The Hope Factory A Novel - By Lavanya Sankaran Page 0,113
This was meant to scare him. No doubt.
Instead, he felt something shift inside, his fear lift, a welcome anger warming him deep within.
He moved quickly; he did not want to advertise this to whoever remained on campus. He reversed and parked his car on the other side of the parking lot, the gash concealed.
When the last shift ended, he personally saw all the workers off the premises. Over their protests, he sent Mrs. Padmavati and Ananthamurthy and Kamath home. He did not want them exposed to violence—or to whatever those political goons might have planned for the long night ahead.
He was going to stay behind. He would not abandon his factory. Perhaps all would be quiet. It didn’t matter. In case of violence, he was not sure what he could do anyway, but he could not just leave. He called up the security company and asked them to send two more watchmen for the night shift.
He wondered whether to call Vidya or not but had no idea what he would say to her. They had not spoken since the previous night. Instead, he compromised, sending a text message to his daughter: Some problem here. Spending night at factory. C u tomorrow. She would let her mother know.
THE FACTORY SETTLED INTO a profound silence. Anand kept the lights on and walked endlessly around the production floor and the offices.
And as for Harry Chinappa, what had he done, really, to earn anyone’s respect? He belonged to the generation that had achieved nothing—suffocated, they claimed, by the government’s restrictive socialist policies, but, in a democracy, was that really any excuse? Theirs was the generation that had refused to look forward, gazing instead for inspiration to the British, whom their own parents and grandparents had kicked out of the country, aping their mannerisms and talking, like sighing damsels in unrequited love, of the wonder of times gone by and the marvelous organization of the British empire. Which one of them had stepped forward to embrace the freedom so hard-won, which of them had dared to contemplate empires of their own? No, much easier to mope and romanticize the past—as though the British, when in India, had invited these people to tea, torn down those signs in front of their stupid, beloved ex-colonial clubs that said: INDIANS AND DOGS NOT ALLOWED. Did he remember any of that, Harry Chinappa? Did he, in his own life, demonstrate what it took to be a man?
AT ABOUT 11:00 P.M., Anand heard a small disturbance at the front gate. He went out to the steps of the admin building. The lights blazed behind him; he knew he would be seen.
One of the security guards approached, the union leader Nagesh following. “He wanted to see you, saar,” said the guard. “He insisted.”
The union leader was alone. Anand wondered whether he was bringing a message from Gowdaru-saar. Anand let him approach, eyes restlessly scanning the darkness beyond the gate. There didn’t seem to be anyone else there, lurking in the shadows; no crowds, no goons.
“Sir, I heard you were staying here,” Nagesh said, abrupt, uncomfortable, not to be thwarted.
“I just heard about your car, sir. I wanted to say: we had nothing to do with that. We would not do that to you, sir. I came to say that.” The union leader’s concern and worry were palpable. “They are some goondas who did this. We have nothing to do with them.”
Anand nodded, concealing a huge sense of relief. The possibility of his own workers turning against him had worried him more than anything.
The union leader seemed reluctant to leave. He blurted out: “Sir, are you planning to spend the night?”
“Yes,” said Anand. “I am.” He frowned. “Why, have you heard anything? Are they going to do something?”
“No, sir, I have not heard,” said the union leader. “They would not tell me even if they were planning something. But, sir,” he said, “you should not wait here alone.”
“I am not alone,” Anand spoke firmly. The three security guards waited at the entrance. “If anyone comes, rest assured, I will call the police.”
He turned to go in and found the union leader hard at his heels.
“I will wait here with you, sir,” said the young man.
THEY SET UP TWO chairs on the factory shop floor. The union leader organized some coffee, and Anand unearthed the glucose biscuits from Kamath’s stockpile. “Hopefully there will be no trouble,” Anand said. “But I am glad you are staying, Nagesh. Thank you.”