The Honest Cheat
I was waiting at the Puduraya Bus Terminal for the bus that should take me to Brickfields. Someone like a whisper said, “Excuse me”. He was a thirty year old fellow looking at me straight with deep-set eyes, as though getting into touch with me. “Yes” I said. “Are you from Andhra Pradesh?” “Yes, how do you know?” I said “Just like that.” The bus had not yet turned up and I was about to move to the bookstall, when he said, “will you do me a favor?” “What?” I said He was hesitant but hurried to say, “I am also from Andhra Pradesh-now stranded here. I will tell you all about me later on. But will you please give me shelter and accommodate me for to night? - Please…Otherwise I will have to end up somewhere on the roads.” He was a stranger and I was not able to accept his request. But in a strange country where a fellow citizen of my native place was stranded and the way he pleaded, made me consider his request on humanitarian grounds. My wife had also gone to India for a couple of months on a holiday with my two children and I was all alone in my apartment. So I nodded yes. I hoped to lock up every valuable in the apartment. He followed me to the ‘Sampoorna’ restaurant in Brickfields where we had our dinner and proceeded to my apartment. He was carrying only a shoulder bag and silent all through, and lied down on the bed I had shown and fell asleep immediately. It was mid summer in Kuala Lumpur and in spite of getting closer to mid night the heat stayed on, heavy and oppressive. Though the fan brought little bouts of artificial breeze it was no relief and made the night clammier. I must have been awake till early hours the next day after having gone through the sweltering night coupled with keeping a stranger in. I didn’t know when I had gone to sleep, but by the time I got up the sunshine was piercing through my tightly shut eyelids, bringing with it the white intensity of broad day light in an instant. My ‘guest’ had already woken up and to my delight he served me bed coffee. “It is my habit to wake up early, and I searched for coffee in the kitchen and I found it. Will you please excuse me for my…” “Not at all,” I said, though I didn’t like the way what he did, but pleased that I had my first cup of coffee without any effort. “You didn’t ask my name, I am Hari”, he said. So I allowed a stranger in my place without even knowing his name! “So what? You got what you wanted,” I said, enough-is-enough and better-quit manner. “I am very sorry I troubled you and I thank you for giving me shelter. I will leave by evening.” “Thank God” I thought, but I was inquisitive as to how he landed at Kuala Lumpur with out a job and asked him “ How is that you are you here?” “Oh, it is a long story and I don’t like to trouble you…” “But tell me’ I said. He took a deep breadth and said, “I came to this place three months back. I have a diploma in catering technology and jobless for long and finally got one in a three star hotel in Hyderabad. I am married and my wife and my mother with my four-year-old son stay with me. Though the salary I got was quite reasonable, I could not meet both ends meet with huge debts remained to be cleared. You see, my mother borrowed a lot to educate me and I was wrongly advised to choose this line for my survival. So I was always in short of money. When in short of money it is quite natural to look up to God for His blessings for a comfortable and trouble free life. But God might not have heard of me and my debts were increasing. On the other hand my wife's only pastime is visiting temples, God and attending religious discourses and attributes everything to God and His miracles and wrath. Even the natural disasters like cyclones, earthquakes and other tragic events portent God's displeasure over the atrocities committed by human beings. She holds that God, being the perfection of love, does not desire destruction of even a particle of his creation and so ‘pray, pray and pray and He will hear you someday’ is her constant advice and spends a lot on palmists and astrologers and lives on superstitions and obscurantist beliefs. But I vehemently opposed and held that everything in this world is predetermined and human effort is needed to fathom what we aspire.” “How about your father?” I asked. He immediately shot back, “Oh, please don’t ask me that. It is a different story” and continued, “I was living on hope when a travel agent came to my rescue. He assured me of a very good job and a bright future here in a five star hotel with a fat salary, only if I could arrange one hundred thousand rupees. I resigned my job at Hyderabad and with the monetary benefits accrued to my credit while in that job, I paid to the agent and here I am now for the last one and half months on a three months visa. I realized that the agent was bogus and the five star jobs were bogus and the agent’s agent here absconded landing me as a bogus fellow here. I only got a business visa now and with out a work permit I can’t work here. I should get back soon to India.” “You have a return ticket?” I asked. “Fortunately I have.” He tried to search for his bag. “Never mind, what are your plans?” I asked. “I don’t know, yes I don’t know- but I am frightened to face my wife and mother who with all their hopes came to Madras to see me off on my maiden visit abroad. I kissed my son and I can’t forget the way he looked at me with his innocent looks. Shall I go back only to inform them that her son, her husband and his father is a good-for-nothing fellow and returned only to sweep the roads of Hyderabad! Oh no I can’t…” I could see his eyes dampened. I took pity on his plight and could offer only a shelter and perhaps a few Ringitts. After all I was also at Kuala Lumpur for the last three years with extension of my work permit on yearly basis and at the end of each year I was always in jitters about my extension. I also came here with fond hopes leaving a considerably a good job in India but in a better position now because of my technical qualifications. “Misfortunes do not come singly. They come in bunches. And, no one can escape the will of God as your wife had put it.” I tried to console him. “You can stay with me now till you get a work permit” I offered only such help. He held my two hands with gratitude and said “You are God for me now.” The next few weeks were a routine. He was going out in the morning and returning late in the night and reading some literature or the other and news magazines. He must be a voracious reader. I gave a duplicate key to him, as there were no valuables in the apartment. He never asked me for any financial assistance but only on Sundays I was hosting his lunch and dinner though he was shy to accept. Two weeks later there was a letter addressed to him lying in my letterbox. The from-address was from Hyderabad with a lady’s name. It should from his wife. I took it and kept it on the table. Soon after he returned in the night, I pointed the letter to him. He picked it up and said, “A fortnight back I called one of my friends at Hyderabad and gave your address to be passed on to my wife. I am sorry if it had inconvenienced you further.” “Not at all.” I said. He did not open it but kept it under the pillow. “Are you not eager to read it received perhaps from your wife?” I said wondering about his non-enthusiasm. “Oh no, I know what it contains. My wife must be sick, my mother must be sick and my son must also be sick. They must be in need of money, which I could not send so far. I don’t like a bad part of my story to be re-read. I prefer that it remains unopened until I make money for them.” He did not elaborate and lied down on his bed flat with his forearm resting on his temple. I watched his tears rolling from eyelids down to the cheeks. It was not easy to find an employer in Kuala Lumpur for a non-technical person like Hari and the immigration laws are also not liberal. I didn’t know with what hope he remained and I felt that he should get back to India and search for another job. I didn’t raise the topic again, lest I hurt his already disturbed mind. Few days later, I had to go to Kuantan on official work. I took the early flight and was to return in the night. But I had to stay back due to pressure of work at the site and I could return only two days later. There was a delay of the flight and I reached home at eleven in the night. I found that my apartment was still locked. ‘Hari has not yet returned’ I thought. I opened the door and stretched myself on the bed; Hari was occupying and turned my head aside, but couldn’t find his bag. Suddenly I got up and found a letter on the table. I picked it up and it was addressed to me and hurriedly opened it. “Dear benefactor, I don’t know how to thank you for having given shelter to me and grateful for your kindness. I am a thief because I stole one hundred Ringitts from your hard earned money and I know you will never pardon me because I stabbed you in the back and this is a crime in terms of law. But I promise that I will repay the amount sometime in future. You may demand why I have done like this. The answer for that is given with a face so full of shame that you won’t see it even if I stand before you. I only hope that I write to you shortly. Best regards Hari” I shook with anger the way he ended up but reconciled shortly that after all I was wrong in allowing a stranger in and for suddenly forgetting the cash I kept in my home. He taught me a lesson-‘never believe a stranger’. I heaved a sigh of relief- after all I lost only one thousand but he relieved me- that’s that. Soon I forgot about the whole episode. This was four years back. I was getting extensions of work permits all these four years and finally my employer gave notice that my services would be terminated shortly. I was anticipating such a situation and planning for an alternative. At this juncture I was lucky in getting a job in a multinational contract company in United States and I landed there with a H1-B visa. Initially I was put up with a friend in San Jose. At the weekend my friend took me to an Indian restaurant for lunch and wondered as to get such food in the western part I raised my head from the menu card and an unexpected thing happened. This Hari who stole money from me and escaped four years back was in this part of the world and in this restaurant, speaking in closeness with some one at the counter! I was not mistaken- He was Hari! He had put on weight and the paleness of his skin was gone and appeared very smart wearing light colored sunglasses. “Hari” I said with a meek voice, just to confirm the identity. He turned his aside and saw me. With a loud voice he said ‘Oh my benefactor’ and almost jumped to reach me. He threw away the menu card from my hands almost lifted me from my chair and embraced me. “How’s that you are here?” he said with all his affection visible prominently. “How’s that you are here?” I asked. He sat besides me through out the lunch. “You are coming to my house now, this is Saturday and you can return to your friend on Sunday night. I will drop you back, is it okay?” he said looking at my friend. In this alien country even crooks appear to be friends, so a fellow citizen of my country to whom I gave shelter when in need, looked as if he was a great friend though he cheated me. After lunch I followed Hari to his residence in San Francisco. It was mid winter and by 4pm it was already getting dark. Throughout the sixty or seventy-mile drive Hari didn’t speak much except informative now and then about Silicon Valley and its software professionals from India. It was almost dark by the time we reached his residence which was four or five miles beyond the Golden Gate Bridge. He told me that he owns the house. Even in the darkness, I could see that it was located in a huge compound and a quite spacious one. When he was parking the car in the garage, an eight year old boy opened the inside door to receive his father. His wife was reading an illustrated magazine. “Shanti, today is the date to celebrate. Look who has come?” She just raised her head and looked at me keeping aside the magazine and stood up. “He is the one of whom I speak to you quite often. It is a miracle I found him in the valley.” His wife was very cordial in receiving me and looking at me with admiration. After exchange of pleasantries, I learnt that he owns a chain of restaurants in Las Vegas, San Diego, Los Angeles, San Jose and San Francisco and engages nearly one hundred employees. I told him about my plight at Kuala Lumpur and how I landed at United States and wondered to know how he came there and legally permitted. He took a deep breath and started narrating his eventful life. “I stole one thousand from you.” It was embarrassing for me to hear that word, but he was very candid. He continued, “And literally ran away from Kuala Lumpur. Two days that I would like to erase from my memory were the day on which my father divorced my mother when I was still young and the second, the day on which my mother died. My father lived in Fiji and married a Fiji lady later on, and my mother brought me to India being the place of her origin and with whatever money left with her, she spent educating me and maintaining the two of us. It was learnt subsequently that my father was involved in a riot of ethnic violence following some Hindu organization denounced an act of alleged sacrilege involving a temple in Suva. The temple was vandalized and set on fire. My father being a strong supporter of the organization protested and made a counter attack but was thrown out into the flames of the temple and he died of burns. It was two decades back. I married a girl from our close community and was struggling for survival. Though my mother was divorced and returned to India, I had the citizenship of Fiji because I was born there. On the strength of this I applied for a Green card of United States to be pooled in the lottery quota. Few days on my return from Kuala Lumpur, I was surprised and happy to have received a message that I got the card in the pool. I jumped at it and again with borrowed money to be here with my wife and son. My father’s elder brother who was in the restaurant business in San Francisco was sick and I joined him in helping and the rest, well I never looked back. And shortly I am entering into real estate.” He was beaming with delight when he was narrating the part of his getting into the United States. His wife was silent and only listening to her husband with devotion. “I remember to have told you that my wife always believed in God and attributes everything to Him and His miracles and wrath, and I vehemently opposed and held that everything in this world is predetermined and human effort is needed to fathom what we aspire. But now I believe what she has believes, although traditional planets determine all events in one’s life.” He took me to the place where his wife had kept her Gods for her daily prayer on an elevated platform, bent forward and picked up a cover from the feet of God. He opened it and picked out one thousand Ringitt currency notes. “This is the treasure I always worship and what made me what I am today.” He kept the notes again into the cover and placed it again at the altar. “Luck does not come singly. It comes in bunches at the will of God as his wife had believed.” I thought.
Copyright © 2001 Sreenivasa Murthy Govindaraju |