The vendor took the money and asked, ‘Why would I come back here after filling the oil?’
‘Let your basket be here, now just fly off and get some oil; or else, if a snake bites me you’ll have a murder on you. There is surely some creature there. See, there it crawls . . . it’s gone. Run now, fella, and come back with some oil. I’ll look after your basket. If you are worried about your savings, take your money with you.’
The hawker was in a moral bind now. If he reached for his money, he was afraid Panditji’s sentiments would be hurt. He would think that he was doubting his integrity. If I leave my money there, who knows what his intentions are? People’s motives do change. In the end, he decided to leave his basket there, thinking what was in his stars would be. No sooner had he proceeded towards the bazaar than Panditji gave the hawker’s basket a once-over, and became very despondent. There were very few sweets left; five or six items, from which there was no scope of pilfering more than two pieces each. And there was every chance of his sham being exposed. Panditji thought, How would this scant measure suffice? It would only intensify the hunger; a lion tasting a bit of blood. It’s an unpalatable crime. And he went back to his place and sat down. Yet just a breath later his craving returned. He thought, At least there would be some relief. Howsoever little the food may be, it still is food. He got up and took out the sweets and had just kept the first laddu in his mouth when he saw the vendor retracing his steps with his lamp lit. Panditji had to finish off the sweets before the vendor returned, so he put two pieces together inside his mouth and was chewing furiously when he realized that the devil had come ten steps closer. He quickly took four pieces and gobbled them up half-chewed. Now only six remained, and the vendor had already come up to the gate of the maidan. He stuffed all of them down at once, and found that he could neither devour them nor spit them out. The fiend was still approaching at the speed of a motor-car, shining his light. Panditji hastily swallowed the whole lot. But he was a human being after all and not a crocodile. His eyes watered, his throat choked, and his whole body was seized by wild tremors, and he began to cough violently. The vendor extended the lamp towards him and said, ‘Take this now and have a look. Such a hankering you make for your life, and yet you are sitting on a fast. Even if you lose your life, why do you have to worry, the government would look after your family.’
The enraged Panditji felt like showering curses on the brute, but not a sound escaped his throat. Silently, he took the lamp, pretended to look around, and then returned it.
‘And anyway, what made you decide to tow the government’s line? The panchayat will go on the whole day tomorrow, and arrive at a decision only by night. By then, you’d be seeing stars!’
So saying, the vendor left the place and Panditji, after coughing for some more time, went to sleep.4
The traders began their deliberation early the next morning. Even among the Congressists there was much ado. The officials of the Peace Committee pricked up their ears too. What a nice way this was to twist the arms of the naive traders! The pandits of the town called a separate meeting wherein it was unanimously declared that Pandit Shastri had no locus standi to delve into political matters. What did they have to do with politics, they asked. The whole day went by in these hot debates by the concerned groups, and not one inquired after Panditji. People were heard openly saying that Panditji had taken a thousand rupees from the government to have this ceremony arranged. Poor Panditji spent the night tossing and turning, but when he got up, he felt as if his body was a corpse. If he tried standing up, his eyes would start smarting and his head swimming. It felt as if something was gnawing away sitting inside his stomach. His eyes were glued to the street expecting people coming to pacify him. The time for the twilight prayers went away in such expectation. At this time he was in the habit of having a snack while performing his puja. Today, though, till now his tongue hadn’t even touched water. Who knew when that propitious hour would arrive? Then, a feeling of intense anger started building up against his wife. She must have gone off to sleep last night having eaten a proper dinner, and now must have even had evening refreshments. Yet not even mistakenly had she peeped in here to find out whether he was dead or living. Couldn’t she have, on the pretext of discussing something, brought in some mohanbhog? But is anyone bothered? She took the money and kept it, and would do so again if he got more. He had been made a fool.
So Panditji kept waiting the whole day but nobody came to placate him. What prevented people from doing that was the doubt lodged in their hearts that Panditji had made a give-and-take pact to act out this whole thing, and that he stood to benefit from this hypocrisy.5
It was past nine in the night. Seth Bhondumal, who was the leader of the traders’ delegation, opined in a decisive tone, ‘Granted that Panditji has arranged this show out of his selfish motives, but that doesn’t take away the pain that a living being suffers without food and water. It is against the sacred laws that a Brahmin forsakes his meals for our acts
