second nature to him. He shouted even when there was no need. His rawhide throat thrived on it, and I was finally able to give mine a rest.”
He stopped to offer her a cough lozenge; she declined. He popped one in his own mouth. “Such plans I had, to expand, to open branch offices in every big city. I envisioned buying a helicopter and training a unit of Flying Sloganeers. Wherever there was a strike or unrest, whenever a protest march was required, one phone call and my men would descend from the sky, banners at the ready.”
The entrepreneurial gleam in his eye faded with reluctance. “Unfortunately, during this Emergency, morchas and demonstrations are banned by the government. So for the past year I have sat on this broken bench, armed with my law degree. The circle is completed.”
He crunched up the half-sucked lozenge, having run out of patience with shifting it from cheek to cheek. “How much I have lost, in describing the circle. Ambition, solitude, words, eyesight, vocal cords. In fact, that is the central theme of my life story — loss. But isn’t it the same with all life stories? Loss is essential. Loss is part and parcel of that necessary calamity called life.”
She nodded, not quite convinced.
“Mind you, I’m not complaining. Thanks to some inexplicable universal guiding force, it is always the worthless things we lose — slough off, like a moulting snake. Losing, and losing again, is the very basis of the life process, till all we are left with is the bare essence of human existence.”
Now Dina grew extremely impatient with Mr. Valmik. This last bit sounded like a lot of tiresome nonsense. “The snake has a brand-new skin underneath,” she cut him off. “I would prefer not to lose my flat, unless a new one will rise in its place.”
Mr. Valmik looked as though he had been struck in his diaphragm. But he recovered quickly and smiled, appreciating her argument. “Very good. Very good indeed, Mrs. Dalai. That was a poor example I gave. And you caught me. Very good. And a good sense of humour too. One of the drawbacks of my profession is the total lack of humour. The Law is a grim, unsmiling thing. Not Justice, though. Justice is witty and whimsical and kind and caring.”
He picked up his signboard and packed it away, stowing the brick under the bench till he should need it again. He dusted its red powder off his hands and declaimed, “I will arise and go now, and go to write this plea, and a convincing petition build, of words and passion made.”
The strange diction made her regard Mr. Valmik curiously. She wondered if she had chosen the right lawyer after all.
“Don’t mind me,” he said. “I’m inspired by the poet Yeats. I find his words especially relevant during this shameful Emergency. You know-things falling apart, centre not holding, anarchy loosed upon the world, and all that sort of thing.”
“Yes,” said Dina. “And everything ends badly.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Valmik. “Now that is too pessimistic for Mr. Yeats. He could never have written that line. But please come to my office, day after tomorrow, and I will bring you up to date.”
“Office? Where?”
“Right here,” he laughed. “This broken bench is my office.” He tenderly patted the pen he had reinserted into the plastic sheath. “Mrs. Dalai, I must thank you for listening to my story. Not many people have the time these days to indulge me. The last opportunity I had was a year ago, with a college student. We were both on a very long train journey. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Valmik.”
After he left, a fresh group of youngsters became engrossed in plundering the mango tree’s sparse green treasures. Their effort and excitement were amusing to observe. Dina sat for a few minutes longer before starting back to her flat.
A police sergeant and constable were joined in argument with two men over the question of the padlock on the front door. The scene had been rehearsed frequently in Dina’s mind; she felt no sense of crisis. One phase of life was concluding, another beginning. Time for the latest instalment, she thought. A new patch in the quilt.
She recognized the two men, the landlord’s goondas. Their hands looked so different, she realized, thanks to Beggarmaster. The fingers were bent in grotesque ways, misshapen, of incongruous lengths, as in a child’s drawing. The man was dead but his work lived on.
“What is it, what do you want here?” she bluffed.
“Sergeant Kesar, madam,” he said, plucking his thumbs out of his belt where he had stuck them aggressively while addressing the goondas. “Very sorry for the trouble. There is an eviction order for this flat.”
“You can’t do that. I’ve just come from my lawyer, he is applying for a court injunction.”
The bald goonda grinned. “Sorry, sister, we were first.”
“What do you mean, first?” She appealed to Sergeant Kesar: “It’s not a race or something, I have a right to go to court.”
He shook his head sadly; he had a long professional acquaintance with the goondas, and was waiting for the day when they could be put away in the lockup. “Actually speaking, madam, there is nothing I can do. Sometimes the law works just like a lemon-and-spoon race. The eviction has to take place. You can appeal later.”
“I might as well bang my head against a brick wall.”
The goondas agreed with her, nodding sympathetically. “Courts are useless. Arguments and adjournments, testimony and evidence. Takes forever. All those stupid things are unnecessary under the Emergency.” His partner rattled the padlock, reminding the law to get a move on.
“Please, madam,” said Sergeant Kesar, “will you open it now?”
“If I refuse?”
“Then I would have to break the lock,” he said sorrowfully.
“And what will happen after I open it?”
“The flat will be emptied out,” he murmured, shame making his words indistinct.
“What?”
“Emptied out,” he repeated a little louder. “Your flat will be emptied out.”
“Thrown out on the pavement? Why? Why do they behave like animals? At least give me a day or two so I can make arrangements.”
“Actually speaking, madam, that’s up to the landlord.”
“Time has run out,” said the bald goonda. “As the landlord’s agents, we cannot allow any delaying tactics.”
Sergeant Kesar turned to Dina. “Don’t worry, madam, your furniture will be safe. I will make sure they treat everything carefully. My constable will guard it. If you like, I can send him to hire a truck for you.”
She found the key in her purse and unlocked the door. The goondas tried to rush in, as though it might spring shut again, but were foiled by Sergeant Kesar’s arm. Like a traffic policeman, he held it up to block them.
“After you, madam,” he bowed, following behind.
The first things they saw were the tailors’ cardboard cartons stacked in a corner of the verandah. The goondas started to take them out.
“Those are not my boxes, I don’t want them,” Dina burst out, directing her anger at the absent ones —
“Not yours? Good, then we’ll take the boxes.”
She put away clothes and knickknacks into drawers and cupboards, trying to stay a few steps ahead of the goondas as they began to carry the furniture outside. Sergeant Kesar waddled about after her, anxious to help. “Have you decided where to transport everything, madam?”
“I’ll go to Vishram and phone my brother. He will be able to send his office truck.”
“Okay, I’ll keep an eye on those two. Anything else I can do while you are gone, madam?”
“Are you allowed to help a criminal?”
He shook his head sadly. “Actually speaking, madam, the criminals are those two, and the landlord.”
“And yet I am being thrown out.”
“That’s the crazy world we live in. If I did not have a family to feed, you think I would do this job? Especially after the ulcers it has given me? Since the Emergency began, my ulcers began. At first I thought it was just
