Topic started by Saketh on Sun Jan 30 09:32:12 .
All times in EST +10:30 for IST.
The Obscure Sahib
After fourteen years, I invite the reader to share a mystery, a problem that evades most of the mortals around me as an inviting yet unsuccessful sneeze. They are unable to reconcile to my present state of prosperity. Who would have dreamt that my Sahib, Shyam Sinha would die so suddenly that the suddenness itself could kill another ten? Nobody did. But the queerer part was yet to come. The death brought the entire Sinha conglomerate flocking at the Late Sahib's mansion to see what the gentleman had left for them. Even before the dirge died into its own, the family lawyer was called and was asked to pronounce the dead man's will.
I can never, ever forget the moment, My God, what a day it was! The lawyer would not read the will. He said," I cannot read this, it is shocking!" But the grand old ladies and gentlemen were only turned on more. Then, to an audience comprising of the three daughters and two sons of the Sahib, their families, in-laws, servants, neighbors, visitors, well-wishers and mourners, the lawyer reluctantly read out the will.
Few would have dreamt that I, Ramu, a mere helper at the household was to get half of the dead man's fortune. In one moment I had more than fifty million as wealth and five hundred venomous eyes peeping at me scorching me all at once. I did not feel ashamed, neither was I thrilled. I was afraid, it was pure fear. I confessed to them that I was as surprised as they were, in fact infinitely more but no soul on earth would believe me. They accused me of 'foul play' and said that they would 'drag me to the court'. It must be observed that the three daughters and the two mothers in law of the sons were the most vehement. These five people put together seemed to outweigh the entire earth for I could see nothing beyond them. The enormity of their geography apart, their verbal calumny dissolved my entire self-esteem. I did not know what my reaction was; I only felt that the pain would not be over for a long, long time.
It took one entire day for me to rethink what all had happened and at the end of it I was no happier than I was. I rethought what happened that night. But nothing suggested to me anything more than what I already knew. I in fact felt more confident after the entire flashback.
As the single largest holder of Sahib's fortune, I was to head the breakfast table. The curses grew in geometric proportion and one last, clear comment was," The fellow who killed the Sahib with poison in his milk is heading the table". I was filled with fear and anger blended together. I stalled myself. The will after all gave me the upper hand. I have a right to enjoy the fortune even if I don't deserve it, for the will wanted me to. I had no bloody reason to be ashamed of, so where is the same bloody reason to fear. I led the table with injured pride and fear too. I decided that I must conduct myself with authority. And people responded. They were pushed back and not one more foul word fell on me. For not just that day, but for days to come.
Days grew and the crowd thinned so did the abuses. The daughters, the in laws and their feminine relatives gave up. They knew that after all, the written will was more powerful than verbal vituperation. Peace descended. Or did it? The incident came up again and again. Then one fine day after all, the eldest daughter had the police brought in.
It created a big scene. The town was full of Shyam Sahib's news. The police descended and started their interrogation.
"Hello"
"Please be seated gentlemen," I said
"Well, what happened that night…when you were supposed to have taken milk to Sahib"
"What is the problem?" I asked fear mounting on me.
"The eldest daughter of the Sahib accuses you of having killed the Sahib"
"Is it? What?"
"Now…15 days after Sahib's death, I have to take this case…Tell me what happened"
I was silent.
"Sir, you may be a millionaire now, but remember that you were no worse than the carpet under your feet 15 days ago"
"Mind your tongue" I said rising
"Why should he?" she said.
"Sorry sir, but I must ask you a few questions"
"I am afraid I cannot answer"
"But, I have the authority. You must comply"
"Yes, you must!!!" they said.
I was silent.
"I get to know that you took the Sahib's last glass of milk" said the inspector with a wink.
I never opened my mouth.
"Tell me…"
"Tell him…"
"Yes you must know…you must all know what happened. You have a right. He has the authority", I said rising
They were silent. I began my story and they listened with utmost attention.
"It was nine when (as usual) I took him the glass of milk. The old man was not available at his study. He was as I presumed in his bedroom and I don't enter the bedroom of the Sahib unless instructed so. But the old man had a weak heart and frequently slid into the bed on account of pain. At these times, I always entered the room and helped him to his tablets. So, I was on my way to the bedroom when the Sahib rushed out of the bedroom in frenzy and crashed into me. I was surprised at him. I have never seen a more patient, methodical man in my life. But here he was, rushing as if he had his chickens astray. I gathered him as he had fallen down and tried to lead him inside, to his bedroom. But he would not come. He shouted as if I had terribly wronged and dragged himself along with me away from his bedroom.
'"Who wanted you there?"' he cried. I did not speak but simply got the glass of milk to him. He drank it as if he had a fit and finally said, '"Put some poison in it! Let me die!"' I never spoke another word. I took the glass from him and left the scene. Five minutes later he called me to his study.
' "Ramu, forget what happened tonight, will you"'
'Sure, if you wish so"
'"Oh…will you…ha ha …"'
Then he started again.
'"You saw the bedroom by the way…"'
'"Oh…you didn't…ha"'
"No, I did not Sahib"
'"Everything is peculiar tonight" 'he said, '"everything…is…call the lawyer and tell him to come immediately. You may rest in peace after you called him"'
"Yes, Sahib"
With this I concluded my story. I was impressed with myself for the taut oration and was sure that everybody was convinced until I was broken with a rude laughter from the inspector himself. I did not mind him but was silent.
"So that is your story"
"I am sure, inspector"
"You killed him. This story is false, utterly false, utterly, utterly false…" said the daughter when she was asked to stop with her 'utterly's by the cop.
"We will leave no stone unturned" he said "nor will I refrain from arresting you at the slightest hint of evidence"
What followed was a total search of my accoutrements, my former hut, and deep questioning of my family. Three months, the newspapers were full of my Sahib. And me. But nothing concrete came out. The police inspector regularly visited the house and by the time four months had passed, he was wishing me "Good morning" as he did to my Sahib. I never considered him to be an eligible cop though nobody on earth can beat his upright salute and upturned paunch. Maybe, they are made for servility towards the rich.
The daughters left the place after their share of the spoil was given, their curses still lingering in my ear. They knew that I was a sincere servant but something prevented them from acknowledging it. They were deprived of their share of gold and that was what churned their souls. They would say "Ramu is a sincere fellow, he is very obedient" all before the poor Sahib kicked the bucket.
The sons were better because they knew that they would not have got much even if the old man had written a different will. They knew of his affliction with his daughters and never thought that given their own prosperity, they would ever get a good share. But their in laws were adamant, they did not want a third person get all their wealth. Not even a sincere fellow like me.
The Sahib himself presented the most inspiring stories in me. He was an orderly, methodical man, never a wrong word, never a hurried pace. I would prefer to write his biography if somebody should give me a chance. His whole bearing inspired me, and still it does. It is a part of History that his illustrious career ended in controversial circumstances. But only few mortal men like the reader know that behind his end was one wrong command to the sincere soldier in me and that was to deliver him the poison.
Sakethraman. M
29th Jan 2000
Tell your friend about this topic