"Ennappa auto poguma?"
"where to?"
"Guindy"
"where in Guindy?"
"near race course"
"Where in race course? This side, near the station or down south?"
The prospective savari was beginning to get exasperated. "Near the station only"
"Povum sir, it will take 70 rupees"
"what, 70? It is only 3 kms"
"all the roads are one-way sir. Have to return empty. Nothing less than 70"
With a muted curse, barely audible, the man got in.
''But for these two bags, I would have taken a bus,'' he muttered under his breath. Murugesan seemed to read his thoughts and chuckled. 'But for these two bags, I would have starved tonight'.....thus went his train of thought.... 'these people never hesitate to splurge Rs.300 for a movie ticket but are tight fisted to dole out 70 bucks for an auto ride. When will these people ever reform...'
Murugesan pulled vigorously the shaft and the engine sputtered to life. 'Petrol costs Rs.80 per litre. Prices of all parts have gone up. Plus the daily mamool to the cops. Savaris too are hard to come by, damn these share-auto wallahs....' his mind wandered. The auto passed CIT road and was waiting at the Mount Road signal to turn right. '......So the day was not a total washout...' Murugesan thought. His mind raced to formulate plans on how best to allocate the day's takings towards a hundred items of planned expenditure. ...' Sudha's fees is to be paid the day after. Rs.300 for that. The milkman is already making noises for his last two months' dues. That would be Rs.200. ...', he started budgeting. The signal turned green. An MTC bus turned dangerously to the right, nearly scraping his auto on the right. '...the bastard. Don't the cops have any rules for these buses?...'Murugesan scowled.
Traffic was light at that time. He reached Guindy within ten minutes and dropped off the fare just at the rear entrance of the station. The man handed over a hundred rupee note.
" Change illa sir. You are my first savari of the day. And the last"
" You mean I am your Bhoni? At ten in the night?" the man asked incredulously
" I am telling the truth"
" You guys just laze around the auto stands all day and complain there is no business. But how would you get business with the astronomical rates you quote? Why don't you just down the meter and go by it and get more savaris? As they do in Bangalore" the man started his rant.
' And why don't you just pay up and vanish to Bangalore fast?' Murugesan thought.
"Sir,please give change, I have to go"
The man went to a nearby bunk shop and bought cigarettes, got change and paid off Murugesan. He lugged his two heavy bags from the auto and disappeared into the crowds streaming into the station. Murugesan pocketed the money and reached towards the rear of the vehicle, behind the passenger seat, to pull out the water bottle. He always kept it there.
That was when he noticed the small yellow cloth bag, behind the seat, perched at the top. He gingerly picked it up and examined it. It was well, just an old yellow bag, folded into four. The bag was unfolded. 'Sri Muthumariamman textiles,' the print on it ran. 'For quality clothes at reasonable prices. 37, Gandhi Road, Erode' In smaller font, below, was 'Fixed price-no bargain' He peeped inside the bag. It was total darkness where he was parked. He moved to a nearby street light and began elaborately rummaging the contents. 4 betel leaves. A coconut. A pocket novel titled ' kola kolaya mundirikka' with the picture of a murdered girl, soaked in blood, sari dishevelled, just revealing enough for the onlooker to drool on. And sure enough, there was a small plastic see through packet. And sure enough, wads of notes inside, folded into two.
Murugesan's heart stopped. His immediate instinct was to ensure the last fare was not anywhere nearby. He was not. He carefully took out the wad, holding the notes between his thumb and fore finger and anxiously looked around. No one seemed to care a hoot. He went back to the auto, sat in the driver's seat, placed the yellow bag and its other less-worthy contents on the back seat and set about counting the treasure. All used five hundred rupee notes. Total ten. He again counted. Ten again. "5000 bucks", he exclaimed. "5000 bucks!" this time he cried out loudly but not too loud for passers-by to hear. He suddenly could hear a violin symphony erupt inside his head. Girls in white dresses, much like one sees in Bharathiraja's songs were already prancing around in slow motion. "5000 bucks", Murugesan couldn't believe his luck. His mind veered to the daily horoscope column in Dina Thanthi he read that morning by Jothisha Sigamani Puliyur Govindarajan. "unexpected windfall'' it had mentioned against his rashi. His regard for the Sigamani suddenly rised. "5000 bucks. I must be dreaming"
He let the ecstatic feeling last for about 15 minutes. He did not want to come out of the reverie. Presently, the symphony ended, the white clad girls melted away into the snow and 'Intermission' flashed in his mental cine-screen. He then began considering the various options before him
Option 1 - 'Keep the loot'
This seemed to be the best and most practical option. He could pay off the milkman's debts,pay Sudha's school fees for the full year, buy that red georgette sari he had spotted in the show case of Pothy's (exactly where he picked up his benefactor savari), repair the auto's broken rear view mirror, buy a 'Mundakanni Amman Thunai' sticker,and can even splurge on MC brandy for a full week! The prospects appeared relishing and he almost decided not to explore any other option.
But Murugesan is a good man. He is not a saint, certainly not of the type which would offer the other cheek after the first one received a slap. But he was not a bad man either. He is average and mediocre in whatever he does. He was neither kind, nor cruel, neither religious nor an atheist, and neither greedy, nor content. He adopted a middle path in anything, just as any fellow human being would do. Murugesan is also a practical man. That attribute now made him examine the risks involved in going for the first option. 'The man might have noted down the vehicle number'.. he feared. 'Highly unlikely', his mind reassured him. The auto was always dark inside and the place where he disembarked was also dark. 'Lucky that I did not pick up the savari from an auto stand, lest other auto wallahs remember anything, even if the police comes calling.' He was grateful for his habit of not ever parking in any auto stand . Now the other risk - 'some one might have noticed me dropping off the passenger here, and opening the bag and counting the notes...' He again thought hard and convinced himself that in this bustling station entrance, the probability of such an eventuality was almost zero.
He then started cursorily exploring the other options
Option 2 - ' Return the loot to the police'
'That is what a honest fellow is expected to do', Murugesan told himself. But being endowed with the power of objective analysis, he again threadbare explored this option. 'For one, it is highly unlikely the money will reach its rightful owner. The cops would share it among themselves. Why, the Bangalore-loving soul might not even prefer to lodge a complaint. The futility of lodging a complaint for a lost Rs.5000/-, every Indian knows'. So Murugesan decided to discard this option to the dustbin.
Option 3 - 'Donate the loot to some temple or charity'
He could not, at first, bring himself to unearth some logical explanation to discard this option too. After racking his brains for about 5 minutes, he stumbled upon a convincing argument. 'one should not put unaccounted money to temple or charity...' '... after all, the owner could be a murderer, rapist or a dacoit. His ill-gotten money should not defile the holy precincts of a temple or an orphanage. In any case, a mere 5000 bucks is not going to make any big difference to a temple. The Gods have a hundred ways to take care of themselves. Further, a part of this money is only going for Sudha's school fees. Is not education of a child a noble cause, (even if the child is one's own?)...' Murugesan was now more than convinced that this option too could be safely consigned to the dust-bin without much procrastination.
The decision made, his head now light, he started the auto. The night air was cool and crisp. Mount Road was drenched with bright neon lights. Everything seemed beautiful, even the squalor of the hutments along Todhunter Nagar. He crossed the Adyar bridge. The river was glistening underneath in all its glory. The stench too seemed heavenly. Again an MTC bus overtook him rashly, pushing him to the left. But Murugesan was not angry. 'Poor driver, who knows what hurry he is in? he also has a family at home and may be this is his last trip,' Murugesan reasoned. The traffic policeman also appeared to be an angel now. 'poor soul, imagine manning the signal all through the day, in this heat and fumes..' Murugesan pitifully mused. The world seemed suddenly a very beautiful place to live in. Whistling his favourite MGR song, he turned left and proceeded towards Nesappakkam, his home.
And before reaching home, a sudden brain-wave hit him. 'Why not celebrate today? The other planned expenditure has to wait till tomorrow, since it is already ten.' He was in Mettupalayam, just after Kannammapet. Just opposite the church, right beside the Mettupalayam turning, were two Tasmac shops next to each other. About to close in 10 minutes or so, with a heavy crowd milling around. He stopped his auto just after the shops, near the Petrol pump, sniffed out a 500 rupee note, put it in his shirt pocket, the balance tucked away safely inside his underwear.
He personally knew the one of the shop's employees so the crowds were no problem for him. He pulled out the 500 note, extended it towards his face and asked for some 'nalla sarakku'. (good stuff)
'"Ennappa, in heavy mood today?'' the shopkeeper smiled and asked
'yes, had some good long-distance savaris..'
'what to give? The usual MC?'
'something better and costly today'
'Signature sappiduviya?'
'Is that good?'
'quarter 140. supera irukkum..'
'ok, then let Signature it be.'
The man handed over the green bottle and was about to stash the note inside his collection box when his practised fingers involuntarily retracted. He raised the note above his head and held it against the tube-light flickering above. Just for three seconds.
'' Indha nottu selladhuppa'' (this note won't pass)
Murugesan's stomach muscles knotted. He sensed disaster.
'why not? Is it torn?'
'No, it is a fake.'
'what?'
'it is a counterfeit.'
'Are you sure? I took it from a Tondiarpet savari today'
'then you were cheated. It is a fake. I can detect a fake from a mile's distance. I handle about a lakh of cash daily and I detect a fake better than bank cashiers.'
Murugesan's head started to spin. Disappointment was the initial reaction. But then fear suddenly took over. 'what if the shopkeeper informed this to the police?'
The shopkeeper could almost read his mind. He has seen it all during his last five years at the outlet. He has seen brawls, fist-fights, crying, bragging, arguments and of course fake notes. He could detect who purposely tried to push through a note, knowing it to be a fake and who was merely the victim of bad luck. And Murugesan he knew, though he is not a daily customer. 'It just is a foul day for him', he thought.
"Don't worry. I will not tell anyone. Just take back this note, give me another one and scoot with your brew'', he said.
Murugesan did not have the gall to try his luck with another piece of the loot. Most certainly, that would also be a fake. As would be the remaining 8 pieces inside his brief. His heart sank.
"okay, I have changed my mind. Take back this signature and give me my usual stuff. Nothing to beat MC brandy'
"That would be 70 bucks"
Murugesan fished inside his pocket and brought out the fifty rupee note and two tenners. What the Guindy fare had given him after exchanging his 100. What he had earned in the last 24 hours. What he had earlier planned to give to the wife for morrow's expenses. What had come his way after a hard day's futile toil under the sun.
The MC brandy quarter was handed over, the lid uncorked and the contents consumed undiluted within 5 minutes. The liquor flowed down the gut and Murugesan's heart burned. Hiccups started. He gulped two glasses of water, took out a cigarette and lit up.
The air was cooler and crisper. The shops were about to close. The last few customers lingered around. A couple of them lay splayed in front of the shops. A drunk was mouthing a three lettered expletive directed to no one in particular. The attached 'Govt. recognised bar' was downing its shutters. Vomit was strewn every where. The acrid smell of bidis filled the air inside.
Murugesan reached the auto. The cigarette's burning end just began to scald his finger and he flicked the butt away. He then reached into his under wear and took out the remaining nine notes. Cast a glance both sides. There was no one. And then proceeded to tear them along the middle. Having done so, and to be doubly sure, he tore the pieces again into two smaller portions. Flung the pieces out. A sudden gush of cool air, caught the shredded pieces before they fell onto the ground and carried them away, far far away and they were still swirling in the air when Murugesan last spotted them, before passing out.
