The Saviour

Come. Come in. Close the door. It is better inside. I’m watching Godard’s ‘A woman is a woman’. I’m beginning to feel human again.

Who are they? Oh, they’ve been sitting all day, all night on the pavement opposite since the evening of the 23rd. I do mind them talking so loudly. But what can one do? When tired of that they sit idly, looking at the house, from time to time sniggering in a wheezing laugh that breaks out in raucous laughter on the return wave. When bored they hurl obscenities at the house and demand to know when this son-of-a-pig is coming out. I’ve also seen the flash of swords and spears that they carry hidden. No, I’ve not gone mad. Not yet.

One doesn’t think of all that. What will happen will happen. Come sit. As of now, they can’t come in. But may be in a couple of years? Who knows? But don’t worry. One has to live. Close the door. Isn’t it cool inside? This summer is the worst I have seen, I think. Have an iced sharbat. Lie down on the mat if you want to. Take a cushion. Is the ac cool enough? I keep it at twenty-five. It’s been practically on twenty-four hours this summer. Besides, as you know I have COPD. But I can turn it lower for a bit? Shall I?... Ok.

How did this come about? How is it that they’ve all turned red with hatred? I’ve been thinking too. Some of the Maladjusted Merchants have tried to sell the turmeric coloured poison for a hundred years. It makes one feel big. Bigger than the Whites. Bigger than the Brown-who-think-they-are-white. Much, much bigger than one really is. But it makes humans prone to anger and violence. They nearly succeeded some seventy-five years ago. But the Bald Saint came down to the streets and went from house to house and collected the Hate Turmeric and consumed it himself. It killed him. But the country was saved.

They’ve been told that their time has come. The Pretender and the Sorcerer have told them that the Whites and the Browns have been looting and consuming all of the nation’s wealth, which was actually theirs. Now their time has come. This is their country. It is time that the descendants of invaders of the previous millennia and the Brown-who-think-they-are-white were made to vacate their positions of privilege for the sons of the soil. What they don’t say that ultimately merit is what will count. The funny thing is that if they have merit they become Brown. Yes, if you have merit you do accept a little more comfort than the rest. That’s acceptable. Don’t you think?

But the Pretender and the Sorcerer don’t tell them that. That even though all this is theirs, actually people with merit, from amongst them, or Followers-of-the-foreigners, or even the Sons-of-invaders will always have a little more than them. For only merit sells.

How did it get this way? Simple. They tracked me through the social media app. They came to my house before the elections. They said they knew I was born a believer. That I was born as one of them. They asked me to change. They asked me to be with my people. I told them I followed the Truth. They sniggered. They said I was a bastard fathered by the Bald Saint. I asked them if they had any other business. They did not reply. They just watched me. I shut the door. A few sat down on the pavement opposite. Next morning there were a few more. And some more the following day. How many did you see today? About ten or twelve. And were they armed? They had sticks? That I can see too. But they also have daggers. I have seen the glint of a spear or a sword.

Can’t I escape? Why would I? This is my home. And I am seventy years old. Who knows how much longer I have.

Why didn’t I call the police? Ha ha ha ha. If I try to make a call, to any number it just says ‘This number does not exist.’ Actually, they are telling me that I don’t exist.

Did I try calling my neighbours? Yes, I did. I called my neighbours from the windows. They just looked at me. The old man who lives in the house to my left came one day. They bought that house five years ago when the old man Banerjee died and his son, who lived in America, sold it. He told me I should make peace. I asked him how was I to do that? He said I should put up an orange flag from my balcony. Then they would come. They would ask for a fourth of my savings. I should give it to them. They would ask me to apologise in writing. I should write an apology. He had even brought a draft. I would have it somewhere. Let me see. You don’t want to see it? Right. What’s the point?

I don’t think they will hurt you when you leave. They would ask you whether you are a friend. Then they would ask you whether you are a communist or a heretic. What will you tell them?

Exactly! Perfect reply. It’s none of their business. Just go your way. They might abuse you. But they won’t harm you or follow you.

You’ll go to the police? I doubt the police will help. They will not believe you.

Who are you calling? Does your phone work? Your students? Don’t call them, please! Please! Please! I don’t want the blood of the youth spilt on my account.

[There is loud banging on the front door.]

Who is that? Don’t. Don’t! Let me see. I am seventy. It does not matter if I die. [The old man opens the door.]

“Yes, that phone call was made from my house. So? My friend made a call to his student. Is that illegal? Yes, that is my friend. Why should I tell you? This is still a democracy, at least in this house. No. He will not go with you. He will only leave when he wants to and you cannot stop him.”

You want to go with them? Why? You are one of them? I don’t believe you. Are you doing this to protect me? Yes? And you want me to come with you? There is a police van waiting outside? It is for my own good?

What choice do I have? Let’s go, then.