A Fine Balance Part 50

"You think the goondas will come back tonight?" said Om.

"Ibrahim gave us forty-eight hours' notice," said Dina. "So maybe tomorrow night. Listen, even though I am going to ask my brother's help, our chances are not very good. The time is so short. And who knows what will happen? I don't want more fighting here. Tomorrow morning, you must take your belongings and leave. Later, if everything is fine, you can return."

"I was thinking the same," said Ishvar. "We will go to the night-watchman. And Maneck can try at the hostel."

"But we must keep in touch," said Om. "Maybe we can sew in your brother's house. Other companies will give you business, even if this one cancels."

"Yes, we'll do something," she said, not having the heart to tell them Nusswan would forbid it. "But you shouldn't depend only on me, you must also look for work elsewhere."

Maneck was silent as they persevered to rescue the shreds of their livelihood. Not all their skills with needle and thread could sew it together again, he thought. Did life treat everyone so wantonly, ripping the good things to pieces while letting bad things fester and grow like fungus on unrefrigerated food? Vasantrao Valmik the proofreader would say it was all part of living, that the secret of survival was to balance hope and despair, to embrace change. But embrace misery and destruction? No. If there were a large enough refrigerator, he would be able to preserve the happy times in this flat, keep them from ever spoiling; and Avinash and chess, which soured so soon, he would save that too; and the mountains of snow, and the General Store, before it all went gloomy, before Daddy became unrecognizable, and Mummy his willing slave.

But it was an unrefrigerated world. And everything ended badly. What could he do now? The thought of the hostel was more nauseating than ever. And if he went home, the fighting would start with Daddy. There was no way out, it was checkmate for him.

"Listen, the cats have stopped screaming," said Ishvar. "So quiet now." They strained to hear. The silence was as perturbing as the screeching had been.

The tailors had a quick early-morning wash before the tap went dry. There was no telling when they would have again the luxury of a bathroom. In their immediate future they could only see alleyways and standpipes.

Maneck was not in a hurry. His lip was better today, the swelling reduced, and his headache was gone. He sat around listlessly, or moved from room to room as though searching for something.

"Come on, Maneck," said Dina, "it's getting late. Do something, pack your boxes. Or go to the hostel first, see if they have a place for you."

He returned to his room, pulled the suitcase out from under the bed and opened it. When she looked in a few minutes later, he had the chessboard set up, and was staring at the pieces.

"Are you crazy?" she yelled at him. "Time is running out, you have still so much to do!"

"I'll do it when I feel like it. I'm an independent person, even if you are giving up." He deliberately picked the word she used when talking about herself.

It stung, but she ignored it. "Big talk is easy. We'll see how independent you are when the goondas come back and break your head open. One beating wasn't enough for you, it looks like."

"Why should you care? You are packing up and leaving, not even showing a little regret."

"Regret is a luxury I can't afford. And why should you make such a long face? You would have gone anyway, when you finished your diploma. If not now, then six months later." She left the room angrily.

Ishvar left the trunk he was packing on the verandah, and came in. He sat on the bed, putting his arm around him. "You know, Maneck, the human face has limited s.p.a.ce. My mother used to say, if you fill your face with laughing, there will be no room for crying."

"What a nice saying," he answered bitterly.

"Right now, Dinabai's face, and Om's, and mine are all occupied. Worrying about work and money, and where to sleep tonight. But that does not mean we are not sad. It may not show on the face, but it's sitting inside here." He placed his hand over his heart. "In here, there is limitless room happiness, kindness, sorrow, anger, friendship everything fits in here."

"I know, I know," said Maneck, and began putting away the chess pieces. "Are you going to meet the night.w.a.tchman now?"

"Yes, we'll fix up with him and return. To help Dinabai pack her things."

"Don't forget to give us your hostel address before leaving," said Om. "We'll come see you there."

Maneck emptied out the cupboard and folded his clothes into the suitcase. Dina looked in with a word of praise for his quickness. "Can you do me a favour, Maneck?"

He nodded.

"You know the nameplate on the door? Can you get the screwdriver from the kitchen shelf and remove it? I want to take it with me."

He nodded again.

Ishvar and Om returned with bad news. The night.w.a.tchman had been replaced, and the new man wanted to have nothing to do with the tailors' old arrangement. In fact, he thought they were trying to take advantage of his inexperience.

"Now I don't know what to do," said Ishvar wearily. "We'll have to go searching street by street."

"And I'll have to carry the trunk," said Om.

"No, you mustn't," said Dina. "You'll hurt your arm again." She offered to take the trunk with her to Nusswan's house, pretend it was part of her belongings. The tailors could come to the back door whenever they needed clothes. It was a big house, she said, Nusswan would see nothing, he never went to the kitchen unless he was on one of his inspection and economy rampages.

"Listen, I know where you two can sleep," said Maneck.

"Where?"

"In my hostel room. You can sneak in at night, and sneak out early every morning. Your trunk can also stay there."

While they were considering the feasibility of his idea, the doorbell rang. It was Beggarmaster.

"Thank G.o.d you've come!" Ishvar and Dina rushed to welcome him like a saviour.

It reminded Om of the way Shankar, whimpering on his rolling platform, had fawned over the man when he had appeared at the irrigation project. He squirmed at the memory. How proudly Ishvar and he had proclaimed then to Beggarmaster: We are tailors, not beggars.

"What happened?" asked Dina. "You said you would return yesterday evening."

"Sorry, I was delayed by an emergency," he replied, enjoying the attention. He was accustomed to being apotheosized by beggars, but the veneration of normal people was far sweeter.

"This wretched Emergency creating trouble for everyone."

"No, not that Emergency," said Beggarmaster. "I mean a business problem. You see, after I left you yesterday morning, I got a message that two of my beggars, a husband-and-wife team, were found murdered. So I had to rush there."

"Murdered!" said Dina. "What evil person would kill poor beggars?"

"Oh, it happens. They are killed for their beggings. But this case is very peculiar money was not touched. Must be some kind of maniac. Only their hair was taken."

Ishvar and Om started visibly, gulping.

"Hair?" said Dina. "You mean from their heads?"

"Yes," said Beggarmaster. "Cropped right off. Husband and wife both had lovely long hair. Which was very unusual. The lovely part, I mean most beggars do have long hair, they cannot afford haircuts, but it's always dirty. These two were different. They used to spend hours cleaning it for each other, picking out the nits, combing it, washing it every time it rained or a water pipe burst on their pavement."

"How sweet," said Dina, nodding in empathy with Beggarmaster's tender description of the loving couple.

"You'd be surprised how much beggars are like ordinary human beings. The result of all their grooming was, of course, this beautiful hair. And it was not good for business. I often told them to mess it up, make it look pathetic. But they would say they had nothing in the world to be proud of except their hair, and was I going to deny them even that?"

He paused, considering the question afresh. "What could I do? I'm softhearted, I gave in. Now those beautiful tresses have cost them their lives. And deprived me of two good beggars."

He turned to the tailors. "What's the matter? You both look very upset."

"No not upset," stammered Ishvar. "Just very surprised."

"Yes," said Beggarmaster. "That's what the police were as well surprised. They had been receiving a few complaints, that long plaits and ponytails were disappearing mysteriously. Women would go to the bazaar, do their shopping, go home, look in the mirror and find their hair missing. But never anything like this, no one was ever killed or injured. So the detectives are very interested in my beggars' case. They love variety. They are calling it the Case of the Hair-Hungry Homicide."

He opened the briefcase secured to his wrist and took out a thick wad of rupees. The chain jangled as he counted the notes. "Getting back to business here's the money to cover your damage. You can start working again."

Ishvar deferred the responsibility of accepting the cash to Dina; his hands were shaking violently.

Clasping two thousand rupees, she still found it hard to believe Beggarmaster had defeated the landlord. "You mean we can stay? It's really safe?"

"Of course you can stay. I told you there would be no trouble. Those men made a mistake."

The tailors nodded rapidly to transfer their conviction to Dina. "Only one problem," said Ishvar. "What if the landlord sends new goondas?"

"While you pay me, the landlord won't find a single man to come here. I have seen to that."

"And when the instalments are paid up?"

"That's up to you. Our contract can always be renewed. I'll give you good rates, you're Shankar's friends. And oh yes, Shankar sends you his greetings. Says he hasn't seen you recently."

"With all this landlord trouble, we haven't gone to Vishram for a few days," said Ishvar. "We'll meet him tomorrow. And, I was wondering, how are Monkey-man and his two children?"

"Good, good the children I mean. They're learning fast. Monkey-man I haven't seen again. I haven't been back to the work camp. But he was beaten up too badly, probably dead by now."

"The old woman's prophecy has almost come true, then," said Om.

"What prophecy?" asked Beggarmaster.

The tailors described the night in the hutment colony, when Monkey-man had discovered his little monkeys slain by his dog, when the old woman uttered her cryptic words. "I remember exactly what she told us," said Om. "'The loss of two monkeys is not the worst loss he will suffer; the murder of the dog is not the worst murder he will commit.' And later, he did kill Tikka to avenge Laila and Majnoo."

"What a horrible story," said Dina.

"Pure coincidence," said Beggarmaster, "I don't believe in prophecies or superst.i.tions."

Ishvar nodded. "And are the two children happy without Monkey-man?"

Beggarmaster flipped his unchained hand in a who-knows gesture. "They will have to get used to it. Life does not guarantee happiness." He raised the same hand in farewell and began walking out the door, then stopped.

"There is something you can do for me. I need two new beggars. If you see someone who qualifies, will you let me know?"

"Sure," said Ishvar. "We'll keep our eyes open."

"But there has to be a unique feature about the candidates. Let me show you." From the briefcase, he removed a large sketchbook containing his notes and diagrams relating to the dramaturgy of begging. The binding was well-worn, the corners of the pages curling.

He opened the book to an old pencil drawing t.i.tled Spirit of Collaboration. "Here's what I have been trying to create for a long time."

They crowded around to look at the sketch: two figures, one sitting aloft on the shoulders of the other. "For this, I need a lame beggar and a blind beggar. The blind man will carry the cripple on his shoulders. A living, breathing image of the ancient story about friendship and cooperation. And it will produce a fortune in coins, I am absolutely certain, because people will give not only from pity or piety but also from admiration." The hitch was in finding a blind beggar who was strong enough or a lame beggar who was light enough.

"Wouldn't Shankar be suitable?" asked Maneck.

"Without legs, and only quarter thighs, he could never balance upon someone's shoulders he would slide right down the back. I need a cripple whose legs are not amputated, but lifeless and mutilated, so they can dangle nicely over the carrier's chest. In any case, Shankar is very successful with his rolling platform. We don't want to spoil that."

They promised to watch out for Beggarmaster's requirements. He said he would appreciate any suggestions. "By the way, you know the two goondas who came with your rent-collector?"

"Yes?"

"They have sent their apologies for not being here to clean up the mess they made."

"Really?"

"Yes. They had an unfortunate accident broke all their fingers. Who knows, if they have a few more accidents they may even qualify to join my team of beggars." He was pleased at his own wit, and they returned weak smiles.

"Now you really must excuse me," he said. "I have to go and look after my two murdered beggars."

"Will you cremate them today?"

"No, that's too expensive. When the morgue releases the corpses, I'll sell them to my agent." Seeing their shocked expressions, Beggarmaster felt obliged to justify his action. "With rising prices and inflation, I have no choice. Besides, it's much better than leaving the bodies in the street for the munic.i.p.al workers, like in the old days."

"Yes, of course," agreed Dina, as though she bought and sold cadavers on a daily basis. "And what does your agent do with the bodies?"

"He sells some to colleges, to teach students who want to become doctors. Just imagine, my beggars might partic.i.p.ate in the pursuit of knowledge." His face took on a visionary aspect, gazing out the window to a limitless horizon. "Some bodies are also bought by pract.i.tioners of black magic. And a lot of bones are exported. For fertilizer, I think. I can find out more if you are interested."

Dina shook her head to decline the offer.

Beggarmaster left a chill in the air as he departed. "We must be careful with that man," she said. "What a peculiar fellow. And that briefcase chained to his wrist a slave to money. He looks capable of selling our bones before we're finished with them."

"He's just a thoroughly modern businessman, with his eye on the bottom line," said Maneck. "I saw many like him in the cola business, when they came to meet Daddy, pressuring him to sell off Kohlah's Cola."

Ishvar shook his head sadly. "Why are business people so heartless? With all their money, they still look unhappy."

"It's a disease without a cure," said Dina. "Like cancer. And they don't even know they have it."

"Anyway," said Maneck, his spirits rising again, "Om is the only one who needs to fear Beggarmaster. There could be a genuine mistake about a walking skeleton."

"You better be careful too," retaliated Om. "Your healthy mountain-grown bones, watered by the pure melting Himalayan snows, will fetch more by the kilo than mine."

"Enough of this ghoulishness," said Dina.

But Maneck was unable to curb his silly talk, relieved that the household was preserved. "Just think, Aunty. Now that we have gleaming teeth cleaned with charcoal powder, they must be worth a lot. We could sell them individually or by the dozen. Maybe as a necklace."

"Enough, I said. Laughing aside, this fellow is someone to be careful of, remember."

"As long as he is paid on time, there is nothing to worry about," said Ishvar.

"I hope so. From now on I will pay half the instalment, since he is protecting me as well."

"Never," said Ishvar indignantly. "That's not why I mentioned it. You don't take any rent, so this is our share." He refused to be budged on the matter.

They went to the sewing room to calculate how much rest.i.tution was due to Au Revoir Exports. He whispered that it was good to see Maneck and Om laughing and joking again.