A Fine Balance Part 25

Avinash laughed. "We'll see. Actually, it's not much of a choice. I think the veg food is the same as non-veg, but minus the gristle and bone."

Maneck concentrated; he thought one of his men was at last going to breach the defences.

"The trouble is," said Avinash, devouring the hopeful piece, "most of the students in the hostel are from poor families. They are afraid to complain, all they want is to finish their studies and find a job so they can look after their parents and brothers and sisters."

Foiled again, Maneck crowned another king for Avinash and lost the game two moves later. He didn't mind that he kept losing, because his opponent did not gloat.

"You look sleepy," said Avinash. "No wonder you can't focus on the game."

"It's okay, let's play one more. But you know, you are different from the other students."

Avinash laughed. "How can you tell? You've just arrived."

Maneck considered, running a finger around the concentric grooves that embellished the surface of the draughtsmen. "Because...because of everything you just said. Because you became the president, to improve things."

Avinash shrugged. "I don't think so. I'm planning to resign. I should be spending my time and energy on studies. I was the first one ever to finish high school in our family. Everyone's relying on me. My three young sisters, too. I must collect money for their dowries, or they won't be able to get married." He paused, smiling. "When they were small they used to bite my fingers, when I helped my mother to feed them." He laughed at the memory. "My father says that all the blood he spits will not be in vain if I get my degree and a good job."

They raised their faces from the board, and Avinash fell silent. It had been easy to keep talking while their eyes were glued to the pieces. The logic of the checkered board had been in control, towing both the game and the conversation. Now the thread was broken. Embarra.s.sment and awkwardness came tumbling out.

"I must unpack."

"Your room should be fine now. Let's check."

They carried back the suitcase and boxes, swept up the dead c.o.c.kroaches, and made the bed. "Don't push it to the wall again," said Avinash. "Safer to leave at least a foot." He also suggested immersing the bed's legs in cans of water, to discourage things from climbing up. "We can do that tomorrow. You'll be okay for tonight."

Maneck complained to the warden's office that nothing happened when he pulled the chain in the toilet.

"That's because there is no water supply for the flush tank," said the clerk, looking up from scotchtaping some torn doc.u.ments. "The building contractor did not connect the pipes, to save money. College has taken him to court. But don't worry, the sweeper who cleans the bathrooms is looking after the problem."

"How?"

"With buckets of water."

"What time does the sweeper come?"

"Before the hostel awakes four a.m., sometimes five a.m."

Maneck immediately made a firm resolution: to be first in the toilet every morning, no matter how early he had to rise for that privilege.

The next day, hearing him up before dawn, Avinash came to check. "What's wrong? Are you sick or something?"

"No, I'm fine-why?"

"Do you know what time it is? Five-fifteen."

"I know. But I hate someone's s.h.i.+t staring me in the face when I go to the toilet."

Avinash was annoyed that he had dragged himself out of bed for no reason, then laughed. "You rich boys. When will you get used to reality?"

"I told you I'm not rich. The bathroom at home is plain, just like this. But there's water in the flush. And not such a stink."

"The problem with you is, you see too much and smell too much. This is big-city life no more beautiful snow-covered mountains. You have to learn to curb your sissy eyes and nose. And another thing you better be prepared for is ragging."

"Oh no," said Maneck, remembering his boarding school. "Haven't these fellows grown up yet? What do they do? Pour water in the bed? Salt in the tea?"

"Something like that."

In his letter home at the end of the week, Maneck was hard-pressed to find things to say that would not be mistaken for whining. He didn't want Brigadier and Mrs. Grewal, and all the others who would share the letter, to think he was a softie who couldn't manage by himself.

After the first fortnight, however, when Avinash and he had become good friends, he could almost believe what he had been told before leaving home: that he would have an enjoyable time in college.

One evening, over draughts, Maneck confessed his ignorance of chess. Avinash said he could teach him in three days. "That is, if you're seriously interested in learning the game."

Since they were both non-vegetarian and sat in the same section of the dining hall, the chess lesson began during dinner, with paper and pencil. Maneck said the diversion made the canteen swill easier to swallow.

"Now you're learning," said Avinash. "That's the secret to distract your senses. Have I told you my theory about them? I think that our sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing are all calibrated for the enjoyment of a perfect world. But since the world is imperfect, we must put blinders on the senses."

"The world of the hostel is more than just imperfect. It's a gigantic deformity."

After eating, they adjourned to the common room, where it was still quiet. A few students were gathered around the carrom board. Each time the striker slammed into the ledge and rebounded, the spectators followed with a murmur of approval or commiseration. Another group came in, laughing and boisterous, and started a game of capping-the-fan: tossing a pen cap at the slow ceiling fan and trying to land it on one of the three blades. After several attempts, the game's originator climbed onto a chair, arrested the fan and placed the pen cap on it. They turned up the speed to raucous cheers as the cap came flying off. Next, they grabbed one among them and raised 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 Intercla.s.s 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 gla.s.ses 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d 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 f.u.c.king 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 thras.h.i.+ng 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 Princ.i.p.al'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 Princ.i.p.al 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 gra.s.s-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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.sed. 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 pa.s.sion, 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 chairmans.h.i.+p. 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. c.o.c.kroaches 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."

The objection cheered Avinash, and he laughed, throwing his arm over Maneck's shoulders as they crossed the quadrangle. "I didn't know you were an expert in Gandhian philosophy. Tell me, would you like to chair the c.o.c.kroach subcommittee? I'll second the motion."

Maneck attended a few rallies and protests, only in order to support his friend. After a while, even that wasn't a sufficient reason. The process was so tediously repet.i.tious, he stopped going.

Avinash did not have time for chess in the evenings anymore. They still ate together but were seldom alone, and Maneck resented it. A crowd hung around his friend, discussing and arguing about things he did not understand and was not interested in understanding. Their talk was filled with words like democratization, const.i.tution, alienation, degeneration, decentralization, collectivization, nationalism, capitalism, materialism, feudalism, imperialism, communalism, socialism, fascism, relativism, determinism, proletarianism ism, ism, ism, ism, the words flying around him like buzzing insects.

Why couldn't these fellows talk normally? wondered Maneck. To amuse himself he began counting their various isms, and stopped when he reached twenty. Sometimes, dogs came into their debates imperialist dogs, running dogs of capitalism. Sometimes the dogs were pigs, capitalist pigs. Money-lending hyenas and landowning jackals also put in occasional appearances. And lately, besides the isms, there was this Emergency that they kept going on about, behaving as if the sky had fallen.

Feeling ignored, Maneck went to his room as soon as he finished his meal. He still had the plastic chessmen, and he set them up to play against himself. He made a move, then turned the board around. After a while it became boring. He tried the book Avinash had lent him, containing a series of endgame problems in increasing degrees of difficulty.

Hard though it was, Maneck continued to shun his friend's company. Then, just as he was weakening after a few days of loneliness, deciding to give him a second chance, Avinash knocked on the door.

"Hi, what's new?" He slapped Maneck's back affectionately.

"This game."

"Playing alone?"

"No, with me." Maneck toppled his own king.

"Haven't seen you much lately. Aren't you curious about what's been happening?"

"You mean in college?"

"Yes and everywhere else, since the Emergency was declared."

"Oh, that." Maneck made an indifferent face. "I don't know much about those things."

"Don't you read the newspapers?"

"Only the comics. All the political stuff is too boring."

"Okay, I'll make it simple and quick for you, so you don't fall asleep."

"Good. I'll time you." Maneck checked his watch. "Ready, begin."

Avinash took a deep breath. "Three weeks ago the High Court found the Prime Minister guilty of cheating in the last elections. Which meant she had to step down. But she began stalling. So the opposition parties, student organizations, trade unions they started ma.s.s demonstrations across the country. All calling for her resignation. Then, to hold on to power, she claimed that the country's security was threatened by internal disturbances, and declared a State of Emergency."

"Twenty-nine seconds," said Maneck.

"Wait, there's a bit more. Under the pretext of Emergency, fundamental rights have been suspended, most of the opposition is under arrest, union leaders are in jail, and even some student leaders."

"You better be careful."

"Oh, don't worry, our college is not that important. But the worst thing is, the press is being censored "

"Not much point then in reading newspapers, is there?"

"And she has retroactively changed the election laws, turning her guilt into innocence."

"And you don't have time to play chess because of this."