‘Alive?’
‘Yes. We have just—’
‘Then bring him to Prem Nivas immediately. What are you waiting for?’ Mahesh Kapoor’s voice cut in.
‘Minister Sahib, I apologize, but I am on duty here. You will have to come down yourself.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, of course—’
‘And I should mention—’
‘Yes, yes, go on, go on—’
‘It may not be advisable to move him at present. Well, I shall expect you soon.’
‘Good. What is your name?’
‘Kabir Durrani.’
‘Durrani?’ Mahesh Kapoor’s voice expressed surprise before he told himself that disaster knows no religion. ‘Like the mathematician?’
‘Yes. I am his elder son.’
‘I apologize for my sharpness. We have all been very tense. I will come down immediately. How is he? Why can’t he be moved?’
‘I think it is best if you see for yourself,’ said Kabir. Then, realizing how terrifying these words might sound, he added: ‘He does not appear to have any external injury.’
‘The eastern end?’
‘The eastern end.’
Mahesh Kapoor put down the phone and turned to the family, which had been following every word at his end.
In fifteen minutes Veena had Bhaskar in her arms again. She held him so tight that they seemed to be a single being. The boy was still unconscious, although his face was calm. She touched her forehead to his and whispered his name again and again.
When her father introduced the tired young man at the first-aid centre as Dr Durrani’s son, she stretched her hands towards his head and blessed him.
11.26
Dipankar, who had been thinking of death and almost nothing but death since the meaningless disaster of the stampede, said: ‘Does it matter, Baba?’
‘Yes.’ The kind face looked down at the two rosaries, and the small eyes blinked, as if in amusement.
Dipankar had bought these rosaries, one for himself and one — for some reason that he could not explain even to himself — for Amit. He had asked Sanaki Baba to bless them before he left the Mela.
Sanaki Baba had taken them in his cupped hands, and had said: ‘What form, what power are you most attracted to? Rama? or Krishna? or Shiva? or Shakti? or Om itself?’
At first, Dipankar had hardly been able to register the question. His mind had reverted to the horror of what he had seen — experienced more than seen. Once more he saw the broken body of the old man a few feet away — the nagas stabbing at him, the crowd crushing him underfoot — the confusion and the madness. Was this what human life was about? Was this why he was here? How pathetic now appeared his hope to understand anything. He was more dismayed and horrified and bewildered than he had ever been.
Sanaki Baba placed his hand on his shoulder. Although he did not repeat his question, his touch brought Dipankar back to the present, back to the triviality, perhaps, of great concepts and great gods.
Now Sanaki Baba was waiting for his answer.
Dipankar thought to himself: Om is too abstract for me; Shakti too mysterious, and I get enough of it in Calcutta; Shiva is too fierce; and Rama too righteous. Krishna is the one for me.
‘Krishna,’ he said.
The answer seemed to please Sanaki Baba, but he merely repeated the name.
Then he said, taking both Dipankar’s hands in his own: ‘Now say after me: O God, today—’
‘O God, today—’
‘— on the bank of the Ganga at Brahmpur—’
‘— on the bank of the Ganga at Brahmpur—’
‘— on the auspicious occasion of the Pul Mela—’
‘— on the occasion of the Pul Mela,’ amended Dipankar.
‘— on the auspicious occasion of the Pul Mela,’ insisted Sanaki Baba.
‘— on the auspicious occasion of the Pul Mela—’
‘— at the hands of my guru—’
‘But are you my guru?’ asked Dipankar, suddenly sceptical.
Sanaki Baba laughed. ‘At the hands of Sanaki Baba, then,’ he said.
‘— at the hands of Sanaki Baba—’
‘— I take this, the symbol of all your names—’
‘— I take this, the symbol of all your names—’
‘— by which may all my sorrows be removed.’
‘— by which may all my sorrows be removed.’
‘Om Krishna, Om Krishna, Om Krishna.’ Sanaki Baba began to cough. ‘It’s the incense,’ he said. ‘Let’s go outside.’
‘Now, Divyakar,’ said Sanaki Baba, ‘I am going to explain how to use this. Om is the seed, the sound. It is shapeless and without form. But if you want a tree, you must have a sprout, and that is why people choose Krishna or Rama. Now you hold the rosary thus—’ and he gave one to Dipankar, who imitated his gestures. ‘Don’t use the second and fifth fingers. Hold it between your thumb and ring finger, and move it bead by bead with your middle finger while you say “Om Krishna”. Yes, that’s the way. There are 108 beads. When you get to the knot, don’t cross it, return and circle the other way. Like waves in the ocean, forwards and backwards.
‘Say “Om Krishna” on waking, on putting on your clothes, whenever you think of it. . Now I have a question for you.’
‘Babaji, I have one for you as well,’ said Dipankar, blinking a little.
‘My question, however, is a shallow one, and yours a deep one,’ said the guru. ‘So I will ask mine first. Why did you choose Krishna?’
‘I chose him because I admire Rama but I find—’
‘Yes, he was after worldly glory too much,’ said Sanaki Baba, completing his thought.
‘And his treatment of Sita—’
‘She was crushed,’ said Sanaki Baba. ‘He had to choose kingship or Sita and he chose kingship. He had a sad life.’
‘Also, his life was one from beginning to end — at least in his character,’ said Dipankar. ‘But Krishna had so many different stages. And at the end, defeated, when he was in Dwaraka—’
Sanaki Baba was still coughing from the incense.
‘Everyone has tragedy,’ he said. ‘But Krishna had joy. The secret of life is to accept. Accept happiness, accept sorrow; accept success, accept failure; accept fame, accept disgrace; accept doubt, even accept the impression of certainty. Now, when are you leaving?’
‘Today.’
‘And what was your question?’ Sanaki Baba said with gentle seriousness.
‘Baba, how do you explain all this?’ Dipankar pointed to the distant smoke from a huge funeral pyre, where hundreds of unidentified bodies were being burned. ‘Is it all the lila of the universe, the play of God? Are they fortunate because they died on this auspicious spot at this auspicious festival?’
‘Mr Maitra is coming tomorrow, isn’t he?’
‘I think so.’
‘When he asked me to give him peace, I told him to return at a later date.’
‘I see.’ Dipankar could not disguise the disappointment in his voice.
Once again he thought of the old man, crushed to death, who had talked of ice and salt, of completing his journey back to the source of the Ganga the following year. Where would he himself be next year, he wondered. Where would anyone be?
‘I did not, however, refuse him an answer,’ said Sanaki Baba.
‘No, you did not,’ sighed Dipankar.
‘But do you want an interim answer?’
‘Yes,’ said Dipankar.
‘I think there was a flaw in the administrative arrangements,’ replied the guru blandly.
11.27
The newspapers, which had been consistently lauding the ‘commendably high standard of the administrative arrangements’ came down heavily on both the administration and the police. There were a great many explanations of what had happened. One theory was that a car which supported a float in the procession had overheated and stalled, and that this had started a chain reaction.