Last Man in Tower - Aravind Adiga [109]
Ajwani turned and cursed. Mrs. Saldanha’s waste water pipe was discharging right onto his foot. “Turn the tap off, Sal-dan-ha!” he shouted.
“Have!” she shouted back, but the water still flowed, like a statement on the violence in parliament. The dirty water separated the crowd; from the stairwell, there came a barking—the old stray dog rushed out—the Secretary had to move, and Masterji ran up the stairs.
As he bolted the door behind him, he could hear Mrs. Pinto’s voice: “No, please don’t go up. Please, be civilized!”
He barricaded the door with the teakwood table. When he went to the window, he saw them all gathered below, looking up at him. He stepped back at once.
So I’m the last man in the building now, he thought.
He sniffed the air, grateful for the tannic smell that lingered from the brewing of ginger tea.
Pouring out what was left in the porcelain pot, he drank bitter cold tea.
He called the number on the business card he had brought with him.
“Just lock yourself in,” Mr. Parekh said. “Tomorrow, come see me again: if I am not here, my son will see you.”
“Thank you. I am all alone here.”
“You are not alone. Parekh is with you. All four Parekhs are with you. If they threaten you I will send a legal notice: they’ll know they’re dealing with an armed man. Remember Bandookwala versus Dolly Q. C. Mehta. The MOFA Act is with you.”
“How can they threaten good people in daylight? When did things change so much in this city, Mr. Parekh?”
“They have not changed, Masterji. It is still a good city. Say to yourself, MOFA, MOFA, and close your eyes. You sleep with the law by your side.”
But Ram Khare’s black snake was in his room now. Right in his bed, moving up his thigh. The snake’s tongue of violence flickered before him. You’re next, Masterji. A young man with a gold necklace and thick, veined arms comes to him one evening and says: I just want to have a word with you, old man. Just a quick …
He had been too scared to protect Purnima from her brothers: he would not be scared this time.
“Go away,” he said.
Slithering down his legs, the black snake left.
As the lawyer’s card rose and fell on his chest, Masterji looked at the sagging, scaly skin that covered his hands. MOFA, he recited as instructed. MOFA, MOFA. He gave his fingers a shake, and old age flew away: he saw young strong hands now.
3 AUGUST
To,
All Whom It May Concern
Within my Society and outside it
From,
Yogesh A. Murthy
3A, Vishram Society
Vakola, Mumbai 55
This is to state that intimidation in a free country will not be tolerated. I have been to the police station and received every assurance from the Senior Inspector that this is not a neighbourhood where a teacher can be threatened. I am not alone. The famous legal team of Bandra, Parekh and Sons, with whom I am in constant touch, will initiate action against any person or persons threatening me via phone or mail. In addition, I have students in high places such as the Times of India office. Vishram Society Tower A is my home, and it
Will not be sold
Will not be leased or rented
Will not be redeveloped
Signed (And this is the real signature of the man)
Yogesh Murthy.
The inspector at the Vakola police station meant what he said about his neighbourhood being safe for senior citizens.
A fat constable named Karlekar came to Vishram Society within half an hour of Masterji’s phone call in the morning.
After taking a statement from Masterji (who, it turned out, had not actually seen a thing, as he had been away in Bandra consulting a famous lawyer) Karlekar sat down at the Pintos’ dining table, wiping his sweaty forehead and looking at Mr. Pinto’s bandaged right foot.
Mr. Pinto said: “No one threatened me. I slipped outside the compound and twisted my foot. Serves me right, walking so fast at my age, doesn’t it, Shelley?”
Mrs. Pinto, being all but blind, had nothing to say on the matter.
The constable jotted things in his notepad. The Secretary came up to