The Old Man’s Plan

Mr. Daman Chaubey was already up when the sun came peeping at his window. Pulling up his striped pajamas, he came out of the toilet with a face as glorious as his deep wrinkles would allow it to be. He was relieved to have emptied his stomach of unwanted elements.

After completing the morning rite, he went straight towards the wooden cupboard to wear his old shoes. He carefully put them on, tied the shoelaces, and went to the farthest end of his apartment. From there, he looked ahead like a soldier getting ready for a fight. His arms sticking to his body and his chest puffed up like a cock’s. Then he started. His right foot came straight in front of the left; he swaggered a little and remembered his sticks. With his spectacles popping out of his face, he put on one foot ahead of another, muttering numbers. One. . . Two. . . Three. . . Four. . . Five. . . When he had reached the end of his flat, his face was shining with happiness. His high-pitched voice erupted out of his dry throat. 

‘That is how I thought it should be,
My gold feet match my heart’s desire,
I have done it exactly as told by my heavenly sire,
The whole twelve meters, my Land, I worship thee.’

He bent forward and kissed the dusty floor of his house.

‘I rejoice, I am at peace,
Where else can heaven be?
Let the son who spurned it see,
What glory this place of joy can lease.’

He carefully removed his old shoes and put them back in the almirah. Standing in front of the mirror, he looked at himself. His face was as fresh as the morning dew. He combed his white hair, taking the comb all the way from the front of his head to the back. After he had completed his daily rituals, he sat down on a rocking chair, thinking aloud.

‘It is not wise for a man to be complacent,
How many times have I heard this age-old saying?
But today on my heart it is weighing, 
How should I expand my empire?

Is it right that a son should inherit?
I am old and may die soon,
Maybe next July or this June,
So, I should enjoy my son’s wealth before it.

Let me go to Latafat’s home on a pretense,
And take hold of the house through able contrivance,
To sit myself on the throne and teach them some sense,
That should be my plan’s essence.

No more is being old a curse as thought by the young,
No more will the elderly be blamed for being out of time,
I will change the world, now that is my rhyme,
Tomorrow I shall go to my son’s and use him as dung.’

Thinking thus, the old man packed all his belongings into a huge suitcase. Afraid lest his son might make excuses if he informed him of his coming, he decided not to call him up. Impatiently he waited for the night to end. As soon as he saw the sun peeping through his window, he lifted up the enormous suitcase and started walking towards his son’s apartment.

Coughing and panting, he reached Latafat’s door in the afternoon. Latafat opened the door. Aghast to see his father, the father who hadn’t talked to him for years, he went into a temporary shock from which he recovered only after the old man gave him a bear hug. Latafat’s eyes bulged out from their sockets, for he had never seen his father in such a loving mood before. Stammering, some words came out of his mouth.

‘Father . . . I do not know what to say,
Is it real or my senses are betraying me?
It cannot be, but still it is you I see,
It is real, it is real. Ah! This blessed day.’

The old man said,
‘Latafat! Can you not recognize your old father?
Who raised you from an infant to a boar?
That is how you make my heart sour,
Now I think I should have stayed away rather.’

‘No father. It is such a surprise,
Give me the luggage and please do come inside,
This is the house in which we reside,
Oh children, do not bother your grandpa with your cries.

Here is my wife, your daughter-in-law,
She mentions you all day long,
And has even included you in the children’s song,
Look, there come tears. How often I see her thaw.’

The old man’s eyes wandered to all the rooms. He was hardly listening to his son and had barely looked at his daughter-in-law. He was already busy thinking of optimum ways to make his plan work. The son and his wife, knowing the old man, as the fisherman knows the sea, tried to distract him, but to no avail. With anxiousness spread on their faces, they put his large suitcase in the guest room. Out of courtesy Latafat told him to stay with them for as long as he desires, which the old man took as his right.

The next morning, Mr. Daman Chaubey woke up after having dreamt of owning a palace. With his dark black eyes, he looked around and shrank his nose. Latafat’s house was too small. It did not suffice his large heart. Still, he got up and pulled out his belongings from the suitcase and spread them around the room. Then, he picked up his table clock and placed it on a table in the dining room.

‘Ah! I have marked my territory,
Now this little space on the table is mine,
Huff puff, I think for a start it is fine,
If they ask me, I shall devise a story.’

Thus, he kept putting more objects around the house, so that by the end of the two weeks, his suitcase was empty and his belongings were all spread out in the house. Because of dearth of things to be spread around, he even put his clothes all around the house, so that he had only one pair, which he wore everyday. Latafat and his wife, Geeta, were clueless about the old man’s designs.

One day Geeta found his iron lying on the floor. She picked it up and kept it back in his room. When Mr. Daman found it lying on the table, he demonstrated such ire that Latafat and Geeta didn’t dare to touch his things anymore. He took the iron back from where Geeta had picked it up, enjoying the hold he was beginning to gain on the house.

The next day, Mr. Daman was speedily heading towards the toilet when his foot got caught in the iron. He fell like a meteor, creating panic among the family. His head banged against the floor and his foot got injured. He just lay there like a statue, unable to get up.

‘Aaaaa, give me a hand you stupid ass,
Can’t you see I have broken a rib?
Call the doctor at once; this is no time to glib?
Dread my curse if in your house I pass.’

Latafat hurried to the phone, and Geeta and the children helped the old man to his room. Soon, the doctor arrived and checked Mr. Daman thoroughly and said,

‘It is queer how he still survives,
So many illnesses ail his old form,
He has asthma, beriberi, calcus and worm,
No wonder if tomorrow night he dies.’

Hearing the doctor speak thus, Mr. Daman lost his temper.

‘You fool, what say you?
Do you declare a living, dead?
Where have you all his nonsense read?
Come near me and I will teach you something new.’

The old man tried to grab the doctor, but he was just beyond his grasp. Seeing the old man mad, the doctor fled to another room. Latafat ran after him, leaving his wife and children behind. Mr. Daman raised his voice to reach the other room, as he did not want the doctor to tell his son about the diseases he was suffering from. To him, death was an enemy, which could forever spoil his great mission. Seeing that the doctor must have brainwashed his son, he thought it best to convince his daughter-in-law about his health.

‘Dear pretty daughter of mine,
Tell me, do I look ridden with diseases?
Ah! Your angelic smile my troubled heart eases,
Just say it once that I am fine.’

The poor woman, thinking that the old man is afraid of dying, told him that he was fine. He gave a cunning smile and asked her to sit by his side. He told her to convince his son that he did not suffer from any diseases. He told her that the doctor was a quack, and was only trying to make money out of them. Geeta just smiled and nodded. The old man felt better.

After a while, Latafat came into the room with a long face and took the old man’s hand.

‘Father, it is good you came to us,
So that I could see you for the last time,
Do you remember how handsome you looked in your prime?
You were so ingenious and industrious . . .’

‘Latafat, cut off your foul rattle,
I am not dying so soon,
If it were, you would have killed me this noon,
But you should know I will not let you win this battle.’

Latafat solemnly looked at the old man and said lovingly,

‘Father, fate works in weird ways,
There is not much left in our hands now,
This pain I bear, I do not know how,
The truth is you will live only for a few days.’

Latafat burst into tears. The old man was shocked. He realized his day was over. Death had ruined his plan. His limbs froze and his heart weakened, his eyes shed a few tears. He would not be able to complete his master plan now; that was all he thought while he lay pale on his bed. He started crying aloud, lamenting his fate and felt all the energy passing away from his body.

‘Hai, my cursed fate! 
I spent all my life in vain,
Now that I saw some chance of a gain,
I find that it is too late.

I prayed to God everyday,
And asked him to fulfill my cravings,
I even gave him one rupee out of my savings,
But even he did not listen to me, nay.’

Latafat and his wife didn’t know that the old man was crying over his spoilt plan. They shed honest tears over his misery.

The next morning, the old man was found dead on his bed. Latafat got his father’s flat and all his savings after his death. 

‘My dear father, I wish you were alive,
Only now that you have gone away from us,
That I find how much you had fussed,
To save some extra bucks for us to thrive.’