Agastya was savouring a joint and his chhota hazri when his PA came in and genuflected. What is it, Biswas? Agastya asked impatiently.
Saar, there is a deputation of bhillagers to see you, said Biswas, scratching his nose reflectively. It was part of the IAS code that one scratched ones nose in front of the boss, and graduated to lower things in front of common visitors. What do they want? said Agastya, suppressing a desire to light his next chillum with the PAs moustache.
Saar, they want to make a celebration of Indias 50th anniversary of Independence, said Biswas. Agastya looked at the man keenly. Have you been drinking? he demanded. As district collector, he knew that the villagers had little to celebrate and even less to celebrate with. He sighed heavily and called for the official jeep.
Sarkar, you are our mai-baap, cried the oldest member of the panchayat as Agastya came in. He was hurriedly shushed by the rest. Sorry, Saar, he thought it was our local polteeshun, said the headman. Gopal Ram had established a strong relationship with Agastya by the simple means of sending him presents of stone gewgaws packed in three layers of marijuana leaves for safety. This, Gopal Ram considered, saved him the labour and money involved in procuring Scotch from the city.
The story picked up power in tempo with the glaring heat of the midday sun. The villagers wanted to celebrate 50 years of serfdom. Unfortunately, there was a scarcity of certain essential items water, food, and other such things. The polteeshuns had distributed largesse before each election, in the form of three dry tubewells, four foundation stones, and a Pentium. Madna had no electricity, so the last was not very useful.
Agastya heard them out in silence, fighting a strong urge to commit ritual harakiri. Its the politicans, hmm? he said to Gopal Ram. Then why not invite them to a banquet? Its election year, so theyre bound to come. And if nothing else works out, then serve up the servants of the people. Gopal Ram laughed along with him. And then, when Agastya was gone in a cloud of important dust, he began to look thoughtful.
Wheres the bloody police? Agastya barked at his officers. Saar, the security officers sent them away. Whose bloody security officers? Saar, the MPs. How many of them are there? Security officers, Saar? No, idiot! MPs! Saar, fifty. It is a good media opportunity and they were attending a seminar in the next district.
Agastya looked at the terrified young BDO. So, he said softly, if fifty politicians came to this district, where are they now? And why wasnt I informed?
The second question was never answered to anyones satisfaction. The first was answered almost immediately. From the fields, there came an awe-inspiring procession, headed by Gopal Ram. He was followed by excited women and children. Bringing up the rear was a cavalcade of men bearing large platters on their shoulders, four to a tray.
Gopal Ram stopped when he saw Agastya and respectfully namasted him. Our chief guest, he explained to Poonam, and then, Collector Saab, hamara burra khana. Hunting for his last joint, Agastya craned forwards to get a closer look at what was on the fifty platters.
