THE CHASM

1905 CALCUTTA, INDIA “We’ve got to do something, Viceroy”, said Mark as he paced up and down clad in his red suit. The roar of protests was being obstructed by the thick glass of the window and only angry people could be seen spitting out their rage in the scorching heat outside. “Patience, Mark. We need to look before we leap. Every step will be taken into account”, Said the grave viceroy who sat pondering at his desk. “Bengal has been too good to us Mark, don’t you think? But I smell the brewing of something underneath, though I have no complaints against them as long as it causes no harm to the Empire.” “Perhaps you are endowed with too much subtlety, Sir to deal with them but with such grace.” Mark was not sure if the Viceroy had understood his remark, for the next few lines uttered by the grave man took him by absolute amazement. “Moreover I also have to look after the people’s needs here. Could you bring me that file from there? I think there’s a village in South Calcutta as they say that is going through a famine. Call for a meeting. We have to discuss matters”, he had said, like Mark had not spoken at all. The Viceroy looked out of the window as he spoke. He sighed as his eyes fell on the barren dried up land that lay ahead where the helpless and poor Indians waited with some last hopes from the foreigners. People had forgotten how long they were being ruled over so brutally by the invincible East India Company. Despair never left their side since scores of years now. Futile efforts had been made to retrieve the lost freedom and peace. Lord Curzon was not totally unaffected by the poor people’s helpless yet propitious temperament but some very coherent policies rendered his empathy (even if it was very little) void. Hardly had the Viceroy realized that Mark had left the room some minutes ago while he sat quietly embracing solitude. The emptiness in his eyes reflected his great grandfather’s portrait as he stared at it aimlessly. Unknowingly he was imitating it with his arms folded with a curious frown and his hair were the same golden locks that rested carelessly on his shoulders. Thoughts, which had disappeared somewhere between the blankness and tiredness were beginning to return. The political scenario hadn’t been quite impressive during these times. They had to act immediately or lose everything. Mark had been right. Lord Curzon groped for his glasses so that he could read the complaints on the file properly. He had to do something to strengthen British power more and more, not that he meant any harm to the Indians either. Somewhere deep within he too did not go unabashed of the cruelty and the injustice that the people were going through, here in India, but all that was shrouded beneath the thick invincible layer of vanity of the Royal blood. As he walked through the serene dim aisle with the file in his hands he rehearsed his speech that he had prepared to address the parley of men waiting for him at the conference room. As soon as he entered, everybody stood up. “Good morning and Please take your seats gentlemen.” He knew what he had to say but what he didn’t know was how he would start. After a minute’s silence he finally spoke “as we know we are all gathered here to discuss about the famine – The room filled with instant murmurs when Lord Curzon Cleared his throat aloud and continued stressing on every word he spoke, “AND ABOUT THE POLITICAL TROUBLES THAT WE ARE FACING AT THIS TIME. Gentlemen I understand the predicament, and I am trying hard to get us all out of this situation but not without your help and cooperation. I hope that you understand that the misery of the people here is having adverse affects on our political situation. Everything at this moment is interrelated. We cannot neglect any minor matter right now.” Everybody straightened up as if now they were ready to hear what the Viceroy had to say. A stout middle aged man sitting right beside Curzon raised his short finger in the air. “Mr. Hopkins,” said Curzon with his strong voice, “I assume you have something to share with us.” “I was wondering if a pipe could be connected to the huge water tank that supplies water to us, that is a pipe leading to the village in question and a timely water supply for the irrigation---“ His opinion was broken by a room full of commotion along with some mockery about the concern that the man showed for the host country. Lord Curzon wore a smile while the chaos was arrested by him asking his men to settle down he said, “Gentlemen I need you to stop behaving like the uncivilized gathered out there. Can we maintain decorum please? And Mr. Hopkins, I mean no offense here but the Empire cannot afford to compromise with its luxuries to provide the villagers with anything. Moreover they are used to seeing their places rife with poverty all their life. They work really hard; do not defy their abilities to improvise with their strategies. They can produce water if they want to. All we need to do is keep them on our side.” It wasn’t long before another argument started that left the main topic untouched and everybody tried to make their point noticed which was more likely to be for their personal benefit. The meeting carried on for about one and a half hour without any proper decision and so it was called off until sometime someone cropped with an appropriate solution. Everyone rose from their seats to leave the hall when the Viceroy asked his secretary, Mark to stay back. When everybody had disappeared he finally spoke to Mark, “I was wondering if you got any news from Addison, Mark–“, The rest of his words were drowned into the sounds of furniture being dragged somewhere upstairs.Mark replied in great suspicion if that was an appropriate reply to the question, “Uh- Sir he is supposed to be arriving tonight but I’m afraid we have not received any confirmation from Sir Addison yet” and was relieved to discover that his guess was right.