P.C Sharma and some members of the audience clapped wildly as the Minister took a pause, and Arnab began to suspect how many in the crowd were genuinely reporters and how many were the Minister's cronies.
'When there is crime, we want to bring those responsible to justice as fast as possible, and with the help of this brave young man here, Mr. Amitabh Bannerjee, we have done just that.'
Amidst the applause, Arnab realized that the Minister had gotten his name totally wrong and was wondering how to correct him, when Upadhyay stood up and called out loudly to one of his men in the distance.
'Bring the rascal up on stage.'
Arnab looked on with bewilderment as a reed-thin man was marched onto stage, his hands and legs manacled, and the Minister continued.
'The main culprit in this case is before you-a notorious hooligan who is known to have deep associations with the Opposition. See the kind of ruffians they keep company with, and how they try and destabilize our government. Thanks to our vigilant police force under DCP Upadhyay, we have put an end to this gang.'
The crowd applauded, Upadhyay preened, P.C. Sharma chaperoned the Minister away, a few camera flashes went off, and Arnab was left feeling quite confused.
The man they had produced looked nothing like any of the bank robbers he had encountered that day.
When he reached the library the next day, he found Jayantada sitting in his chair, sipping his usual cup of morning tea. As Arnab wished him good morning, Jayantada pointed to the newspaper by his side and said with a sarcastic smile, 'Just don't let all the fame get to your head.' Arnab picked up the paper to see a small news item.
'The Minister for State, Balwant Singh, accused the Opposition of creating law and order disturbances to undermine the Government at a Press Conference held at a city college last evening. He also announced that the prime accused in the Balwant Singh College bank robbery case had been arrested, and was known to be associated with key Opposition leaders.'
That was it.
No mention of Arnab, nothing about his supposed heroics and certainly nothing about what had happened with the real bank robbers. Above the story was a photograph of the event. As Arnab eagerly scanned it, he realized it was a close up of the Minister. To his right was part of a shoulder, which Arnab recognized as his. With his celebrity aspirations reduced to half a shoulder in the papers, he settled down to his duties with a sigh. Perhaps sensing how he felt, Jayantada walked up to him, and in a rare show of sympathy, put a hand on his shoulder and said, 'The Minister also asked for you to be promoted.'
Arnab wasn't sure he had heard it right, but then Jayantada said, 'Congratulations on becoming the Associate Head Librarian.'
Arnab felt that perhaps something good had come of this incident after all, and asked whether there would be any increase in his duties.
'Not really.'
He hesitated before asking the next question.
'Err, Jayantada, would I get an increment?'
Jayantada smiled as he said, 'You get a one time bonus of five hundred Rupees.'
It was peanuts, but was better than nothing, and as Arnab thanked Jayantada and got back to work, Jayantada landed the knockout blow.
'By the way, Arnab, I'll have to cut three hundred Rupees from your next pay check.'
'Why?' stammered Arnab.
'Because the copy of War and Peace has so many bloodstains on it that it's useless.'
Arnab didn't know whom to curse more, Jayantada or Tolstoy.
TWO
The next morning, Arnab woke up using his time tested three-stage alarm system, which he had perfected in college. Stage One was an alarm set on his bedside clock, which he inevitably turned off within a second of it ringing. Stage Two was an alarm on his mobile phone, which usually woke him up enough to get up and sit on the bed. Stage Three was the loudest, an ear-piercing alarm from an old clock he kept in the bathroom, which forced him to get out of bed and begin the day. Years of living alone had meant that Arnab's routine had evolved into something that worked for him, but would probably be bizarre to anyone else.
His parents had passed away long ago, and his memories of them were a hazy mix of happy afternoons spent playing football with his father, and gulping down sweets made by his mother. His adolescent years had been spent shuttling from one distant relative's house to the other, and he was secretly thrilled to get out of the stifling atmosphere of relatives who tolerated him with scarcely concealed impatience, waiting for the day he would grow up and leave. Now, older and perhaps wiser, he realized that his family had certainly not been well off by any means, and taking on the added responsibility of a young boy would have definitely been a burden. Anyways, that was then, and this was now. Though the one thing Arnab did miss was having a real family of his own.
Perhaps to make up for a lonely childhood, he had long learnt to lose himself in the make-believe world of books, vicariously living a life of fame and adventure in the exploits of fictional heroes such as the adventures of superheroes. It was also a way of creating a bridge to the life he had once had with his parents, as his father, a schoolteacher, always ensured that Arnab's mind was full of stories and the house full of books. As a child, he had zealously hoarded his pocket money, sometimes foregoing meals to save up to buy his favourite comics and novels, and when he moved to Delhi, he brought with him a trunk full of books. Space was at a premium in his one room apartment in Mayur Vihar, but he compensated for it by using the trunk of books as both his dining table and the resting place for the second hand laptop he had bought to surf the Net. He had not read many of the books for years, but having them near him always served to remind him of the life he had left behind. Without too many friends or much of a social life in Delhi, he found the Net a useful diversion and a way to stay connected with some of his friends from Calcutta.
By eight o'clock, he was out of his house and in a bus that would take him to the North Campus where his college was situated. When he had moved to Delhi to take up the job a year ago, he had initially been quite ruffled by the aggressiveness of people on the smallest of matters. For example, jostling for space on a Delhi bus often became a matter of life and death. Arnab, in contrast, had always shied away from confrontation. His slight build and introverted nature had meant that he had suffered many taunts, jibes and bullying in school in silence, reassuring himself with the thought that it wasn't worth getting into trouble over. At home, he would live out a fantasy world of his books-where things were in order, good prevailed and even ordinary people got a chance to do extraordinary things. In his real life, he settled for being pushed into a corner of the bus as more and more people piled on, and mumbling apologetically as he tried to battle his way out when the bus reached his college.
Jayantada seemed to be in a rare good mood when he entered the library and for once, greeted him before he could wish him.
'Arnab, I need you to do something urgent today.'
When Arnab asked what he wanted, Jayantada pointed to the vast expanse of the library and said, 'Can you please clean this place up, and make it look, you know, more professional.'
By way of apology, he added, 'I know it's not your job, but the lazy goddamned cleaner won't get here till noon, and Mishti's coming to see the college today.'
Arnab's heart skipped a beat as he remembered the attractive girl from the hospital room. With a conscious effort to not sound too interested he asked, 'So, what's she doing here today?'
'Arnab, she wanted to see my workplace I guess. You know, she is the brightest in the family. An MBA, I tell you! I don't want her to think her uncle works in a dump, even if that's the truth'.