The Pressure back Home
1022 Words
Bombay
The door burst open.
A woman stumbled into Professor Jhunjhunwala’s office.
“Professor!”
Her voice was so desperate that the clerk hesitated to stop her.
Professor Jhunjhunwala looked up from the papers on his desk. Then he stood abruptly.
“Sitabai?”
She rushed forward. Tears streamed down her face.
“Professor, where is Anand?”
Her words tumbled out in a flood.
“What has he done?”
“Why are the British doing this to us?”
“Why are they taking our land?”
“Why are they visiting our relatives every day?”
“Why are the doctors refusing to see my Mahadu?”
The professor stared.
She took another step toward him.
“Professor, please.”
“Please speak to the British.”
“Please.”
“On account of Anand.”
“On account of all the years he studied under you.”
“Please save my Mahadu.”
Only then did the professor fully understand what she was trying to say.
And only then did he notice the child in her arms.
The boy looked scarcely conscious.
His face was swollen and red with fever. Tiny blood-colored spots had appeared beneath the skin of his cheeks and neck. His lips were cracked. His chest rose and fell heavily. His eyes remained only half open.
The professor crossed the room immediately.
The moment his hand touched the child’s forehead, his expression changed.
The skin felt like burning metal.
“Get my physician.”
One of the clerks ran.
Within the hour, the old doctor arrived.
He examined the child in silence.
His expression grew darker with every passing minute.
The professor asked,
“How bad is it?”
The physician sighed.
“Bad.”
“Can you save him?”
“I can try.”
The physician settled Mahadu onto a sofa in the reception room beside the office.
He mixed Sudarshan Churna with warm milk and slowly coaxed the medicine into the boy’s mouth. Then he prepared a cooling paste of sandalwood powder and rosewater, applying it to the child’s forehead, palms, and feet.
The professor watched in silence. When the treatment was finished, he instructed the clerks to bring Sitabai tea and food.
Then he motioned for the physician to follow him back into the office.
“Tell me what happened to the Patils.”
The physician lowered his voice.
“The Patils have become completely isolated.”
The professor frowned.
“The British seized their land, claiming the ownership was unclear.”
“Every day the governor’s men visit the Patils’ relatives. Their in-laws. Their business partners. Their family friends.”
“They drink chai.”
“They ask harmless questions.”
“They smile.”
“Then they leave.”
“And the next day they return again.”
“After that, nobody wishes to be associated with the Patils.”
The professor understood immediately.
He turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?” asked the physician.
“To see the Governor.”
⸻
Governor Charles Harrington received him immediately.
The moment the door closed behind them, the professor spoke.
“You know exactly why I am here.”
Charles remained seated.
“Do I?”
The professor’s voice hardened.
“It is about the machine, isn’t it?”
The governor slowly rose to his feet.
“Not a machine.”
His eyes never left the professor.
“The Time Machine.”
“Narayan, I asked you to share it with me.”
“I pleaded.”
“You refused.”
The professor struggled to contain his anger.
“Was it for this?”
“Was it for this that Anand’s family lost their land?”
“Was it for this that an entire village has turned its back on them?”
“You knew Ramu would obey every word I said, so you targeted Anand?”
Charles did not answer.
Instead he took a slow step forward.
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “you might reconsider our cooperation.”
“No.”
The professor shook his head.
“No.”
His voice remained calm.
“That day, when I told you about the Time Machine, you lost control.”
“I saw it in your eyes.”
“The excitement.”
“The obsession.”
“And the resentment.”
“That was when I realized I had made a mistake.”
“And that was why I sent Ramu to retrieve it.”
Charles folded his hands behind his back.
“Narayan, we’ve been friends for long enough. You know I am not a greedy man.”
“Never have been.”
“All my life I have pursued only three things.”
“Fairness.”
“Logic.”
“Facts.”
His voice grew quieter.
“This machine—like many other things on this land—does not follow the rules.”
“On this land, the miracles are not rewarded to those who most deserve them. And this is unacceptable.”
He suddenly realized he had disclosed too much.
He walked toward the window, stood there for a moment, then returned with a seemingly sincere look.
“If the machine is real, then let us study it.”
“Let us test it.”
“Let us understand it.”
“And then?”
The professor cut him off.
“Then use it?”
The governor hesitated.
The professor stared at him.
“I do not know what plans you have for it, Charles.”
“But you shall not lay your hands upon it.”
“And you shall stop this persecution of Anand’s family immediately.”
Charles said nothing.
The professor drew a long breath.
When he spoke again, his voice had softened.
Almost pleading.
“Charles.”
“Do not let out the monster in your heart.”
Silence filled the room.
Then—
A frantic knock struck the door.
Both men turned.
A clerk rushed inside, pale and breathless.
“Professor…”
The young man’s voice trembled.
“The boy…”
Silence.
“The boy is dead.”
- Writer
