Mahajan Sahib, my next door neighbor, had sent for me the last evening. A grand old man, his girth matches his 66 inches height and I guess he should not be weighing any less than twice as many kilos. Mahajan Sahib’s bulk and advanced years have made him rather sedentary. Poring over the newspaper and watching the world go by from his first floor balcony are his favourite pastimes. At least that’s what I had imagined till our meeting.
Having exhausted the stock inquiries of each other’s personal and families’ health, Mahajan Sahib threw me the ultimate question – Phir hor?
Not to be found lacking in the art of conversation, I demanded, ‘Hor ki?’
‘I need your help and don’t say no to me.’ Coming at last to the business at hand, Mahajan Sahib said in a pleading voice.
‘What can I do for you?’ said I.
‘Help me stand in the coming elections.’
‘You! Going for election?’ I asked, nearly falling off the chair with the shock of surprise.
‘Yes, me,’ the elderly man said in a level voice. ‘And why not, hain? I am a citizen of India, a local voter well above the age of twenty-five, one who has never been charge-sheeted and is well off to afford the security deposit of twenty-five thousand rupees for his candidature.’ In a feat of its kind, the asthmatic Mahajan Sahib had spelled out, in a rasping breath, his eligibility to stand in the general elections.
‘That’s all right. But where do I come in this picture, sir?’ I enquired. Involuntarily, I had stood up to leave the presence of the would-be hon’ble MP.
‘You see,’ said Mahajan Sahib pulling me back to my chair, ‘I already have nine sponsors to support my nomination – my wife, two sons and their spouses, and four of my grown-up grandchildren. I need one more to meet the requirement of the Election Commission for an independent candidate. That’s where I need you.’
I was in a quandary. To say no to him would have been impolite, but to say yes meant I was being untrue to myself. Onerous are the responsibilities of a legislature. I could not see poor Mahajan Sahib in that role. Non-committed, as I returned home, I kept thinking whether I was right in keeping the venerable old man in suspense.
‘No, you have been wrong.’ That was Kaga Bhushundi Ji. Any question in my mind and he is there with a ready answer.
‘How can you say that, Kaga Ji? The man is well into his 80’s and can barely stand on his feet. Fighting elections is an uphill task and then the winner has also to deliver.’ I ventured.
‘Ram Ji ki saugandh – on the oath of Lord Rama – I say, you are no vaidya or physician to judge a man’s physical or mental well being. There is another man electioneering in the hills. He is 89. In the morning when he sits down for his repast, his servants first tie a piece of cloth round his neck and then feed him spoon by spoon. Four persons are required to help him to his ratha, what you say, a car. He gives his own names to the people he meets and tells them his own stories. Along with him travels a young man whom the forgetful veteran has lately recognized as his jaivik – biological – son. After 35 years.
‘But, Kaga Ji, our Mahajan Sahib is not a man of that stature.’
KAGA BHUSHAUNDI SPEAKETH
Suman K Sharma
‘No ifs and buts. Just go back to your neighbour and tell him you will gladly propose him. If you don’t, someone else will. Nothing can stop a determined Indian to stand in an election.’
‘Democracy zindabad!’ I shouted and rushed back to Mahajan Sahib’s house.
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