through the desire of fondling them, feeling them...Shirwani 
smiled...now the reach will be easier...didn't they belong to the same 
clan...? 

Shirwani faxed her congratulatory message and went to meet her in person
the next day. On seeing Shirwani, she brightened up; even then to 
Shirwani she appeared a little anxious. Every now and then she would 
look down to see her breasts and to arrange her sari...! Shirwani found 
it strange. He noted that there was more than usual protrusion in her 
breast. But he did not find this attractive; rather, this protrusion 
was repulsive to him. She took him to her bedroom...Shirwani entered 
the bedroom with his heart beats rising. There was no change in her 
gait: the same swinging movement of buttocks...rhythmically 
vibrating...! On entering the bedroom, she held him by his hand and 
said with a sense of familiarty—“Shirwani! I am having a problem.” 

Shirwani liked this style. He asked. “What kind of a problem...?” “Now,
how to tell you? You'll laugh when you hear.” “Even then!” “Do you find 
my breasts abnormal?” Shirwani nodded his head in agreement. “Petrol 
has descended in them.” “What?” Shirwani gave a start. “Ever since I 
have joined BJP, petrol has descended in my breasts.” “This is 
strange.” “Just see...!” Mrs. Chugani unbuttoned her blouse...breasts 
looked like blown rubber bags. “Press them and see for yourself.” Mrs. 
Chugani pulled his hand and placed it on her breast. When Shirwani 
pressed, petrol began to flow out and some of it dropped on his face. 
Shirwani retreated in fear...Mrs. Chugani burst into a peal of 
laughter. “Now tell me what to do?” “Enjoy it!” Shirwani said with a 
smile. “You find it funny?” “Petrol is the requirement of RSS. They 
will distribute canisters of petrol together with trident...!” Shirwani 
smiled. 

Tension was writ large on the face of Mrs. Chugani. She contorted her
lips...massaged her breasts...petrol droplets fell into her hand. 

“It occurs I should set things on fire...burn things down...” said Mrs.
Chugani looking into a distant vacuum. Shirwani looked at her in 
amazement. At that point of time she appeared to be inhabiting a 
different world. 

“At how many places will you set things on fire...?” asked Shirwani with
a smile. “At all those places where you'll be seen...!” Mrs. Chugani 
too smiled. And then her face softened as wet. “Come, let me show you a 
thing...!” She held him by his hand and took him to the balcony. “Look 
there...!” Mrs. Chugani indicated towards the road. There was a long 
queue of people. “They are my people...they want petrol pump quota and 
licence for LPG.” “This will be a corrupt practice if you allocate the 
entire quota to your own people.” “What did the congress do...?” “Why 
does BJP always cite the example of congress?” “Who else is the 
competitor?” Mrs. Chugani smiled. “You'll be caught?” “Will be 
acquitted by the Supreme Court.” “Satish Sharma had paid rupees thirty 
lakh as penalty.” “I'll pay too.” “Your quota will be cancelled.” 
“Why?” “This is what had happened the last time. That time also someone 
from BJP was the petroleum minister. He had distributed about four 
thousand petrol pumps amongst his relatives. There was much hue and cry 
forcing the PM to cancel all the allocations.” 

“I too will do that. That's a kind of social justice that we do amongst
our people.” 

Shirwani stayed put with a smile. Mrs. Chugani suddenly grew melancholic
and began to look into the vacuum. After a while Mrs. Chugani asked. 

“Are you happy, Shirwani...?” “Why?” “Maximum scams have occurred in BJP
regime.” “What difference does it make?” “Scams are no longer an 
issue.” “We are all victims of this epidemic.” “In BJP's breast there 
is petrol in place of milk. In the bosom of history the claws of 
fascism are permeated. From text books to the walls of the churches 
fascism is registering its presence.” 

The atmosphere became somewhat tensed up. Shirwani was feeling the
suffocation. 

“The epidemic has spread to the hills of Kargil as well. I had been
there.” 

Shirwani looked at her in utter surprise. 

“I saw the coffin thieves.” “What?” “Come, I'll show you.” She took
Shirwani by hand and moved into the adjoining room. 

There was a coffin on the floor there. 

“The cost of it is rupees five hundred but was transacted for rupees
thirteen hundred.” “Why?” “I was told it was made of aluminium and is 
studded with silver linings.” 

Mrs. Chugani lied down into the coffin. She placed both her hands on her
chest and shut her eyes. Shirwani got scared. 

“Chugani ji...! Please get up...and let me go now.” 

“Let you go...? “You want to know why I am lying here in this coffin and
whether I am not getting to hear the wails of the soldiers...not 
getting to see the dead bodies...I only see profit here...a profit of 
rupees eight per coffin...! Ha...ha...ha...the martyrs of Kargil! The 
more you die the more the profit...ha...ha...ha...ha...!” Mrs. 
Chugani's body began to shake violently...and began to mumble 
incoherently.... 

“Kargil scam...share market scam...letter of credit scam....co-operative
bank scam...urea scam...tehelka episode...government with a 
difference...difference...difference...” 

Dhanchoo is happy in the MLA flat. His outward movements have increased.
Initially when he had come to the capital, he used to loaf around on 
the roads of the capital. Now he has found rendezvous at Gandhi Maidan. 
For hours he keeps sitting near the statue of Gandhi ji. Here he would 
reminisce the stories he had heard during his childhood...the fairy 
tales...especially the one relating to the fairy who was rescued by the 
ancestors and accoutered in silk linen...! But then Dhanchoo would 
start weeping bitterly saying the fairy allowed herself to be disgraced 
and violated...and built for herself a dome in the market. 

Once standing near the statue of Gandhi ji, he recited a poem to the
motley crowd gathered there. 

“Mum recounted stories in the childhood: There was a fairy in the story
A demon And princes galore. 

The fairy held captive by demon And I asked Mum, why is there a demon
always in your stories? Mum laughed and said wherever there was a fairy 
There will be a demon, and There will always be a prince. Mum called 
prince the saviour. 

I remember vividly I shut my eyes in fear. 

Will demon find out where the prince is hid? 

Mum now tells stories to my children. In the story there is a fairy,
There is a demon, But prince no longer there. 

Where has the prince gone?” 

Gradually, Dhanchoo has begun to build a team of his own. Some people
have made it a point to visit Gandhi Maidan to hear him out. Once while 
addressing the motley crowd he shouted loudly. 

“Sabarmati's water has turned red Gandhi you are murdered yet again.” 

The following day Godhra happened. Gujarat soil became red and after a
few days Dhanchoo was arrested under POTA. Shirwani was taken aback. 
The inspector informed that Dhanchoo had the prior knowledge of what 
was to happen at Godhra. How did he know the water of Sabarmati was 
going to turn red and which prince does he keep talking about...? 
Terrorist...? He was waiting for the terrorist...! 

Shirwani understood it was not going to be an easy task for Dhanchoo to
come quickly out of it. He was allowed ten minutes to meet him. 

Shirwani's eyes moistened at the sight of Dhanchoo. But Dhanchoo's face
was lit up. He smiled softly. 

“Bhaiya...bhaiya...how are you?” “Where was the need for that Gandhi
Maidan assembly...?” “I sowed the seeds of flower, it sprouted sword.” 
“I am trying for the bail.” “Nothing will happen.” Dhanchoo nodded his 
head. “Then what should I do?” “The question is no longer of secular 
and non-secular forces. Now the fight is with the fascist forces. The 
epidemic is spreading. You cannot stem the tide of it. This time there 
is a coalition government, but the way fascism is spreading its 
tentacles, the BJP will secure majority in the next election. And if 
BJP tries to change the constitution, there will be civil war in the 
country.” 

Dhanchoo went silent. He kept staring into vacuum for a while and then
said. 

“We can face the situation in democratic ways only...We have to look for
new equations...dalit Muslim equation in which backward castes should 
come together and should come together all of those who are 
economically backward...!” 

Dhanchoo became quiet. Suddenly, his face turned whitish. He looked
vacantly at Shirwani and beckoned him to go. The time was up. With a 
heavy heart, Shirwani returned home. 

After Shirwani's departure, DSP arrived there. Dhanchoo at that moment
was joyously reading the hymns of Maulana Room. DSP stared at him with 
wild eyes. Dhanchoo looked at the DSP with intense hatred. DSP found 
his stare piercing. 

“What were you reading?” DSP's voice was sharp. “Nothing!” Dhanchoo
answered back with the same amount of acerbity in his voice. “Which 
class have you read up to?” “Matric!” “Who do you work for?” “For no 
one.” “When was Godhra planned?” In response Dhanchoo stared at him. 
DSP asked him sternly. “Who else is with you?” “No one.” “You knew what 
was to happen in Godhra?” Dhanchoo remained silent. “Tell me something 
about your likes and dislikes...which colour do you like?” “Colour...?” 
“Yes, colour...!” Dhanchoo thought for a moment... “Rosy...! Pt. Nehru 
liked rose.” “That is Nehruji's liking.” “I too like rose colour.” “Any 
other colour?” “Yellow is also good.” “And...?” “I like green too.” 
“Green colour...? Bastard, Pakistani terrorist...?” Slap...”Bastard! 
Will spread terrorism...” Slap...”attack on the parliament...hoist flag 
at Red Fort...” Slap...slap...slap... “Mother-fucker, green 
colour...bastard, terrorist”...slap...slap...!! Rained him with kicks 
and slaps...!! 

By the morning, Dhanchoo breathed his last...! The long battle against
fascism has begun...! 

Shirwani has a mission...! Identification of non-fascist
forces...bringing them together on one platform...Shirwani along with 
his secular friends has laid the foundation of an 
organization...”Dhanchoo Institute of Social Reform”. It has three 
branches: educational, cultural and political. The sole objective of 
the Institute is to protect the social and political rights of the 
oppressed... 

Shirwani begins this fight against fascism right from his home. At
midnight he hears a wailing voice. 

Shirwani holds his ears...!! 

He called in Ramesh Yadav and explained to him the politics of his home
and handed over a suitcase stacked with cash. Ramesh Yadav goes to 
Jasimuddin with the suitcase. 

“Haji Saheb has sent me. He has returned your money and has sought to be
forgiven.” 

The age-old mound of ego formed into an icicle began to budge... 

We can kill evil with evil. Our evil is better than your evil. 

Shirwani turned the wheel of his car towards the house of Haji
Barkatullah...!!!


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