DO YOU?.

Raghupati coldly recalled that hed all but broken his neck once, ages ago, under one such Family Welfare h.o.a.rding. Horrible, endless rain, hed been in extremely slippery white keds (and goggles!-because of d.a.m.ned conjunctivitis), approaching a village in the middle of nowhere to take stock of a landslide, six dead, the ground like watery halwa, an office peon, turbaned and all, hopping and bobbing behind him with an umbrella for his head, the umbrella along with his dark gla.s.ses making him feel like an Aflatoon on a Let-me-meet-the-Great-Unwashed-for-their-votes tour, he concentrating on every step, but he mustve been distracted by a body-a b.u.m or torso, whether male or female he couldnt now remember-but when he, dazed from his tumble, had looked up at the muddle above him of outstretched hands and embarra.s.sed faces, hed first noticed, surrounding the askew turban of the peon, the maroon triangle of Family Welfare and alongside it, its neuter child. My G.o.d, the State is everywhere; it grapples even with the vastness of a leaden monsoon sky. In those few breaths, moreover, its obtuseness had humbled him anew; here, with no habitation in sight, a h.o.a.rding the size of a building, on it an inapt slogan, that too in English in a region wherein seventy-five per cent of the inhabitants were unlettered in their own tongue. Upright once more, while the diffident hands had spruced him down, hed shoved the umbrella aside to gaze again at the distant trees and the immense, unending sky, to sense afresh the gooseflesh-caress of infinity, of the heavens belittling the concerns that move the earth. Later that week, to remind everybody that the earth simply couldnt get away with that sort of thing, hed transferred the peon (the bobber, with turban) to an office two hundred kilometres away from his family.

To avoid the areas of Madna town that had been affected- if not by the plague itself, then certainly by the panic at the possibility of its presence-Raghupatis car swerved away from Junction Road to skirt the north boundary wall and railing of Aflatoon Maidan. Thousands had fled the town in the past week, claimed the more irresponsible newspapers. Certainly, the streets looked marginally emptier and there did seem to be less of a throng of pedestrians and hawkers on the pavements of the Maidan. But one could never tell. Perhaps the afternoon heat and the one-day cricket on TV had kept the citizens indoors. Besides, this was the Civil Lines part of town, s.p.a.cious after a fashion, originally planned with a preference for trees and open air over buildings that simply wouldnt stop growing and their denizens who flooded the gutters.

Raghupati noticed, every now and then, at street corners and the occasional traffic light, an armed police constable. The rifle, he sneered to himself, was doubtless for protection in the event of the vector rats getting out of hand, not knowing their place and daring to abandon their nooks in the more fetid, filthier, more teeming parts of the old town. He could practically see Madnas wildcat Police Superintendent commanding a contingent or two to restrain the epidemic from touching the privileged, issuing orders to shoot at sight any subversive rodent that didnt comprehend curfew.

Ah no. The cops were visible because of the demonstration ahead that had already begun to snarl up traffic-more, that is, than was usual. 'U turn before were sucked in, Raghupati ordered the driver. It wasnt surprising that they hadnt spotted the protesters earlier, what with the swarm around them of bullock-carts, rickshaws, cycles, pushcarts, tongas, scooters, three-wheelers, tempos, Maruti cars and neanderthal public buses. The marchers moreover were themselves dwarfed by the twenty-foot high canvas-and-plywood h.o.a.rding that, mounted on a van, trundled, juggernaut-like, in their midst. While their car veered, backed, honked, turned, growled and slewed round, Raghupati abstractedly admired its artwork.

He noticed things, almost everything. Mobile billboards and sign painters on a scaffolding-yes, because they were out of the way and commanded ones attention-but also the workman in beige trousers on a balcony fiddling with a TV antenna, the whirr and cluck of pigeons atop the air-conditioner at his office window, an obscure clerks haircut, his stenographers new perfume. Being a top-notch civil servant (and only for the moment out of favour and in the cold), hed over the years honed his survival instinct to a razors-edge keenness. All the information that ones senses picked up had to be filed away for future use, for G.o.d alone knew what one would need when to surmount which flap. G.o.d would of course know because he was an A-one bureaucrat himself, absolutely top-drawer, wise, on the ball, amoral, utterly self-serving.

The h.o.a.rding on the van depicted the white-tiled walls of a Gents Urinal and at the bottom the back of a man squatting to p.i.s.s. Above him on either side rose the marble part.i.tions of his stall. Before him, over his head, on the surface that would actually receive the p.i.s.s, were painted a few horizontal lines. Way above, atop the flush tank, was the legend: NEW CRITERIA LAID DOWN BY THE KANSAL COMMISSION FOR THE ANNUAL EXAMINATION OF THE NATIONAL CIVIL SERVICE COMMISSION FOR ADMISSION TO THE CENTRAL URINAL SERVICE AND THE FIRE BRIGADE.

Below, in the h.o.a.rding, beside the topmost horizontal line, was painted: p.i.s.s THIS HIGH FOR FIFTEEN CONTINUOUS SECONDS IF YOU ARE AN ORDINARY, UNPRIVILEGED CANDIDATE FROM THE UPPER CASTES.

The other lines had been drawn considerably lower. Each had beside it similar instructions.

p.i.s.s THIS HIGH FOR FIVE SECONDS IF YOU BELONG TO ANY OF THE FOLLOWING BACKWARD CASTES-followed by, in brackets, a list of names absurdly long.

. . . FOR THREE SECONDS, NOT NECESSARILY CONTINUOUS, IF YOU BELONG TO ANY OF THE FOLLOWING NOTIFIED CASTES . . .

. . . FOR FIVE SECONDS ON ANY CANDIDATE FROM ANY OF THE UPPER CASTES IF YOU BELONG TO ANY OF THE FOLLOWING DEPRESSED CASTES . . .

At the bottom of the h.o.a.rding, in large red letters, for all those whod missed the point of the drawing, was the declaration: WE WILL FIGHT TO THE FINISH THE RECOMMENDATIONS OF THE KANSAL COMMISSION. IF YOU VALUE JUSTICE, LIBERTY, EQUALITY, HONESTY AND TRUTH, JOIN OUR Ma.s.sIVE MARCH TO PARLIAMENT ON MARCH 24. FOR FURTHER DETAILS OF OUR RELAY HUNGER STRIKE THAT STARTS ON FEBRUARY 27, CONTACT AC RAICHUR . . .

The bottom right-hand corner disclosed that the h.o.a.rding was the handiwork of the National Federation for the Human Rights of the Upper Castes.

Beneath the h.o.a.rding and atop the van, a fat man in off-white kurta-pyjama and a broom of a moustache periodically donned a surgeons cloth mask-presumably against the miasma of the plague or the Kansal Commission or the state of the times-and doffed it to bay some doctrine into a mike in his hand. He was largely incomprehensible because of the din of the street, the ghastly quality of the public address system and the general woolliness of his thinking. Raghupati recognized him.

'Just call Raichur, he told the driver.

Sharada Prasad leaned across to roll down the window and let the noise in. To summon Raichur over it, he simply switched on the car siren. When enough heads had turned, he beckoned regally through the window. He let the frightful wailing continue for a few seconds longer before switching it off.

'Sir good afternoon sir sir. Raichurs voice boomed in the confines of the car. His moustache, fleshy cheeks and general air of sweat and sycophancy seemed to fill the window. 'Any instructions sir or orders? Other faces began to crowd in around Raichur.

'I cant say whether I am more impressed or bewildered by your h.o.a.rding. Why has the man squatted to p.i.s.s? All the qualifying marks are way above his head.

'Sir, exactly. Raichur nodded vigorously, exuding heat and sweat like steam. 'Kindly bear in mind the percentage of our citizenry that stands and makes water. Not more than seven, Id say. Urine, sir, is a bodily fluid the touch of which we find particularly polluting.

'More than the Kansal Commission? Or the plague?

In response, Raichur snorted explosively, tricking a couple of the surrounding faces into cackling. The snort itself had been non-committal because Raichur hadnt been certain whether the Commissioner had been witty.

'What does the town think of the plague? Just because the government hasnt woken up to it doesnt mean that it isnt there.

In her memorandum, Miss Natesan phrased the same concern quite differently.

Im being packed off to Madna to battle the plague, but the question is: does the plague exist at all?

I wish to draw your attention here to the headlines in various newspapers this month. The story first broke on the 24th of November and thereafter, every day till the 2nd of December, the plague was-naturally-big news: 'And now the plague.

'DEMAND TO SEAL OFF MADNA REJECTED.

'500,000 Flee Madna.

'CENTRE CONFIRMS 24 PLAGUE DEATHS.

'No Shortage of Tetracycline, Says State.

'Multinationals Pulling Out of Madna.

'State Denies Plague Deaths, Confirms Viral Pneumonia.

'State Denies Multinationals Pulling Out of Madna.

'State Working on Action Plan to Combat Epidemic.

'UAE Bans Import of State Foodstuff.

'Doctors Flee Madna.

'PMs Directive to Health Ministry to Expedite Action Plan 'Gulf Bans All Flights to and from State.

'Remaining Madna Medical Staff in Militant Mood.

'State Fighting Plague With Data of 1928!

'Irate Mobs Attack Abandoned Madna Medical Clinics.

'State Denies Use of DDT, Gamaxene Is Waste of Resources, 'Red Alert in Capital 'Dacoities Increase in Abandoned Madna Houses.

'Life Must Go On: Virbhim.

and so on.

So far so good-if indeed I may use such an expression in connection with the plague. However, yesterday, on the 8th of December, something extraordinary happened; the plague disappeared altogether from the front pages of our national newspapers. Instead, our headlines were: 'Jayati Aflatoon Grants Appointment to Virbhim.

'Bhanwar Meets Jayati.

'Jayati and Fortune Smile on Virbhim.

'JAYATI GIVES BHANWAR SAAB TEN-MINUTE HEARING.

'Virbhim Calls on Jayati; Prospects in Party Soar.

In brief, the scoop of the day was that the Prime Ministers sister-in-law-more strictly speaking, cousin-in-law-agreed to meet (in what is probably-by our standards-just a minor palace intrigue), at short notice, for ten minutes in the evening, a crafty, venal, lecherous, sixty-five-year-old Deccan politician who has for the last two years been trying to snuggle back into the lap-and nuzzle once more the bosom-of the Aflatoons. As a result of that meeting, Bhanwar Virbhim will probably be given a berth in the Cabinet and- Heaven help us in Aflatoon Bhavan!-very likely the portfolios of Culture, Heritage, Education and Welfare, because it, the post, is politically a graveyard.

Yesterday, the plague was on Housing Problem and today, its on Housing Problem. At this rate, by day after tomorrow, itll be engaged in a tussle for s.p.a.ce with the Crossword and the Thought for Today. My point is, does my presence in Madna serve the larger interest of the Welfare State more-and better-than my remaining here in Aflatoon Bhavan? I fear that the answer to that question is: Please reflect. How can we be sure of that when we arent even sure of the plague?

Other questions arise at this juncture. Since Ive been given no personal staff here in Aflatoon Bhavan, what is the guarantee that Ill find my staff awaiting me on my arrival at Madna? A Personal a.s.sistant, a stenographer, a clerk, a peon? I have already sent a telegram in this regard to the Munic.i.p.al Commissioner, Madna. Of course, he hasnt replied but that is only to be expected. Your good self must be fully aware that we in the Welfare State wake up only to the tenth reminder, much like a behemoth sluggishly stirring only at the tenth prod to its private parts.

Why need I travel to Madna when Madna has already showed up at Aflatoon Bhavan-in fact, has been here for quite some time? Placed at Annexures M and N are two recent photographs of the world we inhabit. One is of the grounds outside the Bhupati Aflatoon Memorial Hospital at Madna, the second is a view of Gate No. 17 of Aflatoon Bhavan, here in the capital. Your good self will notice that both photographs contain more or less the same details-namely, hillocks of rotting garbage, stray cattle, pigs and other animals, children answering the call of Nature, pa.s.sersby with handkerchieves over their noses and mouths. How can one tell, in these two photographs, Madna from Aflatoon Bhavan? Of course, one cant. What obliges the Welfare State then to draft me to Madna when I can enjoy its air right here in my office by simply opening my window?

Your good self will no doubt point out to me that the difference between the capital and Madna is the plague. But the plague has struck in the capital as well! Todays newspaper mentions en pa.s.sant on Housing Problem: 'Six Suspected Plague Cases in Capital. Its here! And what is of even more interest to a cultural historian (like me, I might add) is that its always been here! A fact of which there exists compelling evidence. The newspapers themselves have published charts and data to indicate that the plague has been recorded in our country ever since 1500 B.C. I take the liberty of placing the relevant information on record here for your good selfs perusal.

Chronology of the Plague in the Welfare State.

1500-600 BC The plague noted in the Bhagvata Purana 1031-32 AD The plague reaches the northern plains from Central Asia following the invasion of Ghouse Mohammed (from Arab chronicles) 1325 AD The plague in Barabar following the invasion of Talat Mahmud and again after Khalid 1403 AD Badruddins army destroyed by the plague in Ghatia 1617 AD During Lehangirs reign, the plague reported from the northern plains, Ahmedab, Kudar and the Deccan; thus described by Edward Perry, the English Amba.s.sador to the Khayalji Court 1707 AD The plague in Avrampur 1812-38 AD In Pathiawar, the eastern delta and Nanuch- said to have been imported from Persia 1836-38 AD In Garwar and Tajputana-called the Pali plague 1895 AD In Okalkata-diagnosed bacteriologically on April 17, 1898 by Dr Neild Cook-imported from Hong Kong (the disease, that is, not the doctor) 1896 AD In Navi Chipra, first diagnosed on October 13, 1897. Spread rapidly-like the plague, as it were-to all parts of the country 1907 AD A great year for the plague in all four corners of the land. A total of 1,315,892 deaths.

1926-27 AD Severe epidemic in Mehb.o.o.babad and the Deccan 1947-52 AD Temporary rise in the incidence of the plague in Okalkata 1954-58 AD Reappeared in Gandhra and Shiasore and reported for the first time in Aflatoonabad.

1960-68 AD Sporadic outbursts in Shiasore, Furas, Purachal and Tajasthan We should be indebted to the Press Trust of the Welfare State for the above facts.

And to update the chart-the plagues also been around for the last two weeks in our national newspapers and for the last one year in Madna. I draw your good selfs attention to the reports published in The State of the Times on the 28th and 30th of November and on the 1st of this month relating to the proposed dramatic transfer of the very-recently-appointed Collector and District Magistrate of Madna, Mr Agastya Sen. The items went largely unnoticed in the general hubbub of the plague. It was intended to turf Mr Sen out to Gandhan (population: 42000) to be Deputy Chief Inspector of Steam Boilers and Smoke Nuisances. Before the orders were put into effect, he addressed a second press conference, at which he disclosed that he was being booted out for having addressed the first.

On November 27, the day after he joined his new post, Mr Sen had spoken to a handful of journalists for the first time on the subject of the plague in his district. Hed commented that he didnt know what the fuss was all about since his office, for the past year, in its quarterly statements to the regional government, had regularly reported Deaths Due to Plague in the District of Madna. The plague, he had elaborated, was endemic there, as much a feature of the region as famine, floods, cholera, typhoid, malaria and female infanticide.

'The plague, Collector Saab, is supposed to be extinct in our country-hence this colossal embarra.s.sment over Madna-so are you sure?

'How many Deaths Due to Plague, Collector Saab, have there been in the district in the last twelve months?

Fifty-four, the Collector had replied, that is-your good self will note-more than double the total number notched up so far by the newspapers.

'Did Collector Saab know the difference between bubonic and pneumonic plague? That Madna had been hit by the pneumonic?

'Fifty-Four. I rule out the possiblity of a mix-up between Deaths Due to Plague and any of the other figures that we periodically convey to Headquarters: Deaths in Police Custody, Suicides in Government Hospitals, Fatalities Due to Acts of G.o.d and Drowning Cases in Unlicensed Swimming Pools . . . Yes, the Munic.i.p.al Corporation has shut down its swimming pool because of that unfortunate accident last week-quite terrible, really, because I need to re-figure out the leg movement of the breast stroke. I intend to wheedle with them to keep it open just for me- the Steel Frame must work out and all that. However is one to manage a district if one cant first manage ones own goodly frame? . . . no, I didnt spot any dead rats in the pool-frogs, yes, but not rats. Well, eleven on last count but the official figure is nineteen and the buzz in the streets is that there isnt any plague at all. Instead, there is apparently a gang war on here, a fight to the finish amongst the diamond mafia, they say.

Diamond Street Market after Junction Road and a right therefrom on to Diamond Change Bazaar. Raghupatis Amba.s.sador car raced-in a manner of speaking-down routes along which, in everyday circ.u.mstances, it would have crawled, honking boorishly. Almost all the shop shutters were down- and not just because it was afternoon. Under their tarpaulin and plastic awnings on the pavements sat a mere handful of hawkers, half-hidden behind their suspended wearunders, handkerchieves, goggles and cloth masks, intrepid but subdued by the absence of custom. Garbage littered the streets-rags, broken bottles, plastic bags, reeking vegetable and animal refuse-and black pigs, stray dogs and vicious alley cats wandered amongst it, disturbed now and then only by the youth gangs, with their cloth masks resembling cl.u.s.ters of surgeons in some fancy dress pantomime, hunting-so Raghupati had heard-for vector rats. The contrast with the bustle around Aflatoon Maidan-a bare couple of kilometres away-was fearful. Here, in the older part of town, all was silent and bleak, as though time itself was wary.

Not wholly on account of the plague, though. Mere fleas and their carriers could never have compelled the diamond trade to down shutters. Raghupati believed the buzz that he had heard, that over the preceding months, Suk.u.maran Govardhan had expanded operations, and from his half-mythical feats in the illegal timber trade, in skins, drugs and gunrunning, had stretched out a talon to touch diamonds and politics.

At airports, railway stations, bus terminuses, market places, cinema halls, university coffee houses and munic.i.p.al toll tax collection centres, every now and then, whenever some new heinous exploit of his had come to light, the distinguished features of Suk.u.maran Govardhan had stared out at the world from the thousands of black-and-white Wanted-Dead-or- Alive posters that sprang up overnight on walls, doors and pillars. True, the posters did seem a little anachronistic at the end of the millennium, a bit desperate, even unbelievable- but on the other hand, they served to remind the citizens that the Welfare State in many ways was the Wild East and that in the matter of Govardhan, the police was at the end of its tether.

If You Have Seen This Man Somewhere, Dont Panic But Call 100 or 4763213 (6 lines) and Win Tax-Exempted Award of Your Dreams.

On different occasions, the telephone numbers in the poster had changed but the photograph above the advice hadnt. It was blurred, magnified several times-a fleshy, clean-shaven, bespectacled, professorial face with a jungle of inch-long hair sprouting out of his ears and reaching out like black tendrils to the edges of the paper.

Raghupatis car turned in at the gates of his bungalow with a frightful honking and blaring to warn the Residence peons to switch off the TV and down their cups of tea. On the veranda, Murari, the oldest and laziest of the House staff, waited deferentially with a gla.s.s of chilled coconut water and what he considered the more important items of the mornings mail.

On his way to the puja room, Raghupatis p.e.n.i.s twitched as he ripped open an envelope from the Civil Service Welfare a.s.sociation. On his good days, his p.e.n.i.s quivered even when he spotted a gecko on the wall, poised to pounce on some moth fluttering about in the wan blue of a tubelight.

His ma.s.sage-boy, Chamundi, waited for him in the master bedroom on the first floor of the house. One of the boys several duties was to smile, exhibiting his dimples all the time that he was with Raghupati. Whenever his smile slipped, which happened ever so often-when the Commissioners c.o.c.k swayed alarmingly close to his face, for example, or when he was huskily ordered to mix his, Raghupatis, s.p.u.n.k with the ma.s.sage oil, usually mustard-the Commissionerd lean forward and tweak his cheek rather hard.

Chamundi bolted the door to the veranda, Raghupati flopped down on the bed. The boy began to remove every item of the Commissioners clothing. This took a while, since each piece-sandal, belt, hankie-had to be neatly put away before the next could be touched. 'Mai dream to make da seets run red, faltered Chamundi, grinning from ear to ear in bashfulness at his p.r.o.nunciation.

Naked, spanking his thigh with the buff envelope, liking the sound, arm flung around his ma.s.seurs shoulders, Raghupati strutted off to the adjoining puja room. Ten-by- six, windowless, red night light, incense, shivalings and Ganeshes all over the place, flowers from his front lawn, mattresses on the floor, freezing airconditioning, Muteshs whine from the tape recorder. 'Here, before you start, just shave my armpits and my crotch.

More than a month ago-at the last get-together of the Civil Service Welfare a.s.sociation, a dinner convened in the capital to honour Dr B.B. Bhatnagar for having w.a.n.gled, after two decades of undistinguished and venal self-service, a Ph.D degree out of the Bhupati Aflatoon International Open University-more than a month ago, Bhupen Raghupati had for the first time set eyes on Miss Lina Natesan Thomas. Shed been wearing a gra.s.s-green georgette sari that evening. It had slunk deep into the crevice of her meaty, rather attractive a.r.s.e. On the preceding Sunday, The State Todays Thank Your Stars column had advised Raghupati that the dominant colours for Scorpios that fortnight would be red and green. His personal astrologer, Baba Mastram, who visited him thrice a week, rheumy-eyed and halitotic, had confirmed that very morning that green would be triumphant for him uptil Thursday. Thus it was that on the veranda of the Golf Club, when they, gla.s.ses in hand, were comparatively alone in a shapeless queue before the water cooler, Raghupati had plucked the sari out of the crack, in the process coming richly into his pants, which in turn hed interpreted to mean that the G.o.ds were with him. Hed been about to ask k.u.mari Natesan whether she was virgo intacta, and if yes, whether shed like to redden some bed linen with him, when up had bustled Chanakya Lala, a comparatively junior bureaucrat and Raghupatis erstwhile subordinate, the one whose after- shave could be sniffed twenty paces away.

'Shame on you, sir, k.u.mari Natesan had hissed and stalked away, jiggling more than ever in her distress. For a moment, Raghupatid thought that shed meant the spreading wetness in his trousers. Then, calm of mind, all pa.s.sion spent for at least half an hour, hed sliced through the vapours and focussed on making polite conversation with a life-size, animate bottle of Faberge.

While lathering Raghupatis crotch, Chamundi, as was his wont, began to prattle of office matters. 'After Saab left this morning, three advocates came, also one morcha to demand the transfer of the Keeper . . . To speak thus of processions and pet.i.tions, of course, was to a.s.sert that one too was a respectable employee of the Welfare State, and not just a wastrel of the streets picked up for ones smile and ones tight brown skin. Officially, in different files, Chamundi was a Commissioners-Residence-Telephone-Answerer, a Tribal-Quota-Daily-Wage-Gardener, an Eldest-Eligible-Male-Family-Member-Granted-Employment-on-Untimely-Death-of-Only- Wage-Earner-of-Selfsame-Family, a Reserved-Category-Cla.s.s- IV-Transferee-from-the-Prime-Ministers-Grant-Project and a Hidden-Beneficiary-of-the-Integrated-Tribal-Development- Plan. ' . . . And Makhmal Bagai Saab dropped in minutes before you arrived. Murari showed him into the camp office, from where he made a couple of phone calls, one even to Madam Saab in Navi Chipra . . .

His camp office, regrettably, was not the room wherein Raghupati could officially indulge in camp, but instead, a specimen of a venerable colonial inst.i.tution-simply the office away from office, set up at home or anywhere else, sometimes temporarily, but more often, like several other creations of the Welfare State, for a season that spanned for ever.

Triplespeak: i) I, being such a senior officer, need a gang of lackeys at home to cook, wash up, wash the clothes, ma.s.sage me, knead my wifes feet, look after the children, scrub the floors, scour the toilets, tend to the lawns and the grandparents, buy vegetables, drive the family around, switch on the television. However, I am too senior to be so foolish as to actually pay these lackeys out of my own (truly meagre) salary.

ii) The office, the Welfare State, should pay for them because, as per our Civil Service General Regulations (No. VI. 74. a.xiv. in conjunction with No. VII. 22.f.ix.), since I may be summoned for official work at any hour of the day or night, I am on duty every second of my life till I retire or die, whichever is earlier; every moment of my existence is therefore official, thus the State should cough up for every breath of it. Naturally, the more senior one is, the more indispensable one becomes-experience and all that; if the earth doesnt tremble when one walks, at least the downtrodden do.

iii) I am well aware that the welfare of its senior civil servants must not be seen as a priority item on the agenda of the Welfare State. It is therefore suggested that a) to justify the presence in ones official home of several office employees, b) to pa.s.s off various kinds of domestic work as official and c) to fork out official wages for the same, the simplest course would be to carry on a colonial tradition and open a camp office in the bungalow-a telephone with national and international dialling facilities, severe wooden chairs, a couple of photos of some Aflatoons, discoloured jute matting, a heap or two of grey files and casually-strewn, rough, off-white paper.

The Joint Secretary of the Civil Service Welfare a.s.sociation had forwarded to Raghupati for comments and 'a preliminary reaction a handwritten novella of complaint from Miss Lina Natesan. Her letter was addressed to the Union Cabinet Secretary and some half-a-dozen other senior bureaucrats. With an eye seasoned in scanning bilge, Raghupati riffled through the pages of near-hysterical prose. Hed have to try again to arrange for her transfer to a post under his thumb. His hooded eyes watched Chamundi thwack and pummel his left thigh. He shifted so that his tumescent p.e.n.i.s could be bang under the boys nose. The boy shifted too. Raghupati saw red. He reached out, grabbed Chamundi by the scruff of his neck and yanked his head down so that it bobbed inches above Tumescent, which, in welcome, began to perk up quite a bit. That restored Raghupatis good humour. He lifted his b.u.m off the mattress and swayed his hips and his tool to the whines of Mutesh. Chamundi remembered to giggle nervously. He, however, knew that Raghupati wouldnt actually b.u.g.g.e.r or a.s.sault him in any other orifice without clearing it first with Baba Mastram.

'Babaji Ive a lot of extra heat energy in me that I could- with benefit to both-transfer to the ma.s.sage-boy. What do you advise? Today?

'No, not yet, sir. Be patient. To fret under patience is to despair, but with calm to conserve, to augment ones sap, ones vital forces, is to overcome the world, and all in it.

'Hmmm. And that new steno in my office, a very junior person-Id want to share with her too, the instant the conditions are propitious.

Raghupati did nothing important without consulting his astrologer. Had it been feasible, he would have checked with the stars even before b.u.t.toning up his shirt or scratching his elbow or breaking wind. A family tradition. Over the years, astrologers and palmists, yogis and fortune-tellers had advised him on whom to marry, what new first name to give his wife, when to copulate so as to beget only sons, when to officially drop his caste-revealing surname, what allonym to adopt, when to angle for a transfer, which posts were both lucrative and safe, whom to beware of, whom to trample on, whom to suck up to, when to separate from his wife, which functions to attend, what colours to wear on which occasions, what food to eat when, when to divorce-in brief, how, when and where to place every step of his life.

Baba Mastram had been his guiding light and troubleshooter for, off and on, two decades now, ever since the affair of the bungalow peon at Koltanga. In that time, whenever practicable, hed arranged for the Baba to follow him wherever hed been posted. He was now toying with the idea of buying him a mobile phone. Hed turned down two positions at the Centre because the Baba had counselled against both when hed sensed that he wouldnt have been part of Raghupatis baggage on either occasion.

On most mornings, Baba Mastrams session with the Commissioner ended by eight-thirty. He then ambled around in the compound for a bit, drank a gla.s.s or two of coconut water, unravelled dire futures in a couple of sweaty palms, and at a quarter to ten, along with the domestics, hung about in a circle to watch the Commissioner leave for office. Afterwards, excitement over, they all got down to the day; they breakfasted for a second time. While readying lunch, they snacked, and throughout the day, quaffed litres of tea in front of the TV.

On Tuesday morning, Baba Mastram warned Chamundi to be particularly vigilant of his person in the next two weeks, and above all, not to wear green; nervously-and in grat.i.tude- Chamundi ma.s.saged him with especial vigour.

On the quiet days, Raghupatis ma.s.sage was followed by a bath, lunch and a nap. He generally returned to work at about four. Not that there was anything at that hour that couldnt wait till next week, but old habits die hard. By posting him to Madna and making him responsible for Land Revenue, Depressed Tribes and Forests Protection, the regional government had wished to teach-not the wildlife raiders and timber smugglers but Raghupati himself-a lesson. The Commissionerate had neither money nor manpower, none of those rungs and rungs of torpid employees ranging away to the horizon.

Just before he dozed off, he mentally composed a rejoinder to Miss Lina Natesan.

My magnificent Niss Natesan, I was intensely moved that evening last month at the sight-or should I say, vision?-of a greyish-brown shadow in the crevice of your green-georgetted hips. I went mad trying to figure out what it could be. As you know, I do not put on my spectacles in front of ladies. At last, at 10.10 p.m., I realized that it was a stray wisp of your false ponytail, the rest of which tapers off at your sari-line. And then, at that very moment-a staggering coincidence!-I see G.o.ds hand here!-you scratched the crack of your a.r.s.e, thereby pushing your sari deeper in. A less sharp-eyed man, admittedly, might not have noticed, but for me, s.e.x is power is money, and I wonder how people can differentiate the three. I wanted to free your sari from your almighty, disdainful b.u.t.tocks, and thence free your mind too, to haul you into the arms of power, because then youll feel-and warm to-that power as well, and all the s.e.x will overwhelm you in an indescribable rush.

Such were the anonymous letters that hed never actually written, leave alone posted. What he had often mailed, however, to all sorts of acquaintances, were almost-blank sheets of Welfare State off-white foolscap onto which hed e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed while lolling about in his office chair. At home, in his camp office, he typed out the addresses on a Devanagari manual machine: after all, as far as possible, all correspondence was to be in the official language. Hed been sending these billets doux out for some years now-rather generously, some four or five a week, to his office staff, colleagues, deputies, a.s.sistants and a.s.sociates, to his ex-brothers-in-law and the office-bearers of the Madna Club, and further from home, to the Prime Ministers Office and the Governors Secretariat, to the Resident and Executive Editors of The State Today and Our Time, the Chief Executive Officers of Chipra Zinc and Vindhyachal Oil, the Managing Directors of Airports Authorities and Highway Transport Corporations, to the Cabinet Secretary and the Chairman of the Board of Industrial and Financial Reconstruction. On all sheets he-before fouling them up-typed in Devanagari, Namaha Shivaya. He thought it appropriate.

When hed been jerking off, in a rather business-like manner, once, a couple of months ago, onto a letter addressed to Dr Harihara Kapila, his once-upon-a-time boss, he had been slowed down momentarily by the thought that forensic science could pretty easily trace his s.p.u.n.k back to him. Then he had recalled with a guffaw, h.e.l.l, dont be silly, not our policemen-and that very day, had posted off two more billets doux, one to one of the constables who was most often on night duty in the sentry-box at the gate of his Residence, the other to Madnas Police Superintendent.

For close to decades now, by and large, only s.e.x-related statements had registered with Raghupati-that is to say, at official meetings and so on, he sat up in his seat, p.r.i.c.ked up his ears, or blinked slowly, many times, only when a stray word or phrase, expression or idiom, hinted at, or suggested, the s.e.xual. For example: 'Despite good rainfall, the production of rape in Pirtana this season has been poor, sir.

'The trainees at our Industrial Inst.i.tutes do not have even tools to get the hang of things with, sir.

And, 'This is conduct unbecoming of a civil servant, sir.