The Ambrosia Project

One

As the night thickened, Raghu and his companion arrived at the ghat cautiously as was their habit. This ghat was one of the one hundred and eighty ghats of this city, grazing whose ancient body a river flowed hungrily to the sea every day. Raghu’s house was quite close to the ghat, just a few serpentine lanes away. There were merely two residents in that house older than a hundred and fifty years. Raghu was one. The other was his companion—an ostrich. It had a name as well—Horiyoka. Raghu had a cook who came every morning, prepared lunch and dinner and took care of the general housekeeping.

Raghu’s destination every night was this ghat. Horiyoka in tow. Horiyoka had a chain on its neck, the ends of which lay caged in Raghu’s fist. One look at Horiyoka was enough to stop any nocturnal traveller in his tracks, who didn’t ask anything, merely stared. The road dwellers, who stayed awake at this hour, were surprised before, but not anymore. However, at any hour of the night, there was always a new, unfamiliar face on the street. And that was the one perturbed by its sight. And every night, two dogs let out a chilling howl. Horiyoka didn’t look at them. The dogs followed them for some distance. And then they got back. Every night.

Raghu and Horiyoka stood at the steps of the ghat. Anubis sat there facing the river, one of his hands touching his left cheek, the other resting on his chest, his large leather bag kept on the ledge. Raghu came to meet Anubis every night. And he must get Horiyoka. That was both an instruction and an arrangement. Anubis had given him Horiyoka. And it had been a long time since then. He didn’t remember how long. This happens. People lose track of time. Everything blurs from the pages of memory. Sometimes these days, Raghu felt as though he had been at this same spot, alive before his house was constructed. Perhaps he had built this house, not his great grandfather, he just didn’t remember it all that well. It might have been so. It might not have been. People relinquish so much to memory just this way. Until a specific time, one never tests the skill and trustworthiness of memory in protecting someone. 

Although he didn’t remember when Anubis had entrusted Horiyoka to his care, Raghu’s memory of that particular day was quite clear. It was cold, past ten at night. Anubis had told him the previous day— “I will get the one I have told you about tomorrow. It’ll be a little late at night.”

Raghu waited for quite some time, had his dinner, was almost ready for bed—he thought the whole thing was just empty words, an attempt to scare him, nothing would actually happen—and it was right then that Anubis arrived. Raghu was a little startled at his arrival having waited long enough and a disbelief accompanied that wait. Opening the door, he found Anubis standing, an ostrich beside him. 

Raghu had never seen an ostrich face to face. He couldn’t really recall if he had ever seen one in the zoo. He had visited the zoo very early in his childhood and had never been there since. Staring at an ostrich alive, standing right in front of him, Raghu was somewhat shocked. Rooted to where he was standing, he blurted “But this is an ostrich! What do I do with this! You told me that you’ll get me something to weigh things.”

Anubis said, “Yes, you will weigh things. And you will need the ostrich for that.”

“How?”

“I will show you how.”

Anubis left the bird’s leash in Raghu’s hand. And before he left, Anubis said, “This bird is called Horiyoka. It used to be with me till now. It will stay with you some time for my convenience. You can leave it without the leash inside the house. Use the leash when you head out. It enjoys eating salad greens. I will arrange for that from time to time, you won’t have to worry about that. However, it is omnivorous. If it spots mice, lizards or any other reptiles nearby, it might eat them. That won’t be a problem… and yes, tomorrow night bring him along to the ghat. That’s where we will begin our work.”

Raghu stood there with the leash in one hand for quite a while, and after shutting the door, he took the leash in the other. And then, with a little trepidation, he looked at the bird. Such a huge bird! It had hard eyes that were observing Raghu. It seemed a little irritated and flapped its wings intermittently.

Raghu pulled at the leash gently to get the bird inside. He had an impression that the bird wouldn’t budge easily. But he observed Horiyoka’s feet move with that gentle tug. And as soon as the bird moved, Raghu recalled its name—Horiyoka. Raghu found it difficult to refer to an ostrich by a name. He never had a pet. He had always kept away from all of this. And now he had to be responsible for an ostrich of all things! Something that had a name! Horiyoka. Fine. So be it, Raghu would address it by name.

“Come, Horiyoka.”

Horiyoka obeyed like a devoted disciple. 

That night, as he kept Horiyoka in another room, and heard it flapping its wings, he had two thoughts in his mind. The first thought—what would his cook say or do when she saw Horiyoka the next morning. Secondly—he felt that all of this was happening due to some flaw in his personality. Subdued, he felt this in his very bones. A strange lassitude filled his body. There was no excitement. There was no progress in his life. 

Yet, all of this was brought about by the prospect of progress. 

Two

Around a week back, Raghu finished his dinner of rice and water lily stems cooked in mustard. He usually liked taking a walk after his dinner. It was not exactly a habit. Just something he liked. Which meant that he didn’t do it every day. He went for a walk almost on a whim. This part of the city turned desolate at nights. Raghu liked that. During his walks he often wondered how some people stay entirely alone in a house, for a lifetime, then why couldn’t a city be someone’s alone!

The path of his walk was predetermined. After leaving his house, he first turned right, moving a little further, then right again, which brought him to the alley that led to the ghat. He stood at the ghat for some time. Streetlights illuminated the ghat reflected by the waters. The sound of the water lapping, its smell mixed with that of a few aquatic beings, permeated the environs. Every day an image of light and darkness painted itself at that ghat before his eyes while he stood and gazed at the waters. He watched the river water rise horizontally to the light post, dampening the light beams coming from that height. And then, he saw it rise until it reached the inky skies. The rains had not descended yet. Raghu’s line of sight came back from the skies. He walked back home. 

That night, while his sight dropped from the skies during his customary walk, Raghu’s gaze alighted on something. He saw a large pillar with an advert billboard right next to the light post. It advertised gold jewellery showcasing a popular, young actress. She was sitting and the gold ornaments touched her bosom. And her raiment was such that her two naked feet seemed to strike out like diamonds from underneath it. 

Raghu’s eye was transfixed at the advertisement. Possibly at the actress’s body. Raghu’s body shivered. He felt himself harden. He moved away to a secluded corner underneath a tree, from where he could gaze at the billboard unhindered. And right next to him, he found two pale, worn-out earthen idols. And sitting between those two, Raghu touched himself. 

Raghu went there the next day as well. And did the same. And then again, the next day. He couldn’t resist the allure. He couldn’t control himself. He became restless immediately after dinner.

Two days back, an obstacle presented itself in his nightly pleasure. Raghu had just begun his ritual when someone put a hand on his neck. Unnerved, Raghu thought initially that one of the two clay idols beside him had placed a hand. But no, the person standing behind had him dumbfounded—a human figure till his neck, clad in coat and trousers, his head was not human, but that of a fox!

“You do all this in open every day!”, said the fox-man.

Raghu was confounded, his face dejected, somewhat in fear, also because he unexpectedly came across this strange man. Still, he gathered enough gumption to ask in return, “Who are you? Why were you observing me?”

The answer came, “I am Anubis. It’s my job to observe. You should be punished for what you have been doing, at the very least, word should get around about your exploits.”

Raghu was a little scared this time. This person must be a sentry of the government who wore a mask and roamed around to catch citizens in their misdeeds. He didn’t argue any further. He lowered his voice and mumbled, “I am sorry. This was a mistake. Won’t be repeated. Actually, I couldn’t help myself. That’s why I fell from grace. Won’t happen again.”

Anubis said, “Fine. I accept your apology. However, I wasn’t keeping an eye on you for this reason. That was merely a coincidence. I need you for some work.”

“You need me? What work?”

“To weigh things. Before that I’ll leave someone with you.”

“Who? Who is that?”

“You’ll see.”

Anubis left keeping that a mystery. Raghu returned home. His body rang with the disappointment of his incomplete business. But there was nothing he could do now. He lacked the courage to get back to the advertisement board. He didn’t have any visual at home that could titillate him to go at it again. His organ turned limp.

Raghu fell asleep.

The next day Anubis notified him, “I’ll get the one I have told you about. It’ll be a little late at night.”

Three

The night when Raghu took Horiyoka for his nightly walk for the first time as per Anubis’s instructions, it rained torrentially. Raghu was wet even with his umbrella. Horiyoka was soaking. Anubis stood waiting, an umbrella in his hand, it was huge, could easily fit five people. 

Raghu closed his umbrella and took shelter underneath Anubis’ umbrella. Horiyoka did the same. Seeing Horiyoka wet, Anubis took out an instrument from his coat pocket and gave Raghu his umbrella. As soon as he pressed a button, warm air emanated from the instrument. Anubis used that to dry Horiyoka’s feathers. 

The rain didn’t stop. Horiyoka’s feathers dried. Anubis looked at Raghu and said, “Now for the real work.” Saying so, he put his hand inside his bag.

Raghu couldn’t believe his eyes. What he beheld was both incredible and terrifying in equal measure. Anubis took out from his bag one heart after another! And many of them were still beating. 

Watching Raghu dazed, Anubis said, “Don’t be scared. These hearts that you see are those of dead men. Some of them have died a few days back. Some of them just now. Hundreds and hundreds pile inside this bag every day. Their bodies lie in wait. And do you know what my job is? It is to weigh every heart against one of Hiroyoka’s vibrant feathers. The heart that is lighter than that feather will receive heaven, and the one that’s heavier will send its owner to hell, where a large crocodile will devour it. This has been my job for eons. And this work has extended its arms beyond time and space. And when I saw you in this region, in this city, I felt you would be able to help me out a little. I hope I have been able to explain things to you. You just need to bring Horiyoka along each day. You need to keep him healthy, his feathers clean, just this.”

Words were stuck in Raghu’s mouth. What could he have said in this matter! He threw a question a little reluctantly— “How does one keep one’s heart light? Who manages to keep it that way?”

Anubis answered, “Those who aren’t steeped in pleasure, those who don’t bow their heads in face of power, their hearts are light. And the ones who are on the opposite end of this spectrum have heavier hearts.”

Raghu felt himself fortunate in one instance and endangered on the other. He didn’t know whether to feel joy or sadness at this task he had been given. Undecided, he blurted, “I’m prepared”, and thought that agreeing to this proposal was the correct thing to do under these circumstances. 

The night was almost at its vestiges. The rain stopped. Anubis left. Raghu and Horiyoka were getting back. On their way, Raghu heard a male voice sing—

Mankind operates on the back of tools,

The five elements, firm, surround us in thousands.

This body machine, my friend, is truly old,

England, China, France, America, have all given up,

Is industrialisation dead?

Buddha is enlightened, not just through meditation,

It’s impossible in mere thoughts.

The song stopped at this point for some time. Raghu heard the notes of Esraj and Pakhwaj clearly. And at the very next moment—

What magic a tool has, it births water,

Railway, steam vessel, run on human help,

Telephone, phonograph. Electric telegraph,

Human machine is the father of all,

Enlightenment is at its heart.

Raghu had never heard this song before. He did not know who it was by, or who was belting it at this ungodly hour. He didn’t bother either. He just knew that his life had changed. 

On whose support will he run? 

Four

Raghu wasn’t aware when the unlikely pair of Anubis and Horiyoka entered his life that he would be a witness to the weighing of human hearts and participate in the decision of their afterlife destination. At the same time, the leader of this city and state, Malviya McMohan’s friend and senile economist, became deeply disturbed and worried at his friend’s steady decline in popularity. McMohan summoned him and demanded, “What’s the way out of this? Tell me!”

After hearing everything, the economist said— “I did tell you that the solution to everything lies in ambrosia. Don’t you remember?”

McMohan at that very moment recalled the economist’s advice. He had told McMohan many, many years ago during some conversation that if at any time his popularity or that of his government’s dipped in the eyes of the people, he should arrange for ambrosia without delay—he should disburse a fixed sum of money to all citizens of his state every month at a fixed rate. Loyalty could be purchased anytime with money. All dissatisfaction and protest could be quelled by this means. 

The minute he recalled this advice, McMohan put it to action. He summoned all his ministers and sat down for a meeting. After five sessions, the final blueprint was prepared. The plan was carefully set in motion. There was a formal announcement. And then the ambrosia project was implemented in a few days. Following this there was quite a stir in the cities and provinces. And people were unnaturally excited to receive the munificence of ambrosia. The extremely delighted ruled venerated the ruler and demonstrated unprecedented gratitude after receiving the grant. A year later, a secret survey revealed that the popularity of the ruling party was at its peak. 

But there was another news along with this one—one, just one person had refused this grant. His name was Raghu. 

Malviya McMohan did not take this news well. He was incensed. He instructed his lackeys to convince this Raghu fellow to accept the grant. Why would he refuse a voluntary grant! Only a fool would do such a thing! Thinking this, McMohan asked his chief minister, “Gather some men. Go to his house. Convince him.”

A group was formed. They would pay Raghu’s house a visit to persuade him. 

Raghu had never really been able to like this leader. He believed that Malviya McMohan and his goons had blighted his city in arrogance. A blow of incivility, bad taste and overall cultural degeneration. So, when Raghu heard about the ambrosia project, it really irritated him. He could see through the ancient ploy of buying people’s loyalty with money and to him it seemed nothing short of slavery. He didn’t care how any economist dressed this fact. 

Raghu decided that he wouldn’t accept this ambrosia by any means. He didn’t need much money. Neither did he lack for money. Although his family was once rich, all the riches and property were now lost, a thing of history. He still had the house, this ancient house in one of whose parts, he dwelled, alone. He didn’t have anyone to call his own. He had been renting out the other portion of the house to film crews for many years. Every day, every week, one film or another was shot there. And this provided enough flow of money to live his solitary life with ease. Why would he care for the ambrosia grant!

But his lone thought wouldn’t change a thing. The men gathered by the ruler came to Raghu’s door one day and asked him, “Why don’t you want the ambrosia?”

“I am an independent citizen. I do have the right to not accept the grant. I don’t think I need this money.”

“You are taking this matter far more seriously than necessary. This is not a grant, you see. It’s affection. Love. The love of the ruler.”

“Please don’t think I’m dumb.”

“Not at all! Why would we think that?”

“Please tell the ruler that I won’t be able to accept this.”

“You won’t accept it then?”

“No.”

“We see that you have a pet ostrich. Why such a strange pet?”

“That’s my wish.”

“Fine, then you won’t take the ambrosia?”

“I have already told you. No!”

The group left for that day. They reported everything to Malviya McMohan. He trembled in rage, how dare a simple citizen refuse him! He immediately ordered, “Arrest him.”

McMohan had just sat down to write poems. He didn’t write them himself, just narrated them and someone else wrote it down for him. When issuing his order for Raghu’s arrest, he had sprung up from his chair. Now he sat again. Then he said to the one writing, “Write fast. Another line has just come to me.”

“Tell me. I’m ready.”

This is a song. Write, “Walking on the road if we ever meet perchance, dearly beloved—”

The writer stopped suddenly in his work. Summoning all his courage, he said in a low voice, “Sir, please don’t take offense… but this is… someone else has already written these lines!”

McMohan’s visage didn’t betray anger or dissatisfaction. Rather he said in a very calm tone, “It is, isn’t it? What you need to kindly understand is that I am incapable of creating anything. I can’t build anything. That’s why I am so flashy. Raise such a hue and cry. Words don’t get attracted to my thoughts. They behave like a disinterested woman in bed. And I just shake them in strange permutations to frame my poems and make you write them. In improbable rhyme. Honestly, I can’t even accept the fact that I am incapable of anything! What do you think I should do?”

The writer didn’t say anything. McMohan was also quiet. Only the air conditioner whirred inside the room.

Five

Raghu was captured by the ruling party goons and locked in a dark cell for two days. And then, he was brought to the general cell and questioned. Even after all that, Raghu stuck to his guns about his utter refusal in accepting the ambrosia. 

This news reached McMohan. He decided to meet Raghu personally. He paid Raghu a visit one night. Raghu was dozing at that time. He was poked awake with a stick. Startled, he saw that most hateful person standing right in front of him. Without giving Raghu a chance to speak, McMohan said, “Why are you so rigid?”

“Aren’t you the same?”, Raghu’s exhausted voice betrayed a harshness. 

“You’re very myopic.”

“That may be so. Do what you must. I won’t accept the ambrosia.”

“You will have to!”

“No. I will not. I have told you already, do what you can!”

McMohan couldn’t keep his cool any longer, he screamed, “Yes, I’ll do just that!”

Stepping out from the cell, he immediately ordered his lackeys, “Declare him a treasonous traitor. Now!”

Raghu was immediately declared a traitor. He was duly punished as per this sin and was served a harsh sentence. 

The day Raghu was arrested, Anubis took Hiroyoka back with him. Anubis felt a curious agitation run through him suddenly. He knew that Raghu’s fate didn’t bode well. Still, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even visit Raghu in jail because his visit would be no less controversial. He felt truly helpless. Restless. He would never be able help someone living, that was his frailty—this thought hurt Anubis.

Six

A year passed. But the ruler didn’t change. The ambrosia had granted McMohan and his governance immortality, having reached the zenith of popularity. And that condition was stable, enduring, no protest anywhere, no dissatisfaction. But the ruler was older now. His body weaker, prone to disease, his longevity threatened. 

It was a month to his hundredth birthday, but McMohan became seriously ill before that, suffering for about seven days. And after that he passed away. There was an uproar in the city, in the state. All the citizens were disheartened and distressed. Some of the party members were paralysed in sadness, as were a few of his beloved poets, even the progenitor of that ambrosia project, the aged economist, who was hale and hearty after crossing hundred, cursed himself for his age, something that made him outlive and witness the death of a superior politician like Malviya McMohan. 

Anubis was waiting for just this moment. Malviya McMohan’s heart reached him in due course. He weighed it against Horiyoka’s feather. Heavy, McMohan’s heart was extremely heavy. Hence, he was destined for hell. McMohan was incensed when he was informed of this decision. He would land up in that worst place of suffering! This could not happen! He immediately asked Anubis, almost instructed him— “I will grant you ambrosia, change your decision, right now!”

“It doesn’t work that way,” responded Anubis.

“Then how can I make it right?”

“Release Raghu. Then I can spare this a thought,” Anubis took that opportunity. 

“How do I release him! He is a traitor, sentenced to life imprisonment. He didn’t accept my ambrosia. I had asked him just the other day if he would accept it, but he is still unruffled and firm in his decision!”

“You will be able to release him if you want. Based on that, my decision will also change. Send your most important officer this decision through me. Take this feather. Write it down here. Here’s the ink.”

Knowing there was no way out, McMohan wrote out the decision for Raghu’s release. That chit reached the government office. All hell broke loose, everyone bowed to the decision—the ruler must have left this final instruction! An extraordinary man, his forgiveness exceptional. That’s why he would be immortalized. 

Raghu was free. 

Anubis changed his decision as promised and McMohan reached heaven. 

Raghu had spent a few decades in captivity. He was very weak and emaciated. Despite knowing that his house was occupied by unknown people, he went to see it. He didn’t recognise it. New structures had come up around the core. When members of the ruling party came to give him some money, he refused. When they offered to provide a small house for him to stay, he refused that as well, although he didn’t have a clue as to where he would stay or what he would do at his age.

From his house, he walked to the ghat. The evening was waning. Raghu stood at the ghat. He couldn’t stand at a stretch. He sat on the ledge. He looked to his right to see if the billboard was still there. It was. But there was no advertisement there. Perhaps one had been there and was taken off. A new one would take its place soon. 

Turning his face to the river, Raghu saw Anubis come stand near him. Raghu smiled a little, “How are you?”, he asked.

“Unchanged,” Anubis smiled back. 

After that, the two of them sat in companionable silence for some time. Night descended. There was a cool breeze. It was desolate. Quiet. Suddenly, a large, brightly lit, decorated ship honked its presence, right in the middle of the river, moving fast from right to left. When it drew closer, the name of the ship, scrawled in light on its body, became visible—S. S. Riviera. And standing to one side of the ship, facing the ghat, was Horiyoka. 

The Riviera came and stood facing the ghat. Anubis told Raghu, “It’s mostly true that only the living can do something for the dead. But it’s not the only truth. You know, sometimes even the dead can help the living.”

Raghu looked at Anubis, agreement in his eyes.

Anubis said, “Let’s go, shall we? The ship awaits.”

Raghu said, “Yes, let’s go.”

The night had entered its first hour. The city was slowly drifting off to sleep. A few spots of wakefulness were always a part of the city. No city had all its dwellers asleep at the same time. Nor could it have everyone conscious and watchful.

Raghu and Anubis stepped inside the water slowly. A stream of crackers burst into the empty sky from S. S. Riviera, gunpowder and fireworks threw hundreds of flowers in the sky, their illumination reflected in the eyes of a brown lizard resting on the wall in the quietest corner of the ghat.