Harish

An aspiring singer loses once again to a ruthless competitor. As he appeals to a higher authority, his trusted donkey chews his way to set the villain up for a humiliating end.

Harish Vakil sat on the mandir roof in Bavan Deri and looked down at the valley below. In a few hours, the sun would set, lights would twinkle on the plains, and stars would fill the sky above. And the bus carrying those selected to sing at Mataji’s temple would reach Vadodara.

Again, this year, he was not selected. Last year the generator had come on when Harish started singing. The judges could not hear anything. This year the loudspeaker stopped working. It only started working when it was Chandresh Trivedi’s turn to sing.

Chandresh Trivedi always made sure he got selected to sing with the garba mandli for Navratri at Mataji’s temple in Vadodara. His special German mike and sound pedal filled the air with a deep, strong voice. No one else was allowed to touch his mike and sound pedal.

Once, when his sound pedal did not work, everyone had been shocked to hear his real voice. After that day, Chandresh-bhai personally checked everything first by calling out ‘Jai Mataji’ before he started singing.

Chandresh-bhai’s beady eyes behind the gold frame spectacles had danced with delight as they watched Harish leave the stage. The pat on Harish’s cheek from his delicate hand with its gold rings had felt more like a slap.

As Harish made his way down the pathway, he heard a soft voice say, “It is okay.” He stopped and turned to see Kartik Maharaj sitting by the fire in his mandir. 

“You don’t have to go to Vadodara,” Maharaj had consoled him, “Mataji’s spirit is in Bavan Deri even though her moorti disappeared more than a thousand years ago. On the day everyone goes to Vadodara, go to Bavan Deri and sing with all your heart. Mataji will hear you without a German mike.”

“Harish!” Chandresh-bhai called out to him as he stood at the ST bus stand watching the mandli load their luggage on the bus to Vadodara, “take your donkey with you and bring the samaan from my house. It is very heavy.”

Without a word, Harish trudged back to Chandresh Trivedi’s house, loaded all the samaan on his donkey’s back, and returned to the ST bus stand. Chandresh-bhai did not move a muscle to help Harish load the samaan on the bus. He did not even bother to say ‘thank you.’

After the bus left, Harish spent the day at Bavan Deri looking down at the valley. His donkey stood by at the edge of the cliff, staring ahead, methodically chewing the makai stalks stolen from Chandresh-bhai’s house.

The sun finally set. Lights twinkled on the plains below and stars filled the sky. Harish got up and stretched. He climbed down from the mandir roof.

“Jai Mataji,” he said, taking a deep breath. Then he started singing with all his heart.

His donkey continued to nibble at the grass around the chewed up wire, plug, and jack for Chandresh-bhai’s German mike and sound pedal.