Although he did not perform any miracle to deserve the status of a demi-god, his success as a businessman was nothing less than a miracle that brought him great respect. His was a typical rags-to-riches story that could inspire millions. Kanti Babu believed that this small town, where he was born and raised, would idolise him for his numerous achievements in the last thirty years, build memorials, town halls, hospitals, statues, name educational institutes to keep his memory alive. This diminutive, bespectacled and enlightened capitalist with a receding hairline would be immortalised for being a philanthropist who had crushed all materialistic urges and upsurges after a lifetime of manic indulgence.

He was luckier than other great Indian personalities. He could see all this happen while he was alive. A fawning acolyte called Sambhu – who always rode a bicycle and had earned the tarnished epithet of being Kanti’s better half – one day suggested to Kanti Babu a gripping idea that made him stop counting currency notes. Sitting on the stool beside his glass-topped cash counter, Sambhu began to pour, “Kanti, one idea is hammering me. The long, winding road to the railway station is being repaired after many years. It should get a new name to symbolise your life’s journey full of ups and downs. This would go down very well here, I think…”

“Then start…see how you can make it happen,” Kanti approved, without showing much fervour as many customers were hovering around him. Sambhu jumped off the seat, and began preparations in earnest, confident of pulling this off on Kanti’s behalf.

The proposal was discussed threadbare with a clutch of pseudo-intellectuals who found nothing sacrilegious or inappropriate in altering the name of the road once they were assured of front-page advertisements for their dying little magazine. The municipal body, in the governing council meeting, passed a resolution to this effect. Soon after this change was formalised, split air-conditioners and water purifiers were installed in the municipal office. This, however, meant another chore for shopkeepers who had to take time off to amend their signboards, buy paint and brush and write afresh: Kanti Babu Road.

It was a very happy day for Kanti Babu who stood at a corner chewing tobacco, leaning against a lamppost. He admired his name and surname written all over in bold italics in English, Hindi, and Bengali, visibly proud like a columnist feels to read his byline. Sambhu got his own reward: a piece of land at a prime location, for peanuts. Kanti Babu turned the proverbial monkey where two cats were fighting, and clinched the real estate deal in Sambhu’s favour. Buoyed by another overwhelming success, he felt like a supreme feudal lord whose writ prevailed all over. Men holding positions of authority kowtowed in front of this rich man who had never been to school. Imagine his high, higher than any elixir.

Recently, an incident of epic proportions rocked the bustling town. The central business committee, out of compulsion, had rallied behind him in his unilateral decision to persecute a studio owner by first slapping him in the presence of senior members who did not utter a word of protest and then topping it up with a fine of Rs 5000. One evening, Kanti Babu in his starched white dhoti-kurta had gone to get colour photographs from Baba studio. There he saw his garlanded photo!

All hell broke loose. He created a big fuss, grew hysterical and upturned some decorative pieces and finally, summoned the owner in an abusive language not heard earlier. Pintu came rushing from the toilet, zipping up his trousers in haste to understand what confusion had broken out in his shop. A new studio assistant, in his absence, had inadvertently garlanded Kanti Babu who was idolised by Pintu! One glance at the mischief and he quickly tendered an apology, as if he had done something more heinous than murder.

Irate Kanti Babu stomped out in disgust, grew suspicious of a clandestine rebellious movement in operation to either dislodge him from his seat of power or simply blow his brains out one fine day. He was not ready to consider it a fool’s mistake. As a precautionary step, security was beefed up around his sprawling mansion populated more by cats and dogs. His rabid followers clamoured for a thorough probe to arrive at the hidden truth. The hoopla petered out when pro-active Sambhu warned Kanti Babu to abandon this idea or else the CID might ferret out some more skeletons, mainly female, and put him in a quandary he would not be able to grapple with.

Making a hotheaded man understand the importance of diplomacy was indeed a difficult task. “Kanti, controlling anger is an art. You have been offensive. Many people must be angry with you now. I do not support you on this issue. What was the need of all this fury over a simple matter?” Sambhu wondered sorrowfully, biting his chapped lower lip and gazing at a young lady bending down to pick up her shades.

“You call it a simple matter? You’re not my friend then,” Kanti Babu exploded and jabbed the desk with the ballpoint pen – distributed free with every purchase from his leather goods store – he was using to dig out sticky wax from his left ear. Sambhu brought his eyes back to the table and quickly grabbed the paperweight.

To calm his rising temper, Sambhu softened his approach and smiled ear to ear, flashing his yellow stained teeth, “You don’t worry in any case; public memory is very short. With the first flush in the morning, they forget what they ate last night. They will soon forget everything if you say and do some nice things. You have not done any big crime.”

For a moment Kanti Babu regretted his reckless act and blamed Pintu. “Sambhu, that idiot made me dead on the wall! Just think of his audacity. How can one stay calm if one is pronounced dead to the world when one is very much alive and kicking? Tomorrow if your son puts a garland on your photo, how would you feel? It may be a small matter to others. To be honest, I was deeply hurt. Let me tell you. Some people want to eliminate me. I am successful, therefore much envied. Why won’t some fellows grow jealous of me? Better to first find out what my position is, locate the snakes in the grass,” he said, “and just pull them out. I will teach them a solid lesson. I suspect an opposition camp is functioning. That Pintu photographer is playing a double game, make him spill the truth.”

“I will find out,” Sambhu assured with a feathery touch of his hand, “you need not worry, just make sure…my land registry is due, money for…”

Kanti Babu pulled a drawer and took out a cash box that resembled a first aid kit. The lid was removed and Sambhu grabbed as many as he could.

“I will settle everything. This one is for the fact-finding mission, the first installment,” Sambhu the ombudsman said with a wry smile.

Kanti Babu’s stammering son Laltu was no less furious. He was engaging his peer group to find out his father’s hidden enemies. When this news reached Sambhu, he made him join his group and work together for a common cause. Instead of help, Laltu’s terror tactics seemed to worsen matters. Sambhu received several anonymous threat calls that gave him sleepless nights.

Kanti had always been scared of dissidence and therefore he had made Sambhu check the level of hostility, just as pollution check on vehicles is done every six months. The results had been gratifying. This time, however, he was slightly afraid of adverse public opinion.

The exercise mounted on a large scale was useless. Innocent people were held, suspects. Not a single rebel was found. A damage control exercise had to be put in place, the sooner the better. The central committee elections were drawing near, and Kanti wanted to contest it for another five-year term. For the first time, the voting was supposed to be conducted through a secret ballot. Surprisingly, this idea was floated by none other than Kanti Babu who had euphorically declared in a general meeting, “I have full faith in my work and performance, in people who have showered love, affection, and blessings on this humble servant. So I would love to have the voting done secretly, through the ballot. I know you will make me win with a clear thumping majority. Faith is absolute and unshakeable.”

The thunderous applause resounded in the Samiti office where the dead leaders like Kishoreda, garlanded with dust-laden artificial flowers watched helplessly. This vociferous support engendered hefty confidence. And he stopped short of naming himself the winner for the third time in a row.

Just as gods are appeased for favourable results, Kanti Babu’s advisers came out with an offset printed memorandum containing a series of benefits for ordinary shopkeepers. In addition to offering security from politically affiliated donation seekers, he promised to wage a tough fight against frequent power cuts during business hours. It spoke highly of reforms and the cascading effect of those for traders who were looking for some relief from occupational hazards. It spoke of hardcore action stuff to rev up the business scenario that had unlimited potential to reach dizzy heights. A feel-good speech laced with power-packed ideas was likely to sway the electorate.

Kanti Babu wanted to win people’s hearts in every possible way, and the easiest route was to host a buffet dinner party and a gala entertainment bonanza with local singers and dancers. He spent money to serve the best cuisine – fresh fish, chubby chicken, and meaty stuff along with foreign liquor. Guests were indeed touched with his munificence, though some murmured that feeding for a day would not solve their chronic problems. Anyway, they danced to the lilting tunes and had great sensuous fun till daybreak in the presence of belly dancers. Sambhu had prepared the bills and the expenditure in this exercise stood at a whopping lakh. It was difficult to guess to what extent he had embezzled.

What was marked to be a good PR exercise was a litmus test for him the following day. Some people fell ill and they had to be hospitalised. Loose motion and vomiting did not stop. A few dear traders of his inner circle were critical. The best medical care was provided to them. A yagna was performed to pray for the unwell at a small temple built by him. All expenses were borne by Kanti Babu who now suspected that it was mischief done by his opponents who wanted to besmirch his pristine image. Kanti Babu was indeed worried about the turn of events. He was desperately calling Sambhu for consultations. But the spin-doctor was unreachable.

Sambhu wanted to save his face so he quit the secretary’s plum post. His wife was reportedly suspecting a bromance between the two. When Sambhu took scant interest in her, she threatened to go to her parents’ house if he did not mend his ways.

Kanti babu was livid when he heard from Laltu that his reliable partner was leaving for Haridwar. He managed to speak to him one afternoon. Without any formal pleasantries, he burst forth, “You ungrateful wretch! What have I not done for you? And now you are leaving me. Is Haridwar so important at this stage? See me today.”

“I am leaving tonight, going there to pray for your well-being, Kanti,” Sambhu said endearingly, but it did not please Kanti much. This was the first time Sambhu had flouted his order.

Those who were undergoing treatment were put in intensive care but they were reportedly out of danger. Kanti Babu wanted a sympathy wave to favour him since he had done a lot for the sufferers. He was not sure about the timing of the elections, what if an anti-incumbency wave turned the tide...

All the plans went as per schedule. He was anxious to see the results, to be crowned the lord once again. After all, he had spent almost one lakh rupees out of his pocket for the treatment of traders. He sent shopkeepers in small batches to see the hospitalised – to see how they were recovering and how well they were cared for. In the meanwhile, an initial probe revealed that the delicious roosters were probably suffering from an attack of bird flu. The poultry supplier was nailed this time.

It was a cloudy day, with intermittent rainfall resulting in puddles. Traders braved the bad weather and came with umbrellas and raincoats to cast votes. Kanti Babu welcomed them all with clasped hands. He was happy to note their enthusiasm. There was no opponent in the fray and the secret ballot, therefore, was more of a farce – pretense to appear democratic. The exercise was over in two hours and more than 95 percent of people had exercised their franchise. Sambhu’s abstention bugged Kanti Babu and he vowed to punish him severely after getting re-elected. However, in solitude, he did wonder why Sambhu, a man who slogged for him and helped him in all matters for so many years, turned unfriendly at an unexpected hour. He was reluctant to buy the conspiracy theories circulated by the grapevine.

He went home and came with Laltu after lunch. The counting would begin. Baskets of flower petals and cartons of sweetmeats had been ordered for the victory celebration. Kanti Babu and Laltu came with packs of gulal. Their musclemen were already smeared with pink.

As the counting began, the officials were shocked. In less than half an hour the result was declared. Each ballot paper had a different and unusual story to tell. 1342 names of shopkeepers, each casting the vote in his favour! When Kanti Babu saw this, he thundered in the hall where a large crowd was waiting: “Raise your hands. All of you! Let me see who is against me. Show, show, I want to see all today. Fast! Come out in the open if you have the guts.”

Kanti Babu became happy when not a single person raised his hand. He climbed a wooden platform, and said haltingly, “Who does not want me? Come here and show me your face. Who rejects me? Who challenges me? I am waiting…counting till a hundred…”

Not a single shopkeeper stood up. Kanti Babu did not let go of this opportunity to cheer and proclaimed, “That means I’m the winner! You have chosen me. Elected unopposed.”

“Hip Hip Hurray!” Laltu added fanatically. The drummers who had stood silent began to beat the drums in frenzy. There was a riot of colours and a heavy rainfall of petals all over the place. Kanti Babu danced and sang and clapped. It was more of a circus show, where onlookers were merely puppets, swaying like the disciples of a hypnotic instructor, responding to what Kanti Babu said and did.

A crescendo of claps was heard but the coercion was distinctly audible. Amid this joyous celebration, he waved and flashed the victory sign and thanked the trader community for choosing him their leader once again. Pintu photographer ran behind him with his digital camera to capture the beautiful moments of joy expressed rarely and spontaneously that revealed the taste of success, hoping for a waiver in these hard times.

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