Five Past Midnight in Bhopal - Dominique Lapierre [57]
There were plenty of other problems in store for the new captain. Firstly, how was he to remember the unpronounceable names of so many of his colleagues?
“Sathi,” he said one day to his secretary, “you’re going to teach me the correct pronunciation of the first and last names of everyone working in the plant, including those of their wives and children. And I’d like you to point out any mistakes I make because of my ignorance of the ways and customs of your country.”
“Sahb,” * the young woman replied, “in India, employees don’t tell their bosses what to do.”
“I’m not asking you to tell me what to do,” replied Woomer sharply. “I’m asking you to help me be as good a boss as possible.”
Warren Woomer was to discover, often at personal cost, the extreme subtlety of relationships in Indian society, where every individual occupies a special place in a myriad of hierarchies.
“I learned never to make a remark to anyone in the presence of his superior,” he would say. “I learned never to announce a decision without everyone having had the chance to express a view so that it appeared to be the result of a collective choice. But, above all, I learned who Rama was, who Ganesh, Vishnu and Shiva were; what events the festivals of Moharam or Ishtema commemorated; who Guru Nanak was and who was the god of work my employees worshipped so ardently and whose name was so difficult to remember.”
The god Warren Woomer could not remain ignorant of was Vishvakarma, one of the giants in the Hindu pantheon. In Indian mythology he personifies creative power, and the sacred texts glorify him as the “architect of the universe, the all-seeing god who disposes of all the worlds, gives the divinities their names and exists beyond mortal comprehension.” He is also the one who fashions the weapons and tools of the gods. He is lord of the arts and carpenter of the cosmos, builder of the celestial chariots and creator of all ornaments. That is why he is the tutelary god of artisans and patron of all the crafts that enable humankind to subsist.
Every year after the September moon, his effigy is borne triumphantly into all workplaces—from the smallest workroom to the largest factory. This is a privileged time of communication between bosses and workers, when celebrations unite rich and poor in shared worship and prayer.
Overnight the reactors, pumps and distillation columns of the Bhopal plant were decorated with wreaths of jasmine and marigold in honor of Vishvakarma. The three great tanks due to contain tens of thousands of gallons of MIC were draped in fabrics of many colors, making them look like carnival floats. The vast Sevin formulation unit, where the festivities were to be held, was covered in carpets and its walls were decorated with streamers and garlands of flowers. Workmen brought cases full of hammers, nails, pliers and hundreds of other tools, which they deposited on the ground and decorated with foliage and flowers. Others set up the colossal altar in which the statue of the god would be installed on a cushion of rose petals. Riding on his elephant covered by a cloth encrusted with precious stones, Vishvakarma looked like a maharajah. He wore a tunic embroidered with gold thread and studded with jewels. One could tell he was not a human being in that he had wings and four arms brandishing an ax, a hammer, a bow and a balance. Several hundred engineers, machine operators, foremen and workmen, most accompanied by their wives and children, and all dressed in their festival clothes, soon filled the work floor. Squatting barefoot in this sea of humanity, Warren and Betty Woomer, the only foreigners, watched the colorful