The Hope Factory A Novel - By Lavanya Sankaran Page 0,78
earth glowed an ancient emerald green. Anand was instantly captivated. The crop cultivation had stopped; quick-growing eucalyptus formed a young grove in one field; others were bare, dotted with wildflower bushes and solitary trees. He was reminded of growing up in Mysore; of gardens and endless trees, of cycling past open spaces; he went tumbling hastily into a future where he would buy this land and he would bring the children and they would tumble through the fresh air in turn, enjoying picnics and racing through the wild grass with the wind on their cheeks.
The arrivistes of the city were in the near distance; the newly built warehouse walls, the distant buzz of chain saws cutting trees and drills boring their way through stone, the gentle mist of cement dust, settling like perfume on the leaves of the eucalyptus trees.
The land was pure, so beautiful. So suitable for his factory. He wrenched his mind away from fantasy. He turned to the Landbroker, waiting quietly to one side.
“Listen,” he said, “I do not like to deal with underhand fellows. No rogues. No political parties or goons. No criminals. Nothing like that.”
“Me neither, saar,” said the Landbroker. “Hai-yo. They are all rascals. I do my work and like to live a peaceful life. But some bribe,” he said, “will have to be paid to the registrar clerk. For registering the sale deeds.”
“Why?” asked Anand.
“Come, saar. What are you saying? How else will it get done?”
“Right,” said Anand.
“So, shall I proceed with this?” asked the Landbroker. He outlined the rates and terms in greater detail. “Some portion will have to be in cash—that you organize. I will do as quickly as possible, saar. It all depends. Some families will agree quickly; others may take more time. Some will have brothers who are living somewhere else and so on. It is complicated and it will take some time and effort, but I can do it for you, if you are sure…. So, saar, I can proceed freely?”
Anand did not allow his anticipation to show. “Let me see the land papers first,” he said, frowning slightly. “Before I give final okay.”
“Yes, saar, of course. You will need to show your lawyer.”
The Landbroker gave his sudden smile. He scooped up a handful of the red earth between his fingers, crumbling the soil before looking up at Anand. “Very good, saar. It is a lovely land, you will enjoy. You can grow things in one corner, even if you are building factory on one side. That will give you some flowers or some fruit trees. You can take home for your family.” He whacked at a wildflower bush with a dry twig, beheading a few buds, as iridescent in his pink shirt as a large butterfly against the brown and green of the earth.
ANAND WOULD NOT LET himself get excited about the land he had seen. There were two vital, monsoon-engorged Ganga-Yamunas that must be crossed before they could proceed. First, the Landbroker had to collect all the land papers from the various sellers. And then, a lawyer would need to vet those papers for signs of fraud or wrongful ownership.
But without any fanfare, the Landbroker arrived at Anand’s office a few days later carrying an outsize plastic bag. From this, he pulled file after file, piling them on the table in front of Anand’s astonished eyes. “The title papers, saar, for the land…. These are all copies, saar. You can leave with the lawyer. But no need to worry, saar. They are all good.”
The real estate lawyer’s waiting room was filled with urgent, busy people on cellphones carrying oversize documents and trying to assess, out of the corners of their eyes and in between their phone conversations, who the other people in the room were, new money sitting uneasily amidst a pervasive atmosphere of old legal mustiness.
Anand was currently working with three separate lawyers: one for the factory work, reviewing contracts. One, an internationalist maven, who charged exorbitant rates for his advice on the Japanese contracts and who always seemed to be traveling to exotic locations whenever Anand needed to speak to him; traveling, Anand speculated darkly, on the very fees that he had paid him for his time. And now this real estate specialist, to review the land papers that the Landbroker had given him. At this rate, he would soon know sufficient law to hang up his own board: ANAND K. MURTHY, LSL (LAWYER, SCHOOL OF LIFE).