An Obedient Father (24 page)

Mr. Mishra was the next person to arrive. I felt such relief at seeing him that I hugged him even before he had paid the autorickshaw driver. "I've been calling Mr. Gupta every day to have him sign something and he hasn't been calling back," Mr. Mishra said. "When I phoned tonight, a servant told me."

I described what I had seen, and we waited outside together. "I am glad my son has no political ambitions," Mr. Mishra said at one point, but mostly we were silent. I wondered why Mr. Gupta was taking so long.

We were about to go in and check on Ajay when, one after the other, perhaps ten cars and poHce jeeps pulled up before the morgue. The boy who parked for Mr. Gupta popped out of one and began lining the vehicles in a row along the road.

Mr. Gupta came to me and Mr. Mishra and thanked us for coming. He was wearing the suit he had worn at the prayer. We, along with Mr. Mishra, several BJP men, police officers in khaki uniforms, and five or six of Ajay's relatives whose names I did not know, moved together into the morgue.

Ajay was on a table on the second floor. The technicians had tugged a white short-sleeved shirt onto him, and they must have sprayed water inside his mouth and orifices, because drops kept slipping from his nose. The water somehow made Ajay appear more dead.

The stench was undiminished. My eyes teared from it, but perhaps from politeness, of the fourteen or fifteen men there, no one covered his mouth or nose. We stood around Ajay for several minutes. Mr. Gupta and Ajay's father-in-law, a tall Sikh with a loose white beard and a shirt pocket full of pens, stood closest to Ajay. His father-in-law was the only one crying, in slow sobs, like a candle beading as it melts. The BJP men whispered among themselves. A neighbor of Mr. Gupta's, a businessman, had taken off a heavy metal watch and was jiggling it in a loose fist. Two of Ajay's brothers-in-law, boys about seventeen and nineteen, leaned against a wall and looked at everything but him. Mr. Gupta kept turning his head from side to side, as if he was waiting for someone else to take charge.

I had to betray Mr. Gupta soon, I thought, or I would be betrayed. Here was a man who could not scare people away from killing his son. How was he going to win an election?

"He can't be taken home this way," Mr. Gupta finally said calmly, "he should be put in formaldehyde."

"Formaldehyde won't stop the smell," a technician answered. "The only thing that will stop the smell is a special coffin."

The BJP men stopped talking. The brothers-in-law looked at Mr. Gupta. But no one said anything for a while. "Shall we arrange the

coffin?" I asked. Mr. Gupta appeared lost again. The only alternative was to take the body directly from the morgue to the crematorium.

Ajay's father-in-law said, "Yes, do it." He had a rich British accent.

For several minutes the crowd stood still as Mr. Gupta watched the body. The doctor was supposed to come and reassure them that Ajay's body would receive the best possible care. I did not want to stay for this. I told Mr. Gupta that I had to return home. He did not acknowledge what I said.

Mr. Mishra left with me, and when we were outside, he hugged me. "Be careful," he whispered, "you are better than these thieves." The road was empty and all the shops had closed. We walked half a kilometer or so to the nearest bus stop. We did not speak. Mr. Mishra hugged me again before he got into his bus and I into an autorickshaw.

At home the tapped telephone made me think of Ajay, and the phone became pregnant with danger. Once Mr. Gupta lost the election, the BJP would not continue to protect him. He had no history with them. His ability to raise money would cease once corruption charges were brought against him. Congress might even have him killed. Because I had raised the Congress money which Mr. Gupta stole and because I had managed the sale of school lands, there was no way his fall would not include me.

I lay on my cot and imagined disappearing with the campaign money I would be found eventually and, if not, then the BJP's and Congress's anger would focus on Asha and Anita.

Congress was not as dogmatic as the BJP and would be easier to buy protection from.

Mr. Maurya was eating lunch by himself in his office, a small air-conditioned room. From the name printed on the paper napkins on his desk, I could tell that the food had been brought from a restaurant. When I sat down across from him, he said, "My wife is a vegetarian and won't eat with me if I am having

meat." I smiled and nodded. "Will you come with me to Mr. Gupta's?" he asked, pulling off the last piece of flesh from a chicken bone and depositing the bone into a polythene bag with other bones. I was dressed in a white kurta pajama, ready to join Ajay's funeral procession.

"It's a tragedy," I said, and then, waiting a beat, "The boy caused so much trouble for his father."

Mr. Maurya considered this. "My leg is bad, so I can only walk a short while with Ajay."

I was encouraged. I again paused for a moment and said, "We are going to lose the election."

Mr. Maurya put the napkins in the bag and knotted it.

"If we are frank, it appears that way."

"What will Congress think of you for having worked with the BJP?"

"Sometimes you make mistakes." His allowing me to question him was promising. "The BJP will take Delhi municipality but will lose the Parliament seat. Congress will be angry for a while, but in time it won't be so bad."

"I want to protect myself" Mr. Maurya watched me. "My daughter just became a widow. I need to take care of her and my granddaughter." He remained silent. "You have friends in Congress who could help me," I said.

Mr. Maurya sighed and moved the bag to one end of his desk. "Friendship is just a word, Mr. Karan."

"I can pay Congress if they promise not to have me jailed or bring corruption charges against me." I did not want promises to be made to me. People either need to have a history together or need to be equals before promises between them count. My hope was that promises would be made to Mr. Maurya.

He could give Congress an enormous donation and claim that he had convinced me to betray Mr. Gupta in exchange for amnesty. Mr. Gupta's money would give Mr. Maurya more clout than the same amount donated from his own pocket.

"My business is local. I can't anger the BJP."

"The BJP knows Mr. Gupta is going to lose. Him against Rajesh Khanna. All they wanted was to put up some candidate against Rajesh Khanna. I'll pay the BJP, too. They'll be happy to get whatever money they can from his campaign and let Mr. Gupta go." Mr. Maurya sat back in his chair. "Friendship is just a word. Nobody expects your heart, Mr. Maurya." He did not say anything. "You've done a good job for Mr. Gupta. Now he is losing. That doesn't mean you haven't done a good job or that you should drown with him."

"How much money can I give Congress?"

"Seven lakhs."

"A nice amount." After a moment Mr. Maurya said, "I can help."

I reached into the plastic bag I had brought with me and pulled out one of the two bundles of bankbooks I had prepared. "Withdraw the money quickly."

Mr. Maurya took the bundle, put it in a drawer, and said, "We have to go separately to the funeral."

I thought Anita would be impressed by how well I was managing Mr. Gupta's betrayal.

Thirty or forty women in white saris were seated on Mr. Gupta's courtyard floor. There were about a dozen men, also in white. A tent roof had been put up for shade. Some of the people looked too poor to be Mr. Gupta's relatives and must have been servants recruited to make the mourning grander. The doors to one of the rooms that bordered the courtyard were open and I could see a gray steel coffin on the floor. The coffin was surrounded by more men and women in white. I did not know many Christians, so this was only the second or third coffin I had ever seen. It was half a meter deep and narrower on one end than the other. It appeared to be such an example of technology that it felt inappropriate. Some of the gathering were crying, but most were quiet and attentive. Servants in white were edging through the veranda pouring water from steel pitchers into glasses. Outside the house poor children stood barefoot and watched, in case food or used clothes might be distributed.

As I waited to see if a servant would direct me, I saw Anita leading Pavan into the room with the coffin. Anita had an arm around Pavan and they were taking small steps together. The crowd parted to let them get to the narrow part of the coffin. Anita eased Pavan down. When one of Ajay's brothers-in-law had called earlier and told me the time of the funeral procession, Anita had been specifically invited.

Mr. Maurya appeared, did not acknowledge me, and went and sat against a courtyard wall.

I entered the room with the coffin. There was no smell. Pavan was sitting hunched down into her knees. Anita saw me and came over. "The doctor gave her an injection," she whispered. "A calf has tried getting into the house the last few days and Pavan began saying it was Ajay reborn. We told her that the calf was at least six months old, but Pavan became crazy."

"What happened to the calf?"

"One of her father's friends has a farm and they've taken it there in case it actually is Ajay."

Mr. Gupta, Ajay's father-in-law, and the two brothers-in-law appeared. Again the crowd parted to let them get beside the coffin. They were all dressed in white kurta pajamas. They stood near the coffin not talking. Anita's face grew still and concentrated. "Ajay must have fought. Who can let his throat be cut?"

I went up to Mr. Gupta, but he did not appear to recognize me.

"Come," Ajay's father-in-law said, and one by one, with Mr. Gupta last, they stooped to pick up the coffin handles along its sides. They lifted it to their shoulders, which made me think that the coffin could not be as heavy as it looked.

As soon as the body was lifted, the women both inside the room and in the courtyard began wailing. Then, together, instantly, they stood. When the men took their first steps, the women mustered in front of them. Some of the women shook their hands while crying as if their fingertips were burnt. Others pressed their temples between their hands. The men attempted to move again, but the women would not budge. Mr. Gupta's and Ajay's father-in-law's faces were blank, but the brothers-in-law looked afraid. A few of the men in the room began moving the women out of the way. The noise was so great that I could hear only a few words of what these men were saying.

In the courtyard the coffin again became completely surrounded by women. They did not budge as they shouted, "What shall we do now?" or "Save us, God!" or "Why are you leaving us?" Mrs. Gupta appeared to be pushing Mr. Gupta so that he would drop the coffin. After a moment of standing in this frenzy, the coffin retreated.

A few minutes later it was again carried into the courtyard. Some men tried opening a path through the women, but the women kept filling whatever gaps were forced. Again the bearers began retreating. As they did, Mr. Gupta's wife shouted at Mr. Gupta, "You're a man. Push us out of the way." Mr. Gupta sobbed and stood still. A man grabbed Mrs. Gupta and shoved her stumbling out of the coffin's path. Others began doing the same to the rest of the women.

The weeping became enormous and inconsolable. I moved into a corner.

The coffin was finally carried out of the house, with its bearers quickly chanting, "God's name is Truth." About twenty-five men followed, also repeating this. It was so hot and bright that everyone was squinting. I was one of the last to join the march. Mr. Maurya was not far from me.

The house we left behind was wailing. Pavan had begun beating her head with her fists. Mrs. Gupta stood behind Pavan, with her arms wrapped around Pavan's stomach. Anita was sobbing.

The farther we got from the house, the quicker we walked. The poor boys trotted along, watching us silently. People came onto the balconies of their houses to look. Mr. Maurya accompanied the procession for a block and then got into a car. There were three groups. Directly behind Ajay's bearers were family and friends. Behind this was a smaller bunch of BJP men. Last was the largest group, neighbors and business acquaintances.

Mr. Tuli was among the BJP men. He had such a quick walk that his white hair seemed an affectation. Mr. TuH was high up enough in the BJP that he could commit the party to a decision. I moved over to him and after saying "Namaste" did not wait for him to return the greeting. "Ajay brought it on himself," I said. "He must have been taking money and making promises, and maybe the people who gave him the money realized he couldn't keep his promises." I think some irrational part of me just wanted to finish the betrayal and so had set me jabbering.

Mr. Tuli kept repeating, "God's name is Truth," but he looked at me.

I was leaning over slightly, like a pimp whispering, "Girl. Girl." "In India," I said, "it doesn't matter if you were powerful once, or famous once. That's why there are these once-rich businessmen, like the Biscuit King, who get murdered in police custody You have friends only as long as you are powerful." We had slowed down as I spoke, and now people were bumping into us. We sped up.

"It depends on the kind of friends you make," Mr. Tuli said.

I wondered if he was indicating willingness to offer friendship. "I believe in the BJP." Fear gave my voice more fervency than I had intended.

"Of course you do." We were looking into each other's eyes as we moved at almost a trot.

"I am a poor man who's had to raise three children on a peon's pay. Three daughters. Would you condemn a man for stealing to feed his family or marry his daughter?"

"You have two daughters, not three."

"But my son is stupid and so is dependent like a daughter." Mr. Tuli did not say anything to this. "God's name is Truth," I cried.

"I can't help you."

I knew the disgust in his voice could not last. "Mr. Gupta has lost the election. I have given Congress the money we stole from them. Less than we stole. I will give you the rest of Mr. Gupta's money if you promise no one in the BJP will hurt me or my family"

Mr. Tuli grimaced. "I've been loyal till now. I am only in trouble because I believed in the BJP. You don't want Mr. Gupta representing you. He's dirty all over. I am giving you his money. You can withdraw your support of him, and people will think the BJP is honorable not to back a corrupt candidate. If you don't help me, I'll have to trust in Congress."