Chapter 19 #3
The tableau played out across habitats in other hamlets in the district. Andrew didn’t say much, even during the drives when we were joined by the Morning Herald’s chief photographer in Mysuru, who more than compensated for the laconic word count.
He had clicked about a dozen pictures of Andrew and Hari Rao, which he kept thrusting in my direction.
‘Myra ma’am, see this picture of Andrew sir and sir,’ he said.
Andrew finally told him to take pictures of Hari Rao with the people and leave him out of the frame or the paper wouldn’t be able to use any of his photographs.
He laughed and wagged his head.
‘Anyway, Andrew sir,’ the photographer said, inching forward and sticking his head between our seats like a five-year-old asking for a treat, ‘I don’t think Hari Rao will win this election.
There is too much money doing the rounds in the other camp.
This election is a bought election, sir.
If you have money, you can buy. My vote is for KANNADA, my language, my people. ’
Andrew nodded.
‘You think Hari Rao won’t win?’ I asked the photographer, turning in my seat.
‘I’m not so sure he won’t win,’ Andrew said.
‘Why, sir?’
‘People here vote with their heart. He will win. I’m not sure if the party will get a simple majority though.’
Hari Rao looked regal in a Mysore peta (a dressy turban), standing atop an estate truck.
The sun came down on Pandavapura, lending colour to a compelling picture.
The beloved monarch and his milling subjects.
People had lined the thoroughfare, waving party flags and cheering as his vehicle inched through the main road.
I had read that the power of Hari Rao’s campaign lay in the person-to-person exercise.
He not only went to houses, especially in small villages, which had two or three hutments at most, but he also met with every resident.
He carried sweets for children, whom he engaged with, and took the blessings of the elderly.
It was easy to see why he was once known as the ‘people’s chief minister’. He was a mass leader.
By the time Hari Rao was done, it was almost 7 p.m. The photographer said he was heading back to Mysuru and would join us the following morning.
‘What do you want to do?’ Andrew asked as we made our way to his car, which he had parked at the bus stand.
I wanted a cup of coffee, any damn coffee at this point, because I hadn’t had a sip all day.
‘I’m sorry, Myraah, I was meaning to stop at a café on the highway,’ Andrew said, bringing his hands together in apology. ‘We’ll do that now, on our way back.’
‘Back?’ I had the beginnings of a headache.
‘Yeah,’ Andrew said. ‘I think we still have time to get back to Bengaluru and start early tomorrow and maybe catch them here and go forward.’
We were an hour from Mysuru, maybe a little more than that. So, what sense was there in driving all the way back to Bengaluru only to return here in the morning?
‘I thought you’d want to go to the party office or wherever it is these peeps hang out once their day is done,’ I said. Why? That would add more colour to my copy?
‘Hari Rao and his PA are going back to Bengaluru. Apparently, he always does that. He’ll start early tomorrow.’
I was looking forward to a late-evening gin and tonic with Andrew.
‘Oh! Okay.’ It made sense for Hari Rao, who wasn’t getting younger. But for me, who had no plans of geriatric care for another 50 years, it was a party spoiler.
‘There’s no point in us staying here. We’re better off trailing him, even if it’s by a fair distance.’
The question was in my expression.
‘I don’t want him drawing conclusions, Rai.’
The surname again! What conclusions? About Andrew and me? That we were a couple?
‘I hope he’s not unwell or something.’
‘I think he likes what we all like – to sleep on our own beds. It’s more the case as you get older, I suspect.’
‘You were born old; you’d know, Brown! I think if he sees you around long enough, he’ll give you the interview.’
Andrew shook his head. ‘I don’t want him thinking we are tailing him.’
This was a disjointed conversation, like after a few gin and tonics down. Questions that never got asked were answered minutes later.
‘Even if that’s exactly what we are doing, Brown!’ I said, joining the party. I saw him wince!
Not once during the day had Andrew asked me to contact Ravi to find out anything about Hari Rao. Not even something as lame as cross-checking his plans for the day. Ravi talked a lot about Hari Rao and Kamini but never about politics.
I called my father to let him know I’d be back for the night. He wanted to know if Andrew would be around for breakfast. I cut the call and messaged him. No. Not Andrew not me for breakfast.
A pair of blue ticks was the reply I got.
The moment Andrew heard that Hari Rao had started back for Bengaluru and that he would pass the café we were seated at in 15 minutes, he was on his feet. I paid for the coffees and sandwiches and rushed back to the car. Andrew had already fired the engine.
We had some time before Hari Rao’s cars caught up with us. ‘They are usually five minutes or so behind the time they give us,’ he said, when five black SUVs overtook us.
‘That would have to be Hari Rao’s,’ I said, ‘but why does he need five of them, especially when, as he claims, he’s working with a shoestring budget?’
‘My guess is he’s in the third,’ Andrew said, dismissing my question. It was apparently unworthy of a novice even.
‘Five black Toyota SUVs, one behind the other. How conspicuous.’
Andrew shrugged.
I wondered aloud if Hari Rao was hyper about safety after the air crash that destroyed his family. ‘I can’t imagine how that would’ve been for him,’ I said.
Andrew nodded.
‘It can’t be easy for Ravi either, sole heir of this staggering legacy, which he doesn’t even want,’ I said without thinking. I had been conscious not to mention Ravi with Andrew all day, but with caffeine in my veins, my mouth was moving on its own.
‘Not sole,’ he said.
I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I hadn’t grasped how quickly Andrew’s face had changed colour.
‘What do you mean?’
Andrew didn’t answer my question. He honked, something he doesn’t do very often.
‘Oookaaay! He’s not technically the grandson,’ I said, rolling my eyes. But he was the sole heir.
A tempo truck was on the wrong side. It was swerving all over the place. Andrew was quick on the brake, pulling off the road before getting back on it.