The Fall

(For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Romans 3:23)

A lovely morning .Bright sunshine, chirping birds, clean and crisp air.
Rent asunder by a howl from Mishraji’s pooja room. He fiddles with the burning wick , a small spark lands on her lap , and instantly blazes up. Mishraji stands watching, smilingly , as Mishrain howls in pain , rolling on the floor.

A figure rushes in from the door , grabs a doormat, and beats the flames dead . Just in time . Mishrain lies on the floor sobbing , Dolly and Daisy , her daughters , fly to her side , Babloo the rescuer , stands glowering at Mishraji , the singed doormat in his hand ,letting out wisps of ghee scented smoke .Mishraji, half amused , half contrite, turns his back, resumes the aarti.

Mishrain is led out , limping , by her daughters , while Babloo puts the doormat down , and composing his face joins Mishra ji in his aarti.

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“This is too much “, screams a young girl in pyjamas , as she paces her bedroom . “he was smiling as she was burning ,lying on the floor , didi”.

“Calm down Daisy “, an older girl in jeans T shirt , says while packing her bags .

“Today at lunch , when she was serving him food , he asked why she was limping.He knows very well , why ? She had burnt her thighs . “ The younger girl had plonked herself on the bed . Her eyes smouldering with rage .


“Relax , this kind of anger is not getting you anywhere , Daisy . “ Spoke a mature voice , sitting on a wooden box , draped with a spare curtain . It served as a mini settee. She was older of the two, but with a slim body , doe-like eyes , and long,black, straight hair .

Daisy retorted , continuing in her passionate tirade . “ He replies “jali ho , mar nahin gayee.” (You are burnt , not dead ). It would be better if she was already , poor thing.” Her voice choked with emotion , she gripped herself and rocked , to and fro .

The elder sister left her packing and hugged her younger sister. Daisy clasped her elder sister around the waist and wept . Dolly , the elder one looked helplessly at the eldest lady on the settee.

“I dont want to live here, anymore Didi. I want to go with you. Don’t live me alone with this monster.”

“Shh, Shh” Dolly comforted her , wiping tears , and genuinely fearing for the safety of her outspoken sister .

“If he once again throws hot tea at Ma , I swear , I will break the cup on his head .” Daisy found comfort in this small act of imagined vengeance.

“Come , you musn’t be late .” Said the stranger on the settee , while Dolly wrapped a cotton” chunni” around her face , leaving just the eyes.

Dolly studied in a far off college, and was going to join her classes after holidays. She had a bus to catch .

“Just six more months , then you can be with me .” She winked at her sister. Daisy smiled and waved , tears still on eyelash.

Mishraji was carefully studying the visage of his dear departed first
wife ,staring down at him from a height on the wall. Mishrain one was a fabled beauty with brains , and an inveterate paan -eater . All these were highlighted in this commissioned portrait of hers . Clad in a varanasi

saree, thick , black flowing hair till waist, she stood , looking out at the world with her doe eyes. A silver pandaan stood next to her on a stool. Mishraji was busy lighting the aggarbatti at the marble table .

“Arrey , sunti ho , bhagyawaan , where is the matchbox ? “ He hollered and stopped short at the sight of his daughter with a stroller.

“Aap kahan jaa rahin hain?”

Dolly was caught off guard . Her escort , the older girl , a senior from her college , who lived nearby , just melted in the darkness of an alcove.

Mishrain appeared with kitchen lighter , having given up , quickly , looking for match boxes.Snatching the lighter from her hand , absently , Mishraji asked again “Ain?” Which meant answer me pronto, or else.

Dolly fumbled and Mishraji read out a quick , new, fatwa . On the spot .
“From today onwards , no college-shollege for you . The boy party comes next week. To see you . You will get married and then go.”

Dolly stood stunned , rooted at the spot . 

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Manvinder Mishra was the local MLA and a builder with a penchant for pocketing most of the government contracts. He was nearing re- elections , and what better way to cement political factions , than to get your pretty , nubile daughter engaged to the son of the local don .
“Killing two birds with a stone .”


He has built this four storied mansion , with his wealth , amassed through dubious means.

Many relatives of Mishraji from his native village , come and live here at his mansion . Feeding off his generosity and greed for fame. One such is 
Babloo , the graduate , who handles all his paper work.

The first Mishrain was pregnant with their baby , when she met with an accident at the Vaishno Devi shrine . Everyone had advised her against this trip. But she was adamant . She was , as Mishraji , in his rare moment of grief said,”Pulled by the forces of death.”

She was a beauty , and the second Mishrain, was small ,dark and subservient .” Nothing like the first one “, as Mishraji would say , time and again , his paan stained teeth bared in a diabolical grin .


“thankfully ,”he would boast , “my daughters have taken after me “. Fair of skin , aquiline nose , and tall stature . They were indeed like the father , in looks . But they were sweet natured, like the mother .

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This morning , Mishra ji is being poured out tea , in his favourite silver cup , when Mishrain , stubs her toe on the bed post . She goes flying
across the room , as steaming tea scalds Mishra ji’s foot and he trips her over in anger, cursing hotly . Mishrain gets up , with Babloo’s help , tea stains all over , and goes looking for a mop. Mishra ji , meanwhile, is disturbed at the new development in Babloo’s behaviour .

Not only does he not snigger awkwardly , when Mishra ji curses , he also has the temerity to help Mishrain with great deal of compassion . He also can’t help but notice that both are closer in age . “This Babloo will have to be fixed .” Thinking such dark thoughts ,Mishra ji walks absently onto the balcony .

He leans onto the iron grill of the balcony , and sees his daughters talking to someone in their room , on the second floor . From here , he can just about see the sneakers and jeans .He also sees his wife , complete with tea stains and bruises. “What the...? Wasn’t she here

right now ?” The thought accompanies a sudden twist, and his dhoti gets stuck in the iron grill.Cursing , he tugs exasperatedly.

He leans just about a bit. Three things happen simultaneously , his dhoti tears up a bit , the grill suddenly opens up like the gate it wasn’t meant to , and Mishra ji looses his footing. He goes hurtling down , like a loose top at the end of a spring . Spinning. Babloo screams and holds the grill end of dhoti, and Mishra ji dangles like a yo-yo, infront of his daughters’ bedroom window.

For one moment of incredible clarity , he sees clearly inside the room . 

Their mouths are frozen open in silent scream, and the stranger , closest at the window , stares at him , coldly, composed. Terribly familiar . Her hair , straight , thick, and kohl-lined doe eyes . Who? What?

The navel knot gives away. Mishraji plunges from great height, in a series of sickening thuds and crunches , landing face first in a bed full of carelessly abandoned masonry. Rods , bricks , and clods of cement.

A wailing ambulance arrives on cue , and Mishra ji is airborne on the shoulders of people, in. The doors close and it speeds away even before the family can negotiate the various steps of the mansion.

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The ambulance driver has had a busy night . The gurney guys are waiting at the gates of the hospital , as the ambulance wails into sight . First patient in . The intern ,eager to please, is quick to assess,”trauma , no pulse , multiple fractures , severe bleeding .”

Ma’am hollers from the dais “defibrillate “ , and ward boys sprint into action .

The ambulance driver is at the door , impatient “hey !There is one more .”

Gurney chaps are trundling another rusty thing and the intern , youthful , jogs along , his steth flying. “This one breathes ma’am.”

Ma’am screams back “ICU, Seedha”(straight to ICU)

Dabbing jelly onto pads , she yells ,loud enough for the entire sleepy corridor to hear,”Clear!!” The man in cotton chaddi, heaves and falls down , back limp.

Mishra ji’s SUV has just entered the hospital campus , spraying gravel, screeching to a halt.
                       
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Mishraji wakes up after 15 days. Spraying sputum from a hole in the neck , One leg broken , other bandaged , chest hurting, and face a burning , stitched up mess.

He heaves himself onto the elbow , and finds a beggar-type boy . sleeping on the floor . Swiftly the boy gets up, and creeping up to him , bursts into tears “bauji , you are alive !!”

After third attempt , Mishraji makes himself heard. By blocking his throat hole. He asks the boy “Who are you?”


“Your Babloo , bauji. You don’t recognise me .” He breaks afresh into sobs , blowing his nose on a filthy piece of rag.

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Mishra ji never liked travelling . Now, he is travelling under physically challenging circumstances. He can barely breathe without hurting his

chest , or walk without serious assistance , and here he was , sitting at this mofussil railway station after an arduous ambulance trip.

His head was shaved , and stitched at places . His left eye had a
patch , and he was tired of telling people that he was not “Lachhu Jha , 35, construction worker” . His discharge slip said that his construction company , “Dolly Mishra Builders” had waived all his hospitalisation charges as a part of the “retirement money “ ., before permanently laying him off.

In essence , he , alias Lachchu Jha was a pauper. A prospect made all the more galling by reflecting on the name of the building company , owned by Mishra ji, hitherto.


The declaration was signed by the childish , shaky hand of “Parvati Mishra “, the wife . Mishra ji had sighed at this strange turn of events .
He had overheard doctors explaining to his son,the fake Babloo , how , after severe head injury , people have total memory loss, or take
up ,”fake identities “, as this man deciding to masquerade as the MLA, Manvinder Mishra , the famed builder.

Mishra ji , in his present state , attracted great deal of attention . Lot of sympathetic souls enquired politely,giving up abruptly when he splattered mucus from his tracheostomy , while replying. Someone even gave a shawl , and some gave coins.

Suddenly , a giant TV screen flickered to life , and he was facing the same girl , who was staring at him , as he plummeted to his “death”.The same doe-eyes , sleek black hair , stern face . Mishra ji sat up , as if he had seen a ghost.

She was a TV news reporter , and she was reporting live from “Mishra Mansions”, where some sort of function was being held. Mishraji looked wildly around . Fake Babloo had gone to fetch tea . He had some coins

clutched in the palm of his un fractured arm. He hoisted himself to his feet and started hobbling towards the exit , as fast as possible .Amazing what an adrenaline rush can achieve!!

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Mishraji paused beneath the photograph of his first wife. It had been shifted to the side , and replaced with his visage , paan stained teeth smiling diabolically. Now , nearly toothless, Mishra ji would have given anything to get those teeth back. Not that he had much left to give , 

Mishraji noted wryly. His glance fell on his reflection in the glass covering the portraits. with shaven head , eye patch , torn , lacerated , stitched body, plaster casts on two limbs, he looked like an alien . No wonder women were screaming in terror at the sight of him , at the railway station .
He is looking for a girl , who does not know , he exists, or the story that has brought him here . He has no reasons to be discreet , but still has to be careful .He is standing near the doorway, and surveying the golden banquet hall, which is filled with refined bodies in saris and jackets,and beautiful young women with straight hair ,who never make facial expressions. But they will soon . Any moment now.

He pushed the door open and all hell broke loose . Some one screamed at the sight of him , and it set off a chain of sorts . There was a virtual stampede. Above all the din , he kept wheezing ,”I am Mishra . main Mishra hoon . “

No one seemed to be listening . He was surrounded by perfumed and perfect bodies , in sharp contrast to his broken and bandaged one . Suddenly ,millions of camera bulbs went off in his face , a mike was thrust in his hand .He found himself grabbed by a firm hand at his good elbow , and steered out of the hall.

A stage had been erected upon one end . Posters declaring his wife as the new party candidate were all over the place.


Then , Babloo, real Babloo took the mike , and tried to restore order.

He found himself facing the girl he came looking for . She gave him a chair , and a glass of water .

“Who are you, and what do you want?” He could feel the heat of all the cameras in his face .


“I am Manvinder Mishra , MLA. I own this place “ , He wheezed ,placing a hand on his tracheostomy. Someone sniggered. The girl silenced them with a look , and loudly asked a man ,

“Mrs.Mishra ko lekar aao.”


Mishra nodded his head vigorously , of all the people , she will know him.


“When we went to the hospital , Mishra ji MLA, was lying dead in the casualty , being revived “


“That was not me “ Mishra shook his head violently.


“At the time of your fall , what was Mishra ji wearing “


“A cotton kachcha and the sacred thread. The dhoti was caught in the grill.”


“Everyone knows this story chacha,” Someone sniggered in the crowd, “the dhoti kept billowing on the TV for two days”, Others joined in the mirth.


“Time and date of accident “ He had done his maths .


“April13, 0620 hrs”


Someone thrust Mishrain into the crowd . She was freshly garlanded , wore an enormous tikka on the forehead . Mishra ji smiled at her and she fainted.


At this point , the security , his chaps , closed in on him and bundled him out .


Fake babloo was hanging at the massive wrought iron gates , screaming “baujee , baujee , “ with all his tiny might . The cameras swung to him , and a mike was thrust beneath his nose .

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“It is believed that a disgruntled former employee of the “Dolly Mishra Builders “ had broken into the nomination ceremony of Mrs. Parvati Mishra . He claimed to be the MLA himself , who was declared dead , on April 13 at 0730 hrs , as a result of an accidental fall from the fourth floor of his home , Mishra Mansions . Foul play has been ruled out and the employee has been compensated as per his injuries , claimed Mr. Babloo, the spokesperson.

Mishra ji has kept this clipping with him , and reads it often , with his failing vision . The newscaster still bothered him . Where had he seen her ?

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One day ,there is great commotion outside his hut . A jeep full of
policemen have arrived . Mishraji , now walking unaided , walks upto the door , and sees her .

Today , she has made a bun , and is wearing a saree. Then it hits him with a sledgehammer.


She looks like Mishrain Number one !!!


Oh my goodness !!

Mishra ji gasps for breath ,as she folds her hands in namaste . 

“Recognise me , Mishra ji?”


“You knew me then ““you are Satyavati’s daughter?”

“Yes , the very same . You pushed her off the cliff , and made it look like an accident at Vaishno Devi”


“She lied to me “ Mishra ji’s face darkened “She was pregnant before she married me .Uske pet mein paap tha”He spat on the ground .

“That is not true , Mishra ji “ Sly smile , same stern face .

 “What are you saying ? “

“You were married on 12th December 1985, and I was born on 15 august 1986.”


“That makes you my child “He moved towards her . She took a step back .
“Not so fast . Your wife lived , dragged herself over cliffs with a broken hip . An ashram was her refuge for few days . Then she came home , and lived with her sister , in secret , forever scared of you. You had even remarried by then . After I was born , i was sent to a convent in the hills . I recently came to the town . befriended your daughters , then you conveniently fell down. Your own cement gave way .”

“I am sorry , my child .” Mishraji was in tears , genuinely apologetic.


“I am not .My mother , Mishra ji, died a broken woman . Now you will die one .” She was in tears now ."And by the way, Dolly has broken her engagement , and resumed college."

 She showed him her smart phone , with recorded conversation.

As she walked away , and policemen came to handcuff him , he shouted 

“Wait ! What is your name ?”


“Manavi Mishra , she even named me after you.”

He realised that his fall was, now , complete . 


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