Cutting The Ribbon
Nimi Kurian
24 May 2008, 08:39They stood in the village square and hotly discussed who should be invited for the opening of the new college in their village.
“Kanta-ji…” shouted Amar and a few others. The decision makers were Amar (whose father was the headman for ever so long), Kitchu (whose father ran the most successful business in the village – officially, a restaurant), Nathu (who was actually Kitchu’s henchman, just like his father was Kitchu’s father’s henchman) and Billi ( the village toughie – once again a status handed down from his own father!) Nobody actually had any other opinion when the mighty four agreed on something.
Master-ji, lying under the banyan tree, shook his head. “Bad idea,” he mumbled but no one heard him. They continued to loudly discuss the inauguration. It was almost noon before they decided that Kanta-ji would be the chief guest and fixed the date.
Master-ji was apprehensive but then no one bothered to even listen to what he had to say. For them he was just the old master of the village school.
But Master-ji was a wealth of information. He had been a teacher in the village school for so many decades, he had lived in the village all his life and he knew everyone in the village too, for he had taught them all. Now he was old and didn’t have a family. He lay on a cot under the banyan tree all day long. The people of the village fed him and ensured that he was well looked after, since they all had studied under him at one time or another.
The village was excited. The new college was to be inaugurated and there was so much work to get done. And with a minister coming to inaugurate it, there could be no room for inefficiency or failure. Master-ji alone could not get into the mood of things.
According to the stars the best time to inaugurate the building was 1730 hours. So the function was to begin a little earlier so that the speeches and felicitations could be done with and everyone would be ready by 1730 when Kanta-ji would cut the ribbon.
Everyone was tensed. By mid morning, the police from the special force and had come and checked out the entire village, looking under the cots, the old boxes lying around the houses and even the toilets! There were some ferocicous looking dogs too. The kids were scared and kept their distance.
At 4.45 p.m., they received information the Kanta-ji’s convoy was entering the village.
“What already?” shouted an agitated Amar. “Get ready everyone. Where are the girls? Girls! Girls! Come quickly. Take your positions. Are your thali’s full? Where is the rose water? Where is the garland?”
The others in the coterie too were agitated, running around and ensuring that everything was perfect. Soon, almost too soon, they heard the loud wailing of the siren as the cars turned in to the village square. The big four ran out to meet Kanta-ji as she drove up. Her car was the third one. The special force in the open jeep trained their guns on the four and rudely shouted at them to keep away from the car. Unmindful of the shouted orders they ran on beside the car, one hand on their angavastrams and the other holding their dhotiin place.
Suddenly they car came to a stop, the four almost banging into each other. Kanta-ji, looking out of the window smiled. It was a smile of victory. She wished her father was here to see this sight. Suddenly tears filled her eyes. The familiarity of the surroundings took her back almost fifty years.
Master-ji got up from his cot and watched. He thought to hmself, “Indeed, the wheel has come full circle!”
The Press was there in full force. Photographers pressed close to the car to get close-up shots of the minister. The reporters hung aroung in the hope of getting some exclusive story.
As Kanta-ji got off the car, the girls came to garland her, present her flowers and gifts and sprinkle rose water. She sat on the dais and looked around. The speeches had begun. It was Amar first. He laid it on thick, praising the honourable minister and all the work she had done. Kanta-ji smiled, and in the distance saw Master-ji under the tree. She caught his glance and with a breif nod acknowledged his presence. Then came Kitchu and finally Billi. Once they had finished it was time for Kanta-ji to speak. There was an expectant silence.
She had addressed the gathering, and then looked around. Her eyes fell on the young sari-clad girls who had garlanded her.
“Do you know that once…a long time ago, I too was a girl like you. Growing up in this village. I went to the village school…”
A collective gasp went up from the crowd. They asked each other, “Did you know she was from our village?”
“Did you know…?”
“Did you know…?”
No one had ever mentioned that Kanta-ji used to live in this village, they thought. Master-ji alone knew.
“Master-ji was my teacher. I used to be a good student. You can ask him. My father had great dreams for me. And then suddenly my life was shattered. I thought my life was over…”
The reporters paused, looking up at her. They sensed a good story.
“Fifty years ago…one evening I was walking home when I was stopped by four men – the village headman, the owner of that so-called restaurant, his henchman and the town toughie. All four of them were drunk. They accused me of stealing and when I disagreed they dragged me away and raped me. In the dark of the evening their crime went unnoticed. And anyway everyone in the village was scared of them. Not one person raised a voice. My father came searching for me and found me, bruised and hurt, my clothes all torn. Master-ji was with him. Master-ji wrapped his shawl around me. That night my father and I crept out of this village…”
Her voice fell, it was barely audible. She sobbed.
