Snake in the Grass
Sun-warmed in this late season's grace
under the autumn's gentlest sky
we walked, and froze half-through a pace.
The great black snake went reeling by.
Head-down, tongue-flickering on the trail
he quested through the parting grass;
~ Hunting Snake by Judith Wright
Life is all about seizing what you want, when you want, by whatever means at your disposal,no matter whom you hurt. This was the sole principle that had propelled Shyam Manohar Jha throughout his life. It had ensured that he not just survived but thrived. "Most people are gullible fools. They are easily deceived by outward show of humility, goodness and easily charmed by sweet words. Words not necessarily depicting the truth but depicting what they wanted to hear. And so long as someone gave them those words, they became his/her willing slaves. The right words spoken at the right time will buy one passage through anything and to anywhere. After all, wasn't his entire life a testimony to this?" reflected Shyam from his perch on the bench of a nondescript chai(Tea) shop across the temple.
He had grown in age and in stature from a skinny, impoverished orphan to a seemingly self-respecting, well-mannered and well to do Lawyer, who had a reputation of being an upright citizen and a virtuous man. He had donned many masks, played many roles and converted every opportunity to his advantage, before he had reached that stage. He had learnt early in life to manipulate people. You see emotional murder is hard to prove and harder to bring the culprit to justice; besides there is no messy evidence to cover up as long as one played one's part to perfection, maintained the perception of a pristine character, and moved fast once he/she had made the kill.
His first victim was the manager of the orphanage that had sheltered him. Mr. Murli Manohar Jha was an ordinary middle -class man, a Gandhian of outstanding character, with a heart of Gold. His one unrequited desire was siring a son who could take care of him and his wife in their old age and be an heir to his moral principles and values. Shyam had molded himself to be that kind of a boy and carefully painted an image of one who could be a worthy son; while the truth was that he covertly bullied all the other kids in the orphanage to do his bidding. So great was his fear in their minds that they never dared to expose him.
Murli Manohar Jha was blinded by Shyam's devotion. He only saw an innocent ten year old boy, wronged by man and God and condemned to lead a life of an orphan; The same God that had denied him the happiness of being a father. He saw a boy of sterling moral fiber who was hell bent on defying fate and rewriting his destiny despite all odds without sacrificing principles and values. Shyam had subtly planted this idea in Murli Manohar's head and then nurtured it with care till it took root and grew into a mighty tree of delusion. One fine day, Murli Manohar and his wife Sita devi adopted him as their son and gave him their family name. This was his first step to creating a respectable image.
Shyam continued his role play, without missing a beat till the day he went for the kill. It was when he was twenty two, and the now aged and retired Murli Manohar and his wife where becoming a burden and a liability to him. He had ensured his first case as a lawyer was to legally transfer his adopted father's property and benefits to himself and declared them demented. Under the pretext of taking them on a pilgrimage he took them to Varanasi and lost them in the teeming crowds of Khumb Mela. One of the many aged folks abandoned to their fate. Murli Manohar had become frail and his eye sight had weakened to an extent that he was considered legally blind and Sita Devi was a mere shadow of her husband. There was no way they could get out of there and trace Shyam.
From then on, he never looked back. The God he never really believed in had blessed him with a handsome persona, razor sharp mind, gift of gab and extraordinary self- discipline. It was this self-discipline that helped him meticulously maintain the pretenses needed to fulfill his goals. It was a sheer twist of fate that had led him to that wedding in Lucknow.
A kind gentleman, whose scooter had broken down, felt obliged to take him along as a guest and all because he had offered him a ride and sweet talked him along the way. This man was a clerk for the Chartered Accountant who oversaw the financial health of the wealthy Jaichand Mallik of Lucknow. And the wedding was that of his only daughter Anjali. The tragic death of Jaichand and his wife Ratna brought the wedding to a grinding halt.
One look at the distraught Anjali, her teenage brother and the opulent Seeshmahal, and he knew that this was the jackpot he had been looking for, his final target that would yield him his biggest haul yet. With Anjali in his kitty he would be set for life.
Unfortunately for him, fate had thrown him a curve ball. The scandalous death of the Malliks was followed by the expulsion of Anjali and Arnav from Seeshmahal. They had left Lucknow, and he had no idea where they had ended up. Cold anger and frustration had ripped through his nerves at the thought of losing a golden opportunity, but then common sense had prevailed. "She probably was no longer an heiress to the Mallik fortunes, which means I don't need to waste my time on her" he had reasoned.
Then it happened! Fate placed her in his path yet again when about nine years later he fairly bumped into her outside the temple at Lakshminagar in Delhi.
It did not take him long to sniff out the entire story and realize that Anjali was once again the goose that would lay golden eggs at his bidding, for she was the center of her brother's universe. The teenage boy he faintly recalled from the dismal wedding mandap in Lucknow had grown to become Arnav Singh Raizada, the bold and dynamic business tycoon who was redefining the business landscape with his meteoric rise in Fashion world, firmly establishing AR Designs as the numero uno company in India and abroad. Needless to say he was filthy rich. And so Shyam had plotted and waited for the opportune moment. Everything had gone per plan, he had weaseled his way into Anjali's heart and into Shantivan. He had established himself as a heaven sent husband for Anjali and son-in-law for the family; Everything was going his way, until that fateful moment on June 9th 2011, when he set his eyes on her and had instantly succumbed to his desire nay obsession for Khushi. And the rest as they say is history.
Face contorting at the mere recollection of her name, Shyam returned back to the present. He glanced at his watch as he waited for the elderly couple to finish their prayers and walk down the temple steps.
He had convinced Mr & Mrs Ranjeet Singh that he was their long lost nephew Rakesh Singh who had been kidnapped as a 12 year old and had grown to adult hood in Mumbai. Under the pretext of taking care of them, he was sponging off their retirement savings and financing his existence with their pension and rental income for a little over a month now. Little did they suspect that the real Rakesh had been hit by a truck minutes after he had confided his life story to him at a dhaba on route to Delhi where his bus had halted. Providence had intervened yet again, and had handed this opportunity to Shyam to start afresh with a new identity.
Shyam frowned at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the dingy wall. He now sported a full growth of beard, long hair tied back in a pony-tail and had taken to wearing a pair of glasses to pull off his assumed identity as Rakesh Singh, a struggling but righteous journalist on a crusade, wronged by the big bad world, yet valiantly sticking to his principles and looking forward to succeed against all odds. "What a cliche. But aam admi ko yehi chahiye. Ek susheel swabhav, meethe bol, aur shareef admi hone ka bes". He sneered at his thoughts. His face looked gaunt; the three months he had wallowed in prison had taken a toll on him.
Shyam's lips thinned and his blood seethed as he recalled the humiliation of being bodily thrown into the waiting arms of the police and being marched unceremoniously out of Shantivan. "Par itna sab kuch karne ke baad bhi Arnav Singh Raizada humme zyada din tak andar nahin rakh paye. Akhir ek vakil ko haraane ke liye thos sabut ki zaroorat hoti hai. Khushi ji aur woh NK, jo, do lafz hindi teek se nahin bol paata who kya hame harayenge. Un logon ne soch liya ki naatak karke hamse such ugalvane se sab kuch khatam hogaya. Unhe shaayad pata nahin ki, yeh khel abhi bhi jaari hai. Aur yeh tab khatam hoga jab ham khatam karna chahenge" he muttered to himself, his lips stretching into an ominous sneer.
And thus as of that day in July of 2013, Shyam Manohar Jha was scot-free; free to plot and wait and bide his time to strike.
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PS: I have changed my posting schedule to Sunday morning and Thursday morning Pacific time. This schedule seems to work out a bit better with me.
Cricket
