The mansion
Sachitra Mahendra
Amaraveera loved the shape of the mansion. It is just the way he
wanted it to be: colosseum style. He was waiting for clock to strike
seven. He will be welcoming his friends to his new home then.
Amaraveera had to wait for another half an hour to see his close
friends: Amarakeerthi, Amarakone, Amarathilake and Aravinda. He was
worried only about Aravinda. Aravinda persistently turned down
Amaraveera’s request to send a vehicle to fetch him. He said he would
come somehow. Amaraveera knew very well Aravinda was a poor journalist
who didn’t even have a house let alone a vehicle of his own. He would
probably come by a threewheeler.
 That’s when his intercom buzzed. He listened to the gatekeeper.
“Sir Mr Aravinda has come here.”
“So let him in.”
“But his threewheeler doesn’t go. The driver has charged him triple
the amount, he says. Mr Aravinda doesn’t have that much to pay.”
“Pay whatever amount it is and send off the threewheeler fellow. Get
money from Gunadasa.”
Looking back Amaraveera was happy about his life. He started his
career as a fisherman cyclist and now controls a network of industries:
meat, liquor, fish export in the limelight while drugs, brothels and
casino operate in dark hours. He had a natural flair for spinning that
income into more money.
That was more than enough for him to build up his dream: becoming a
public figure. He was the chief patron of the temple. As the President
of Teetotalers’ Association, most of his work went on public. And
Aravinda remained a faithful friend. He made sure every event was
sufficiently covered. All this Aravinda did, without charging a dime.
Without knowing half of what his wealthy friend does for a living.
So Aravinda was not in the board of directors. Other friends of
Amaraveera however made a great team.
Amarakeerthi was the director of public relations before becoming a
minister. He continued to be a director under Amaraveera; if not for
him, Amarakeerthi would never be able to run for an election.
Amarakone’s role as the director was hardly public. He earned reputation
as a civil servant. The connection has posted him as a chairman of a
government institute. Amaratilake is a businessman with 15 vine stores
under his ownership. His other dealings, like Amaraveera, are not much
open to the public.
Amaraveera saw the marshy land in one of his charity visits to shanty
dwellings. It was used for dumping garbage on and off. All the same it
seemed a perfect location for Amaraveera.
Minister Amarakeerthi made paperwork a lot easier for his friend.
After all this is a land that belonged to no one but the Government. The
minister represents the Government. Quite appropriately he took things
to his hands. Finding another land for whatever purpose is the
responsibility of Urban Council.
Day by day it rose as a giant and Amaraveera saw himself as the
rising god in that shanty area.
He spent fourteen hundred thousand rupees for foundation alone, after
clearing the land and making it appropriate for the job. Something his
close pals would listen with raised eyebrows. Something he won’t dare
tell the likes of Aravinda. There are things journalists shall not know,
after all.
It was raining. Yes, so heavily, he noticed in the CCTV monitor. The
access path is flooded. It must have been difficult for the threewheeler
to wade through. Amaraveera did not have to worry about other friends
whose Monteros and SUVs will cakewalk on the flood – probably splashing
a little bit of mire on a passer by or two.
One by one they all reached the place as the clock struck
seven-thirty. Butler escorted them to living room and switched on the
television.
People try to save their fellow sufferers in houses. Earth slips have
shadowed their life with catastrophe. Women take a journey on men’s
shoulders, unconscious. Some cry out incessantly for their lost loved
ones. The flood seems all too graphic on that sixty-inch screen attached
to wall. Cries reverberated in the hall through the home theatre sound
system.
“Sin no, these people.” Amarakone commented.
Looking at another internal screen, Amaraveera smiled. It was still
raining heavily with occasional lightening. But he was quite safe,
thanks to the safety system. He reached for his closet and took the
treasure out. He held it like a trophy.
“I bought this when I went abroad recently.” Amaraveera said.
“Oh really?” Amaratilake said.
“It’s bourbon. Evan Williams’ 23 year old, you see. It was three
hundred fifty US dollars. But I could make a deal for three hundred,
because of my other purchases. Now that’s quite cheap, isn’t it?” There
was a triumphal note in Amaraveera’s tone.
“The whiskey prices have gone down these days. I still think you
could have gone for a better buy.” Amarakeerthi said, helping on serving
the water of life.
Aravinda looked at Amaraveera. He silently compared his somewhat
crumpled shirt with Amaraveera’s immaculate white shirt. That’s when a
newscaster announced of met department warning of more lightening and
thunder. Twenty-five people have been displaced within a few minutes in
an area close by.
“Aren’t we supposed to call off this party?” That was Aravinda.
“No no, don’t worry. This house doesn’t get affected. This is built
on a solid foundation. It cost me…” Amaraveera thanked god he didn’t
slip out the crucial part, “a fortune. And also I have a thunder
resistor set up on the roof. Don’t you worry Aravinda.” Amaraveera
wanted to console Aravinda.
“That’s not what I meant. Aren’t we visiting the displaced people?
They live close by, so we can easily reach them. They need our help
right now.” Aravinda harrumphed.
Amarakone laughed aloud. After swallowing the last pork bite and
signaling the butler to refill the tray, he said:
“Probably another time Ara, say towards tomorrow morning. Why don’t
you set up some coverage, probably you can get a cameraman to have nice
shots of us visiting them. Now that’s not the case. We must enjoy time
when we have it. Have you heard of Nero playing the fiddle while Rome
burned?”
“No.” Said the journo with a furrow in his brow.
“You have to know them, mate. That comes off classics. Classics, you
see.” Amarakone said patting Aravinda’s shoulder. His shivering hand
reached for a glass.
“We have done so many merits. Look at those people. They are born
poor. And they will die even poorer.” Amarakeerthi opined.
“Why not? If I haven’t been engaged in charity how can I enjoy this
luxury? Someone must teach them to engage in good activities. Poverty is
a curse. Charity spoils the poor, in a way.” Amaraveera responded.
“That’s what all religions say, right? Those who do good have good
results and others bad results. Amarakone, you can do a nice analysis on
how Kamma works fine for some people and bad for another set.”
Amarathilaka commented.
“That’s true. Amarakone can write a good book out of that. I can get
these scenes recorded for you. I have an auto recording system.”
Amaraveera responded.
“That will be great. And Aravinda can do a nice interview. That’s
going to be your best interview, I bet.” Amarakone responded after a
brief pause.
Aravinda looked at his rich friends. They are all now slowly getting
into the comfort of the drink.
“How are you going to write?” He heard himself asking faintly.
“It’s simple no. You guys publish those stories. What do you call
that? Ah yes, human interest stories. I can get my boy to collect them
into one folder. I have a good editor too. He can handle the rest. I
glance over them, and I’m the author.”
Gradually giving into the whiskey comfort Amaraveera and pals didn’t
feel the world exist – or they didn’t care for one. Their conversations
became idle cries and whispers. Still nursing the first glass, Aravinda
felt himself redden. The drink was working so hard and strong down his
innards. For a moment he wished he wouldn’t have taken that one glass;
he is not used to whiskey anyway.
Slowly but steadily it turned out to be an ordeal. The temptation to
get out became so much. He needed to make the journey – now.
What about dinner? He came to have a sumptuous dinner. He didn’t even
have a proper lunch. But now he didn’t feel fit for dinner either. He
has lost appetite. Those displaced figures both live and lifeless
roaming here and there haunted in his mind. Besides he was scared to
hear predictions of thunder and lightening.
Amaraveera and friends were too busy in their own world to notice
Aravinda sneak out. A smiling butler reached for the exit followed by
Aravinda. He stepped out into a different world: heavy rains amid
thunders and lightening. He was wet all over as he reached the gate.
Then the moment arrived.
A chain of thunders roared and lightening whitened the sky above
Aravinda. He could just say it was horrendous. Like a flash he saw the
series of thunders hitting the dome of the mansion. Motionless, Aravinda
closed his eyes; there was weird warmth inside his freezing palms. For a
second it was all a lull. He was like that at least for a few more
seconds – or perhaps a minute or so.
Aravinda slowly opened his eyes to see the mansion in rubble, like a
jigsaw puzzle badly solved.
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