him towards the fan, threatening to shove him into the blades. He shrieked and howled — out of fear, and also because it was expected of him.
Maneck and Avinash watched their antics for a while, then went upstairs to continue the chess lesson. Avinash’s chessmen were waiting on his desk, in a plywood box with a maroon, high-gloss varnish. Removing the sliding lid, he emptied the box onto the board.
The plastic pieces that tumbled out were crudely moulded; green felt lined their bases. Maneck noticed a sheet of paper face-down in the bottom of the box, and flipped it over.
“Hey, that’s private,” said Avinash.
“Solid,” said Maneck, reading the certificate in admiration: the set had been awarded as first prize in the 1972 Interclass Chess Tournament. “I never knew my teacher was a champion.”
“I didn’t want to make you nervous,” said Avinash. “Come on now, pay attention.”
By the third day Maneck had learned the basics of the game. They were in the dining hall, pondering a problem Avinash had sketched out, with white to play and mate in three moves. Suddenly, there was a commotion in the vegetarian section. Students leapt from their places, tables were overturned, plates and glasses smashed, and chairs flung at the kitchen door. It was not long before the reason for the uproar was learned by the entire dining hall: a vegetarian student had discovered a sliver of meat floating in a supposedly vegetarian gravy of lentils.
The news spread, about the bastard caterer who was toying with their religious sentiments, trampling on their beliefs, polluting their beings, all for the sake of fattening his miserable wallet. Within minutes, every vegetarian living in the hostel had descended on the canteen, raging about the duplicity. Some of them seemed on the verge of a breakdown, screaming incoherently, going into convulsions, poking fingers down their throats to regurgitate the forbidden substance. Several succeeded in vomiting up their dinners.
But there were no fingers long enough to reach the meals digested since the beginning of term. That vile stuff was already absorbed to become part of their own marrow, and the cause of their anguish. They retched and spat and groaned, and spun in circles, holding their heads, crying about the calamity, unwilling to acknowledge that their stomachs were empty, there was nothing left to bring up.
The hysteria found a more satisfying focus when the kitchen workers were dragged out. Smelling of rancid oil and sweat and hot stoves, the six men trembled before their accusers. Their white uniforms carried stains from their labours with the evening’s menu — brown splashes of lentils, dark green streaks of spinach.
The prospect of vengeance acted like an antacid on the violated vegetarian innards. Nausea retreated; the outpouring of bile and vomit and greenish-yellow effluent was replaced by a torrent of verbal violence.
“Smash the fucking rascals!”
“Break their faces!”
“Make them eat meat!”
The threats did not immediately become blows because the six wisely fell to their knees, setting up a loud wailing. Their snivelling and begging for mercy was as hysterically incoherent as the vegetarians’ emetic exertions had been.
Avinash observed the drama unfold for a minute, then pushed back his chair. “I have an idea. Will you look after my chess board?”
“You’ll simply get hurt,” said Maneck. “Why are you interfering?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”
Maneck returned the chessmen to the box, watching from his corner. The kitchen workers and students were still locked in their respective poses: discovered Crime cowering for clemency at the feet of implacable Retribution. It would have been funny were it not for the real danger of the workers being pounded to a pulp. But so far, the invisible line was holding, separating the potential from its realization. Strange, that invisible lines could be so powerful, thought Maneck — strong as brick walls.
“Stop! Wait a sec!” shouted Avinash, putting himself between the frightened kitchen workers and the students.
“What?” they asked impatiently, recognizing their Hostel Committee Chairman and Student Union President.
“Hang on for a minute. What’s the point of thrashing these guys? The crooked caterer is the one to blame.”
“He’ll get the message if we give his workers a pasting. Won’t dare to show his face here again.”
“You’re wrong. He’ll just come with police protection.”
A great opening gambit, thought Maneck — the invisible line reinforced.
Avinash pleaded with the vegetarians, and everyone else disgusted with the food, to join him in lodging a complaint with the college administration. “Let’s do this democratically, let’s not behave like goondas on the street. It’s bad enough that the bloody politicians do.”
Check, thought Maneck. Cleverly manoeuvred.
Some were in favour and some against the suggestion. There was a fresh volley of vegetarian threats, while the kitchen workers responded with a broadside of grovelling and whimpering. But the intensity was starting to diminish in both camps. More voices were raised in support of Avinash’s appeal. The vegetarian offensive gradually fell silent, and the kitchen workers ceased their salvos of weeping, though they maintained their knees in readiness for a swift descent should the need arise again.
Plans were made to organize a large protest outside the Principal’s office next morning. Enthusiasm for the chosen course of action was general by now. Even the strictest vegetarians stopped puking, composed themselves, and went off to undertake their pollution-cleansing ablutions, promising to gather with the others in the morning.
Checkmate, thought Maneck. The invisible line was impregnable.
“I guess you’re what is called a born leader,” he said to Avinash later that night, half-teasing, half- admiring.
“Not really. A born fool. I should stick to my decision — to give up all this and pay attention to my studies. Come on, let’s go upstairs.”
The canteen agitation’s success astonished Avinash and his followers. The Principal dictated a letter of termination addressed to the caterer. The Hostel Committee was authorized to select a replacement.
Now the jubilant students held a victory celebration and grew more ambitious. Their President promised that, one by one, they would weed out all the evils of the campus: nepotism in staff hiring, bribery for admissions, sale of examination papers, special privileges for politicians’ families, government interference in the syllabus, intimidation of faculty members. The list was long, for the rot went deep.
The mood was euphoric. The students fervently believed their example would inspire universities across the country to undertake radical reforms, which would complement the grass-roots movement of Jay Prakash Narayan that was rousing the nation with a call to return to Gandhian principles. The changes would invigorate all of society, transform it from a corrupt, moribund creature into a healthy organism that would, with its heritage of a rich and ancient civilization, and the wisdom of the Vedas and Upanishads, awaken the world and lead the way towards enlightenment for all humanity.
It was easy to dream noble dreams for those few days after the canteen protest. With so much determination and good intention circulating within the student body, numerous subcommittees were created, agenda adopted, minutes recorded, and resolutions passed. The canteen meals improved. Optimism reigned.
Maneck, however, had had enough of it. He wanted his life, and Avinash’s, to return now to their earlier routine. This business of endless agitation was tiresome. He tried to wean Avinash from his new passion, making what he thought was a crafty move: he invoked his friend’s family. “I think you were right. What you said before, you know, about focusing completely on studies, for the sake of your parents, and for your sisters’ dowries. You really should.”
The reminder troubled Avinash, glooming his brow. “I often feel guilty about that. I’ll give up my chairmanship. Soon as these few remaining problems are fixed.”
“What problems?” Maneck was impatient. “In all your meetings you haven’t once mentioned the filthy toilets and bathrooms. Cockroaches and bedbugs should be on the agenda. Mahatma Gandhi wouldn’t have liked your approach, he believed firmly in cleanliness — physical purity precedes mental purity precedes spiritual purity.”
