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I'll teach you a lesson.' He raises his baton to strike me, but Abdul intervenes. 'Please don't hit
him, Inspector Sahib. Raju has become mentally unbalanced since his friend Shankar's death.
Shankar also used to speak like this.'
'Oh, is that the case? Then why did you even think of him as a suspect? We won't get anything
out of a lunatic. Come, let's go,' he gestures to his constables. Then he looks at me. 'Sorry to have
bothered you, you can go home now.'
'Pdxif Ukj,' I say. 'Pdxif Ukj Rznu Hjyd.'
* * *
I am sitting on Smita's bed with tears falling from my eyes. Smita takes my hand in hers and
gently squeezes it. I notice that her eyes too are misting with tears. 'Poor Shankar,' she says.
'From what you've told me, he seems to have been an autistic child. What a horrible death he
endured. You have really gone through hell, Thomas. You didn't deserve all that pain.'
'But my hell is still preferable to Nita's. Just imagine what she has had to undergo since the age
of twelve.' Smita nods her head. 'Yes, I can imagine. Is she still in Agra?'
'She should be, but I can't know for sure. I have had no news of her for the last four months. I
don't know whether I will ever see her again.'
'I am sure you will. Now let's see the penultimate question.'
* * *
The studio sign says 'Silence' but the audience refuses to heed it. They point at me and chatter
excitedly among themselves. I am the idiot waiter who has staked a hundred million rupees on
one question.
Prem Kumar addresses the camera. 'We now move on to question number eleven for ten crores.
Believe me, I am getting goosebumps just thinking about it. So, Mr Thomas, are you nervous?'
'No.'
'That's amazing. Here you are, gambling with the ten million rupees you have already won and
you don't feel even a trace of anxiety. Remember, if you give the wrong answer, you lose
everything. But if you give the correct answer, a hundred million rupees are yours. No one has
ever won such a large amount, not even in a lottery. So let us see whether history is about to be
made, right here, right now. OK, here comes question number eleven, and it is from the world of
. . .' Prem Kumar pauses for dramatic effect, then completes the sentence . . . 'English Literature!'
The studio sign changes to 'Applause'.
'Tell me, Mr Thomas, do you have some knowledge of English literature? Have you read English
books, plays, poems?'
'Well, I can recite "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep", if that is what you mean by English poetry.'
The audience laugh loudly.
'I must confess, I had something slightly more complex in mind, but never mind. You must have
heard of Shakespeare?'
'Sheikh who?'
'You know, the Bard of Avon, the greatest playwright in the English language? Oh, how I wish I
could return to my college days, when I spent all my time acting in Shakespeare's plays. Do any
of you remember your Hamlet? "To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in
the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of
troubles, And by opposing end them?" But enough of me. It is Mr Thomas who has to answer the
next question and here it comes, for the astronomical sum of a hundred million rupees. In
which play by Shakespeare do we find the character Costard? Is it a) King Lear, b) The Merchant
of Venice, c) Love's Labour's Lost or d) Othello?'
The music commences. I stare blankly at Prem Kumar. 'Tell me, Mr Thomas, do you have any
clue at all as to what we are talking about here?'
'No.'
'No? Then what do you propose to do? You must give an answer, even if it is based on the toss
of a coin. Who knows, if your luck continues to hold, you just might hit on the correct reply and
win a hundred million rupees. So what's your decision?'
My mind goes blank. I know I have been cornered at last. I think for thirty seconds, and then
make up my mind. 'I will use a Lifeboat.'
Prem Kumar looks at me quizzically. It seems he has forgotten that this game has something
called Lifeboats. He snaps awake at last. 'A Lifeboat? Yes, of course, you have both of your
Lifeboats available. Tell me, which one do you want to use? You can either ask me for Half and
Half or go for A Friendly Tip.'
I am confused again. Who can I turn to for an answer to this question? Salim will be as clueless
as me. The owner of Jimmy's Bar would have as much awareness of Shakespeare as a drunk has
of direction. And literature is as far from the minds of the residents of Dharavi as honesty is from
the police. Only Father Timothy could have helped me out on this question, and he is dead.
Should I ask for Half and Half? I insert my fingers into my shirt pocket to take out my trusted old
coin and am surprised to brush against the edge of a card. I pull it out. It is a visiting card which
says, 'Utpal Chatterjee, English Teacher, St John's School, Agra' and then it gives a phone
number. I don't understand at first. I have no recollection of anyone by this name or even how
this card got into my shirt pocket. And then, all of a sudden, I remember the scene at the hospital:
the bespectacled, unkempt man with a sixteen-year-old son who was dying of hydrophobia. An
involuntary cry escapes my lips.
Prem Kumar hears it and looks at me sharply, 'Excuse me, what did you say?'
'I said can you please call this gentleman?' I hand over the card to Prem Kumar. 'I am using my
Friendly Tip Lifeboat.'
Prem Kumar turns over the card in his fingers. 'I see. So you do know someone who can help
you with this question.' He has a worried look on his face. He makes eye contact with the
producer. The producer spreads his hands. The word 'Lifeboat' flashes on the screen. We see the
animation of a boat chugging along on the sea, a swimmer shouting for help and being thrown a
red lifebuoy.
Prem Kumar picks up a cordless phone from underneath his desk and passes it to me. 'Here you
are. Ask whatever you want, from whoever you want. But you only have two minutes, and your
time starts,' he looks at his watch, '. . . now!'
I take the phone and dial the number on the card. The call goes through and the phone starts
ringing at the other end in Agra. But it simply rings and rings and rings and rings and nobody
picks it up. Half a minute passes. The suspense in the studio could be cut with a knife. The
audience is watching me with bated breath. To them, I am no different from a trapeze artist in a
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