Finally, Devyani stepped out of the hall.
She was followed by four or five women, all red-eyed from crying.
She bent down to touch the feet of all of the office staff. They all held their handkerchiefs to their eyes.
Jayant Deosthali was smiling.
She bent down to touch his feet and couldn’t get up.
Her tears fell on his feet.
‘Pappa!’ she sobbed loudly.
Deosthali continued to smile. He wiped her eyes.
‘Arre, Hyderabad is just a few hours away. On the map, it’s just a few inches away. The Russians have reached the moon…’
‘I don’t want to hear all that.’
Devyani stepped away.
The taxis were waiting.
Devyani vanished into one and the vehicles began to move.
Devyani’s arm, with green bangles covering it up to the elbow, was visible for a long time as she waved her goodbyes.
Her mother was being consoled by a few women. The staff members continued to wipe their eyes.
Randive couldn’t hold himself back and burst out sobbing.
Jayant Deosthali continued to smile.
He started laughing.
A little too loudly.
‘Hyderabad is just a few hours away. We can meet whenever we want to. After all, the Russians have reached…’ The laughter brought tears to his eyes.
JOSHI
Vidyadhar’s letter caused shockwaves worthy of a hydrogen bomb. When I read the letter, I shouted,
‘What the hell does he mean? Haramkhor!’
Seeing me in this state, my elder child got scared and the younger one started sobbing.
Shaila came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the edge of her pallu.
‘What happened?’
‘Your brother has sent this,’ I said, throwing the letter in her direction.
She read it.
‘Let him come. I’ll ask him what he means by this.’
‘What will you ask him?’
‘I’ll ask him to return the ten thousand he has borrowed from us.’
‘He’s coming to take the house back. I’m sure he’ll have arranged for the money, if that’s what he wants.’
That silenced Shaila.
I said,
‘I’ll say to him, “Do as you wish. Go to court and try to take the house back.”’
Shaila said animatedly,
‘Do you think you can be that assertive? Have you seen how you break into a sweat when you see other people fight? You don’t have the nerve!’
‘You know, Shaila, I knew how to fight well before I got married. But for the last eight years, I’ve not had an opportunity to say a word. So I’ve forgotten the art…’
‘You don’t need to taunt me. Be prepared for a good fight, otherwise you’re going to be homeless.’
That put an end to the conversation and was the beginning of an insurmountable problem for me.
I pondered upon the art of arguing. I had never been able to argue successfully, ever. It made me uncomfortable to watch others fight.
It had been six years since Vidyadhar had given us his two-room house in lieu of the ten thousand rupees he’d borrowed from me. The understanding was that he would never ask for the house back.
He had conveniently forgotten that promise, and had now sent a letter announcing that he was coming to take possession of his house next Thursday.
I was shaken to the core. Forget fighting with a stranger – here I would have to fight tooth and nail against my own brother-in-law. He had gone back on his promise. Ideally, it should have been Shaila fighting with him, since he was her brother. But the onus was on me to protect my family’s shelter. What was I to do?
For a moment, I thought of writing to him in unequivocal terms, warning him of dire consequences. But where was I to find the words for such a reply?
I sat there brooding over the problem when Shaila emerged from the kitchen.
‘Now go and catch your good friend Joshi. Beg him to fight on our behalf. Tell him we’re willing to pay whatever fees he asks for.’
‘Wah! That is a superb idea. How many people should I call for the fight?’
‘What are his fees?’
‘He charges twenty rupees per argument.’
‘And how many hours does he argue?’
‘It’s not hour-based. He argues until he’s able to shut the other person up.’
‘Does he go personally or send his students?’
‘There’s no point in paying him unless he agrees to go himself.’
‘Then let’s not waste any time. Hire him.’
The thought of hiring Joshi calmed my nerves. He was the famous founder-director of Jamadagni Vaadalaya, a school meant to teach people how to argue. He would come with five of his students, argue on my behalf and win the dispute for me. As simple as that!
He had started this business when he resigned from our office. His Jamadagni school quickly became popular. He bought a car in no time.
His was a case of ‘anything can be sold in Mumbai’. He had become a guru in teaching people the scientific principles of argument.
JP, alias Joshi, used to work in our office. There were eight other Joshis working there at the same time, which often caused confusion. One day, the boss, exasperated over the constant confusion, announced,
‘Whatever the credentials of a prospective employee, I won’t hire him if his name is Joshi. His surname alone will disqualify him.’
He ordered all the Joshis present in office to send him their full names, including initials.
A smart aleck suggested,
‘Sir, in order to prevent confusion in the future, please paste their photos alongside their names.’
Another one said,
‘Sir, why don’t you give them numbers instead of names?’
‘Are they racehorses or what?’
‘No, they’re are not racehorses. At least those horses run. These fellows just sit here doing nothing.’
The list had to be made. It was the boss’s order after all.
By a stroke of misfortune, the job fell to me. I assumed it would not take more than fifteen minutes. After all, I only had to request all the Joshis for their initials. That was it.
I moved from one table to another, finally reaching Joshi number five. The Joshi in question sat there looking at me.
‘Joshi saheb, I need some information from you.’
He looked at me nonchalantly and asked,
‘Why from
