4.
I wasn't the only person coming to this city for the first time this time. The same young man, Tanmay, who sells flowers, had come to the station to pick me up. Tanmay took me directly to his home in a horse-drawn carriage. This carriage had an interesting story as well.
Tanmay and his father lived in two small adjoining rooms within the courtyard of a temple. These rooms were likely built years ago with the intention of providing a place for the family that took care of the temple. But now, only the father and son maintained the temple. Tanmay's mother had passed away when he was a child, and his father had raised him alone.
Outside this temple, there were shops on the street, one of which sold fruits and vegetables. This shop was run by a husband and wife who lived in a small room above the shop with their only daughter. The couple had moved here from a nearby village and worked tirelessly to earn a living. The husband owned an old horse-drawn carriage that he used to go to the market every morning to bring vegetables. The wife sold the fruits and vegetables throughout the day, while the husband delivered goods from the market and then went to a nearby farm to bring various types of flowers. Their daughter would take the flowers upstairs to make bouquets and garlands. By late afternoon, after serving tea to her parents, she would go out to sell flowers in front of the temple.
By evening, her old father would park the carriage under a tree and fall into a deep sleep. When the mother returned from the shop at night and woke him up for dinner, the old man would sometimes wake up and sometimes just turn over and continue sleeping. Everyone said that the old man was addicted to some substance. He never failed to wake up early in the morning, but by evening, his eyes would start to roll back.
Meanwhile, the priest's son, Tanmay, after dropping out of school, would spend his days wandering around. One day, the old man who owned the fruit and vegetable shop handed over his carriage to Tanmay's father, saying, "I can't do it anymore. You take it."
- "But what will I do with it?" asked the priest.
The old man replied, "Give it to your son Tannu."
- "Tannu wanders around aimlessly. How will he take care of the horse's feed and water?"
And then, one day, in a state of intoxication, the old man, with surprising clarity, made a straightforward proposal to the priest. He said, "Marry your son to my daughter, and in exchange, take this carriage as dowry. Your son can use it to earn his living and bring flowers for his wife too."
So, this was the story that Tanmay told me while we sat on his roof in the evening.
I asked Tanmay, "But this is a good thing. Then why did you leave your home and come to me looking for work? You have a settled home and a stable livelihood!"
Tanmay laughed out loud and then said, "The story I told you isn't complete."
I stared at him in surprise. Then he told me that on the very day the girl's father handed over the carriage to his father, that evening, Chimni ran away from home.
- "Chimni? Who's Chimni?" I asked in astonishment.
So, here's what happened: The vegetable vendor's daughter, Chimni, who had already brought a horse carriage as dowry for Tanmay, suddenly ran away from home. Poor Tanmay, what was he supposed to do with that hefty dowry? And why would he care about the dowry if he didn't even have a wife? If there's no wife, then what dowry, and whose dowry?
That's why poor Tanmay also left home in search of work and eventually came to me asking for a job.
That was the whole story. Now, I couldn't offer him a job, but I did make him my friend and companion in my dilemma.
When I told him that my brother had recently returned from abroad with a lot of money and was living in his city, his eyes suddenly lit up. I also shared my suspicion with Tanmay that my brother might be involved in some shady business, which brought him even closer to me.
He assured me that he would help me fully and would be my partner in investigating my brother. That’s why, even before coming here today, I had asked him to check out my brother’s house a few days ago. He handled this responsibility well and had visited the place a couple of times posing as a flower vendor. In such a large and modern bungalow, there was always a demand for fresh flowers for decoration, and Tanmay cleverly took advantage of this to make my job easier. Now, visiting the bungalow was easy for him.
Tanmay introduced me to his father, the priest, by saying that I was his employer, who had given him a job at his shop. He also told him that I often come to this city to purchase goods for the shop and usually stay in a hotel, but this time he had brought me home so I wouldn’t have to stay in a hotel.
The priest was overjoyed by this information and felt a deep sense of respect for me. He silently thanked his son Tanmay’s luck, who had received a horse carriage in dowry before even getting a wife and now had his employer staying at his home before even starting his job.
Pandit Ji even asked a boy who cleaned the temple to come and cook at their home so that neither I nor his son Tanmay would face any inconvenience and Tanmay could take good care of me.
After dinner, Tanmay and I went up to the roof to sleep. There, I narrated the entire story to him—how one day, while I was in the washroom at my brother's house, the police suddenly arrived, looking for my brother, who had mysteriously disappeared. But later, my brother and the rest of the family returned as if nothing had happened, and they made me out to be the liar.
Tanmay was thoroughly enjoying the whole story, pleased with the idea that I had made him my partner in this secret mission to investigate my own brother.
We talked late into the night before finally falling asleep. Tanmay mentioned that his father, who was sleeping in the room below, would be waking up in an hour or two. He had to get up early to bathe and head to the temple for his morning rituals.
As I drifted into sleep, my thoughts were consumed by my brother's secret bungalow, and perhaps Tanmay was thinking about which flower bouquets he would take to the bungalow tomorrow.
When I hurriedly arrived at the temple in the afternoon, the priest was busy distributing *prasad* to some devotees. As soon as he saw me, the priest, who was also Tanmay’s father, set the *aarti* plate aside and came towards me with a smile, but he looked startled when he got closer. Perhaps he sensed my distress too.
Without any preamble, I quickly informed him that Tannu, who had left in the morning, still hadn't returned, even though it was almost four o'clock.
The priest looked at me in shock. He probably didn’t even know where Tanmay had gone, why he had gone, or why I hadn’t gone with him. Was the work his or mine? And why had he left me alone at home?
Seeing his blank expression, I couldn’t make sense of anything.
Maybe he was used to his son coming and going as he pleased. It didn’t seem to bother him. He calmly said, "He’ll come back. You should rest at home. Did you have tea? Shall I send someone to make tea for you?"
His calmness gave me some reassurance, but I was still wondering why Tanmay, who had taken a carriage to deliver flowers to my brother’s bungalow in the morning, hadn’t returned yet. I had told him to find a way to get inside my brother’s house and try to build some rapport with the maid so that I could gather some evidence or clues through her for my investigation.
Could the poor boy have gotten into some trouble? His father knows nothing, thinking I’m here to buy goods for my shop and waiting to take his son along with me.
I decided against sharing my worries with him and, scratching my head, quietly returned to my room. I thought, why trouble Tanmay’s father, who was engaged in religious work?
But after reaching my room, I started pacing back and forth in anxiety.
After a while, I decided to go to my brother’s house myself.
I wasn’t in a position to tell my brother anything, nor did I want to startle him, so I decided to go there quietly, hiding my identity.
After some thought, I quickly took down Tanmay's kurta and pajama from the hook and put them on. I wrapped one of his father's old scarves around my head and put on dark glasses.
After some consideration, I took off the pajama and wore the priest's *dhoti* instead, along with his old tire sandals. I locked the door and set out.
As my rickshaw passed in front of my brother’s bungalow, I felt confused. Should I get off and go inside or not? If I do, what should I say, and for what reason? What if my sister-in-law and the kids recognize me? How embarrassing it would be for them to see me like this! They would surely think I’ve gone mad and make a scene. They might even call my wife from home and have a doctor treat me!
Noticing my confusion, the rickshaw driver spoke up, "Where do you want to go, Bhaiya? This isn’t the Mall Road in Shimla that you can just roam around like this!"
Startled, I told him, "Turn back, I was just looking for an address."
The rickshaw driver, perhaps noticing a significant difference in my appearance and way of speaking, turned around suspiciously and began pedaling back.
I saw no sign of Tanmay at the bungalow or of him having been there.
I began to return.
As the evening deepened, my heart sank further. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong—why had Tannu, or Tanmay, who had left in the morning, not returned yet?
His father had returned from the temple and was eating the meal that the boy had prepared, sitting in the courtyard. I sat nearby, anxious and scared. The boy who cooked for us had served me hot food earlier and then left after setting aside a plate for the priest.
I hadn't yet told the priest that it was I who had sent Tanmay out on an errand in the morning, and that he hadn't returned yet. The priest assumed that his careless son had left me at home and was out wandering with his friends. He was irritated by his son's irresponsibility, who, in his eyes, couldn't even show respect to the gentleman who had given him a job.
Tanmay was still young, but children without mothers tend to grow up too soon. Besides, the priest knew that after a recent argument, his son had come to me looking for work. So he was aware that Tanmay could manage on his own outside the house. The priest had resigned himself to his son's waywardness as a matter of fate.
Nonetheless, I was beginning to feel sorry for both father and son, who were in trouble because of me. I silently watched the innocent priest as he ate his meal. My conscience told me I should confess to him that his son wasn't out wandering with friends, but had gone out on an errand for me and hadn't returned yet. The poor boy hadn't eaten anything since morning. Who knows where he was or in what condition?
People devoted to God often don't take care of themselves. They just believe that everything is God's will.
After finishing his meal, the priest took off his clothes and prepared to go to bed, telling me as he left, "You should rest too. That good-for-nothing will come back whenever he feels like it. If you need anything, just ask me."
Perhaps he was so sleepy from getting up early that he went straight to bed.
I felt even more pity.
There was no proper staircase to reach the roof of this house where we had slept the previous night. Instead, there was only a wooden ladder, which was taken down and leaned against the wall during the day.
As he left, the priest asked me again, "Shall I set up the ladder for you? You should get some rest."
But my worried mind wasn't in the mood to sleep alone on the roof, so I told him, "Don't worry, you go to sleep. I'll set up the ladder myself when I feel sleepy."
He laid down on his bed, and I, still anxious and worried about Tanmay, wandered out of the courtyard again.
There was no sign of Tanmay returning. I couldn't even hear the sound of his cart.
I paced back and forth in restlessness. The loud sound of the priest's snores reached me where I stood.
I wished I could hear the sound of a horse neighing instead of the priest's snores!
As the night deepened, the silence grew, but neither the tonga nor Tanmay arrived. My heart started to feel a creeping fear within.
Seeing a stranger wandering around the deserted temple area at midnight, I thought it best not to arouse any unnecessary suspicion. So, I placed the ladder against the wall and climbed up to the roof.
Even lying on the bed, I kept thinking about the incident.
It must have been around two in the morning when suddenly I heard a noise near the wall, followed by the sound of the wooden ladder falling.
I almost jumped out of bed and peeked down from the roof. The ladder I had used to climb up had suddenly fallen.
I looked around. Despite the dim light, the shining moon in the sky made everything below clearly visible.
Did a dog or cat knock over the ladder, or did someone come by?
My sleep vanished. Now, this added another worry to the seventeen others I already had—how would I get down in the morning? How did the ladder fall?
Sitting on the bed, I was pondering when suddenly a new thought crossed my mind. I wondered if Tanmay's horse had arrived?
Even in such a situation, the thought made me chuckle a little. Ridiculous! This only happens in movies, where animals help their owners and perform all sorts of feats.
If the horse had come, the tonga would have come along too. And if the horse had indeed come, where did it go?
There was no question of me falling asleep now. I knew that Tanmay's father would wake up early in the morning before dawn. After bathing at the outdoor tap, he would head to the temple. If he didn't notice the fallen ladder, why would he pick it up? How would he know that I was on the roof? He would leave.
Then, how would I get down after he left?
What a strange predicament!
What should I do? Should I shout loudly and wake up the priest? But if I shout like that, what if the priest gets scared? Poor guy. In just one day, he's been hit by two calamities. First, his son is nowhere to be found, and now an unknown man is in his house, and on top of that, there’s yelling in the middle of the night!
No, no, it's better not to wake him up; I should just stay awake for a while. He would wake up in an hour or two anyway, and then I could stand and explain everything to him.
I kept lying there, thinking and tossing and turning. My thoughts were interrupted when I heard some rustling sounds from below. Maybe the priest had woken up. I got up eagerly to tell him about the ladder.
But as soon as I tried to peek down, I saw him entering the toilet for his morning routine. Now, should I stop a man dressed in just his loincloth, with his sacred thread wrapped around his ear, heading for the toilet? I decided against it and stopped. But I also knew that the priest would brush his teeth while sitting inside and would quickly come out and start bathing under the tap, so I didn’t go back to the bed. Instead, I sat on the edge of the roof, letting my legs dangle, waiting for him.
Despite all the worries and anxieties, sleep was beginning to take over. After all, I had spent the whole night with my eyes wide open.
At that moment, another mishap almost occurred. As soon as the priest came out of the toilet and saw someone sitting on the edge of the roof with their legs dangling in the dark, he got startled and almost stumbled in fright. The water pot slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground. An empty pot, hitting the hard ground!
The noise startled me too, and I nearly fell off the roof.
The priest recognized me and quickly composed himself, and before I could say anything, he started trying to lift the ladder.
I hastily greeted him with a "Ram Ram," and then he mumbled, “Did Tannu come back or not?”
But while asking about Tanmay, there was not a hint of concern on his face for his son who had been missing since yesterday. The way he asked was as if he was inquiring whether Tannu had returned or if he should make tea for me.
I understood his intent and informed him that Tanmay hadn’t come back since yesterday, and I would go and check in a while to see what had happened.
He just kept staring at my face.
