Slumdog Millionaire

I gaze at the Taj and then I gaze at Nita. The sterile perfection of the Taj begins to pale in comparison with the flawless beauty of her face. And tears start falling from my eyes as all the love I have bottled up in my heart for eighteen long years comes out in a tumultuous rush. I sense an emotional release like the bursting of a dam, and experience for the first time what Emperor Shahjahan must have felt for Mumtaz Mahal.

This is the moment I have been waiting for all my life and I have practised for it well. Najmi, the bearded poet, left a book of Urdu poetry for me before going to jail, and I have memorized several romantic verses. In a burst of inspiration, Najmi had even composed an original ghazal in praise of Nita, for my use. It went something like this:

 

Your beauty is an elixir,

Which has given an orphan life,

Lovesick I will die, from the grave I will cry,

Should you decline to become my wife.

 

I also recall many immortal dialogues from famous celluloid love stories. But sitting with Nita under the moonlit Taj Mahal, I forsake the world of poetry and films. I look into her eyes and ask her simply, 'Do you love me?' And she replies with just one word, 'Yes.' That one word holds more meaning for me than all the books on poetry and all the guidebooks on Agra. And when I hear it, my heart takes a joyous leap. My mighty love breaks free of the earth, takes wing and soars into the sky, like a kite. And then, for the first time, the Taj Mahal feels like a living house instead of an impersonal tomb; the full moon over our heads becomes a personal satellite, shining a private light, and we feel blessed to be bathed in its celestial glow, in our own exclusive heaven.

 

* * *

Shankar comes running to my room. 'Ykhz Mjqyfgu. Gxesqipq qo ynuqic,' he announces and directs me to Lajwanti's room.

Lajwanti is crying on the bed. The drops falling from her eyes like little pearls and darkening the fabric of her creaseless bed cover seem out of place in the spartan neatness of her room. 'What's wrong, Lajwanti? Why are you weeping?' I ask her.

'Because of that bitch Swapna Devi. She has refused to give me a loan. Now how will I pay for my sister's wedding?' she says and wails again.

'Look, nobody in the outhouse has that kind of money. Can't you get a loan from a bank?'

'Huh, which bank will lend to a poor maid like me? No, now I have only one alternative.'

'What? To cancel your sister's wedding?'

Anger flashes in her eyes. 'No. I will never do that. Perhaps I will have to do what our poet Najmi did. Steal the money.'

I jump up from my chair. 'Are you out of your mind, Lajwanti? Don't even think about it.

Didn't you see how the police took Najmi away?'

'That is because Najmi was a fool. I have a foolproof plan, which I am going to share with you because you are like my younger brother. Don't mention this to anyone, not even to Shankar.

You see, I have seen the location of the safe where Swapna stashes all her precious things. In her bedroom there is a huge framed painting on the left wall. Behind the painting is a hole where a steel safe is embedded. She keeps the keys to the safe underneath her mattress, in the left-hand corner. I secretly observed her opening the safe once. It is full of money and jewellery. I am not going to steal money, because that will be detected immediately, but I am thinking of making off with a necklace. She has so many in that safe, she wouldn't even notice. What do you think?'

'Lajwanti, Lajwanti, listen to me. If you consider me to be your brother, then follow my advice.

Don't even think about this idea. Trust me, I have had many brushes with the law and I know your crime will eventually catch up with you. And then, instead of participating in your sister's wedding, you will be grinding a mill in some jail.'

'Oh, you men are all sissies,' she says in disgust. 'I don't care what you say. I will do what I have to do.'

In desperation, I turn to my trusted old coin. 'Look, Lajwanti, if you don't believe me, that's fine.

But believe in the power of this magic coin. It never sends you the wrong way. So let us see what it says. I am going to toss it. Heads, you don't carry out your plan, tails, you do what you want.

OK?'

'OK.'

I flip the coin. It is heads. Lajwanti sighs. 'It looks like even luck is against me. OK, I will go to my village and try to raise funds from the headman, who knows me. Forget that we spoke.'

Three days later, Lajwanti locks up her room, takes a week's leave and departs for her village.

 

* * *

'I want you to stop working as a prostitute,' I tell Nita.

Nita agrees. 'I don't want to die before I am twenty like Radha. Take me away from here, Raju.'

'I will. Should I have a chat with Shyam about this?'

'Yes, we must get his agreement.'

I speak to the pimp the same evening. 'Look, Shyam, I am in love with Nita and I want to marry her. She will no longer work in the brothel.'

Shyam looks me up and down as if I am an insect. 'I see, so you have been giving her all these stupid ideas. Listen, you bastard, nobody tells Nita to stop working. Only I can tell her that. And I don't want her to stop working. She is the goose which lays the golden eggs. And I want those eggs to keep coming for a long, long time.'

'That means you will never allow her to marry?'

'I can allow her to marry, but only on one condition. That the man who marries her agrees to compensate me for my loss of earnings.'

'And how much is your estimated loss of earnings?'

'Let's say . . . four lakh rupees. Can you get me that sum of money?' He laughs and dismisses me.

I check my savings that night. I have a total of 480 rupees. Leaving a shortfall of only Rs. 399,520.

I feel so angry I want to strangle the pimp. 'Shyam will never agree to you marrying me,' I tell Nita the next day. 'The only option for us is to run away.'

'No,' Nita says fearfully. 'The brothel people are bound to find us. Champa tried to run away last year with a man. They found her, broke the man's legs and starved her for ten days.'

'In that case I will just have to kill Shyam,' I say with a malevolent glint in my eyes.

'No,' Nita says vehemently. 'Promise me you will never do that.'

I am taken by surprise. 'But why?'

'Because Shyam is my brother.'

 

* * *

A jeep with a flashing red light has come to the outhouse. Constables pour out. This time there is a new Inspector. We are all called out again. 'Listen, all you good-for-nothings, something very serious has happened. Someone has stolen a very precious emerald necklace from Swapna Devi's house. I have a strong suspicion that the thief is one of you bastards. So I am giving you an opportunity to make a clean breast of it, otherwise when I catch the thief I am going to give him a hiding.'

I am immediately concerned about Lajwanti, but when I see the lock on her room and remember that she is in her village, I heave a sigh of relief. It is good she dropped that ridiculous idea of stealing a necklace. She thought Swapna Devi wouldn't notice the loss, and now the police are on to it in a flash.

One by one all of us are questioned. When Shankar's turn comes, the same scene is re-enacted.

'Name?' asks the Inspector.

'Odxifxn,' replies Shankar.

'What did you say?'