ONE IN MANY

A Wish Come True

As he was riding home on the metro after attending an international conference at the World Peace, Inc., in one hemisphere, Keshav wondered what had brought to pass such a deplorable state of affairs in a country in the other hemisphere.

In the country that held a special place in his heart, elections were still months away, but party leaders on both the sides were already on the warpath. Allegations and counter allegations had started flying in all directions. Reputations of individuals were attacked by vicious hit squads and were dragged through the mud. Character assassinations were taking place on a daily basis.

Reviewing the reports from various sources, Keshav was much saddened to read about the denial of respect for individual privacy, and the practice of turning even intimate personal matters into political issues. If, for example, he had some serious differences of opinion with a colleague and wished him dead, he didn’t really mean that the colleague should be sent off to meet his maker, did he? However, this was precisely what the deranged politicians would do to get someone like him into serious trouble and draw political capital out of it, if the person’s private wish accidentally became public.

In the morning, he had read Jorge Luis Borges' short story "The Garden of Forking Paths," and, in fear and apprehension, he continued to dwell on the endless possibilities of life in parallel worlds.

However, he didn't have to really fear anything of the sort. He was safely ensconced in Washington, DC, and continued to command respect at home and abroad among relatives, friends, and acquaintances, if not from all students in the classroom. Whenever people were in a tight spot, they remembered him, and sought his help and guidance.

When the Yellow Line train he was riding drew close to the L'Enfant Plaza station, he received an urgent call on his cell phone from someone who introduced himself as his great admirer. After exchange of courtesies and greetings, Keshav was asked his reaction to a plan to expose a major opposing political party as a party of thugs and criminals. The plan involved a murder. For the execution of the task, the party had identified a member of the opposition who would be approached circuitously by appropriate individuals secretly to persuade him to offer, in return for support for his re-election, a criminal gang leader a huge government contract and a tidy sum of money for an unspecified national service, details of which to be revealed in due course of time. When the murder was committed, the killers as well as the rich sponsor would be quickly arrested and their affiliation with the opposition party exposed to the great chagrin of the party, guaranteeing the ruling party success in the election and another term in office.

At this point, Keshav stopped the voluble speaker and asked for some clarifications. Since the assassins wouldn't know who was actually paying them for the job, wasn't it possible that under torture by the hard-worked and wearied police they might name anyone the police wanted them? What happens if some innocent person or persons were named, arrested, incarcerated? In continuation of his earlier musings, he also made a quick check whether he had wished any of his former colleagues dead apprehending the possibility of his being treated as a suspect in the murder.

The speaker replied that the scheme under consideration did provide for such developments, however unfortunate it was. [On hearing this, Keshav's cell phone slipped from his hand and fell on the floor, but he quickly picked it up.] Assuming that it would please Keshav to hear it, the speaker added that one thing was, of course, ruled out. Nobody could point to the moving spirit behind the scheme. The party had documents of all kinds to deflect the attention of the public away from the creator. After all, someone else might be planning the same act at that very moment [Was he hearing the speaker right? Didn’t it sound like Borges? ] and it was humanly impossible to pin down the supreme creator, who would remain formless, nameless, timeless, near yet far, mysterious, and inscrutable, beyond the feeble powers of human comprehension. There would be talk of international conspiracy to toss the needle of truth in a mountain of hay. Coming to the purpose of the call, the speaker wanted to know if the plan met with Keshav's approval and if he had any suggestions for improvement, refinement.

"No!" Keshav responded loudly and angrily, forgetting that he was riding a crowded metro train. Lowering the pitch of his voice, he switched over to Tinglish, a postmodern language used in many countries of the world outside the English speaking nations, “May I know the names of the hired killers and the one going to be killed? The confidentiality clause between the attorney and the client doesn't protect me if a crime is involved, and I am legally bound to disclose this intended crime to law-administering authorities, promptly" [approximate English translation]. Living in Washington, DC, he had picked up the local jargon of criminal law.

"Well, … please don't be upset," pleaded the speaker at the other end. "You know it is only a plan among many plans in parallel worlds [My Goodness! Is it possible that somebody is studying Borges across the continents and over the seas?] We won't proceed further if you are against it. We are going to call it off now that you strongly disapprove of it. Thank you for your sagely advice."

Engrossed in this conversation, Keshav passed, without realizing it, L'Enfant Plaza station where he had to change from Yellow Line to Orange Line to reach home. He disembarked the train at Pentagon station and rode back to L'Enfant Plaza. As he was waiting for the Orange Line train, his cell phone rang again.

The call was from a member of the opposition party this time, who introduced himself as Keshav’s friend of a friend. With Borges' story fresh in his mind, Keshav was not surprised to learn that the opposition party was also planning a murder and hiring members with associations with the ruling party to do it. Certainly, somebody's wish for his pest's death had become widely known! "You know we greatly value your opinion. Please let us know what you think about it," the speaker asked earnestly.

Hurriedly boarding the train before him, Keshav repeated what he had told the previous caller. With profuse appreciation for his opinion, the speaker hung up. When the train reached Pentagon station again after traveling for nearly half an hour, he realized he had got on to a Blue Line train at L'Enfant Plaza junction so he had to take a train back to L'Enfant Plaza again to catch his Orange Line train.