Serious Men

reassured Acharya that they would think of a way to help him; others shook hands with him sombrely. When the last of the visitors, a scrawny boy with a shoulder bag strung on his back, was about to leave, Acharya commanded: ‘Boy, get me some clothes and a lot of chocolates. And a lot of bananas.’
    *
    For twelve days after that evening, Acharya did not stir from the basement. He feared that if he left the lab even for a walk on the lawns, someone would lock the door and he would be thrown out of the Institute. Visitors now began to arrive in greater numbers than before, bearing food and clothes. And soap. It became a spontaneous basement rebellion. Nambodri was flooded with polite calls to reconsider his decision. But he did not relent. In his calculation, the ill-feeling against him would be forgotten once Acharya vanished not only from the Institute but also, after his dismissal was formalized, from the Professors’ Quarters.
    Acharya, for his part, did not budge. Security guards, ordered to throw him out, arrived and stood by his side, not having the courage to touch him. He would offer them bananas or ask them to get him some more. Then something changed. Late at night and early in the morning, the guards became accomplices, because that was the wish of Ayyan Mani. And Acharya went for quick walks on the campus.
    One night, when he returned from his walk, he saw a figure sitting on a chair near the main desk. His first reaction was that one of his own shadows had been liberated from the walls. But he soon realized it was Ayyan. ‘Did I scare you, Sir?’ he asked.
    ‘No, Ayyan. You did not scare me. I hear you are the one who is taking care of me. Is that true?’
    ‘That’s my duty, Sir.’
    ‘What are you doing here so late?’
    ‘I came to talk to you.’
    ‘Come here, let’s sit on the floor and chat,’ Acharya said.
    They leaned on the wall and stretched their legs. They could see each other in the dim light of a solitary bulb. Acharya never switched on all the lights because he did not want to abolish his shadow.
    ‘I hear your wife has left you, Sir,’ Ayyan said.
    ‘Yes. She went away. Everybody told her that I’d gone mad. She didn’t want others to know, you see.’
    ‘She will come back,’ Ayyan said. ‘Wives of an age are like evicted hawkers. They return in time.’
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    ‘I am very sure, Sir,’ Ayyan said. ‘You must go and get her. But you must now start pretending to be normal, as you used to before. A man cannot be exactly the way he wants to be and also dream of keeping his wife. You must control yourself a bit, Sir. And start thinking about your future.’
    ‘But I don’t have a future, it seems.’
    ‘You do, Sir. I have come with it,’ Ayyan said, and he asked casually, ‘Will you tell me where the JET question-papers are stored?’
    ‘Why do you want to know?’
    ‘Because I know the rest. I know about Aryabhata Tutorials and the names of the three printers.’
    ‘That’s impossible. You know the printers?’
    ‘Magna, Lana and Scape.’
    Acharya peeled a banana thoughtfully. ‘You want to steal the JET?’
    ‘Yes, Sir’ Ayyan said.
    ‘Because your son is no genius?’
    ‘He is, but the JET is too tough for him.’
    ‘So let him fail,’ Acharya said, eating the banana with swift bites.
    ‘That is not a good idea, Sir.’
    ‘But obviously, Ayyan, I can’t help you.’
    Ayyan took out the dictaphone and played the conversation between Acharya and Oparna when she had come to tell him why she had contaminated the sampler.
    ‘Why, Oparna?’ the sad voice of Acharya asked.
    ‘What did you expect, Arvind?’ the voice of Oparna replied. ‘You sleep with me till your wife comes back from her vacation and then ask me to get out of your life.’
    The conversation moved on with long excruciating pauses which Acharya recognized as the painful language of final separation. He then heard the voice of Oparna clearly explaining how, very early one morning, in a fit of love and vengeance, she had contaminated the sampler.
    Acharya did not realize that he had been holding a half-eaten banana near his mouth for over five minutes. When Ayyan put the dictaphone back into his trouser-pocket, Acharya asked softly, ‘How did you get this?’
    ‘I used to listen,’ he said.
    Acharya started laughing. ‘I always knew you were some kind of a bastard,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you show this to the inquiry committee?’
    ‘We did not have a