A Fine Balance (40 page)

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.”

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 cockroach 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 repetitious, 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, constitution, 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 mass 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.”

“I’m playing it all the time. Everything I do is chess. Come on, let’s see how much you’ve learned.” He set up the board, then concealed a white and a black pawn behind his back. Maneck guessed correctly and started the game by advancing the king’s pawn. Half an hour later he had won, much to his surprise.

“Serves me right, for teaching you so well,” said Avinash. “But we’ll have to have a return match soon.”

Now it would be like before, thought Maneck. Once again he would have Avinash to himself. His secret wish was that the Principal would ban the bloody Student Union because of the Emergency, as other universities were doing. Then there would be nothing to distract his friend.

But Maneck remained disappointed; their chess games did not resume. He knocked at Avinash’s door on several evenings, and there was no answer. Twice he slipped a note under the door: “Hi. Where have you been hiding? Afraid to face me over the chessboard or what? See you soon – Maneck.”

After the second note, when he saw him in the dining hall, Avinash only had time for a quick wave. “Got your message,” he said. “Free tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

And next night Maneck waited in his room, but his friend did not turn up. Angry and hurt, he went to bed promising himself this was it. If Avinash wanted to see him, he could chase after him for a change.

He missed Avinash. Strange, he thought, how a friendship could spring up suddenly one evening, facilitated by cockroaches and bedbugs. And then fizzle out just as suddenly, for reasons equally ludicrous. Maybe it was silly to have assumed it was a friendship in the first place.

Everything disgusting about the hostel that Maneck had learned to live with began to nauseate him with a renewed vengeance. As an antidote, he developed a morning waking routine: when his eyes opened, he shut them again and, head still on the pillow, imagined the mountains, swirling mist, birdsong, dogs’ paws pattering on the porch, the cool dawn air on his skin, the excited chatter of langurs, breakfast cooking in the kitchen, toast and fried eggs upon his tongue. When all his senses were thus anointed by home imaginings, he reopened his eyes and got out of bed.

On campus, a new group, Students For Democracy, which had surfaced soon after declaration of the Emergency, was now in the ascendant. Its sister organization, Students Against Fascism, maintained the integrity of both groups by silencing those who spoke against them or criticized the Emergency. Threats and assaults became so commonplace, they might have been part of the university curriculum. The police were now a permanent presence, helping to maintain the new and sinister brand of law and order.

Two professors who chose to denounce the campus goon squads were taken away by plainclothesmen for anti-government activities, under the Maintenance of Internal Security Act. Their colleagues did not interfere on their behalf because
MISA
allowed imprisonment without trial, and it was a well-known fact that those who questioned
MISA
sooner or later answered to
MISA
; it was safer not to tangle with something so pernicious.

Maneck worried about Avinash; as President of the original Student Union, surely he was in grave danger from the new groups on campus. At night, he listened for sounds from the room next to his. The door shutting softly, the clatter of the metal cupboard, the wheeze of the spray pump, the thunk of the bed revealed that his friend was fine, that he had not been assaulted or taken away into secret detention.