The Cherry-Blossomed Field Marshal von Model - 4: dArtagnan

(an excerpt)

D'Artagnan was the hero of The Three Musketeers and my most favourite character. All sticks became swords when I was 8 years old. I would brandish them, challenging

d'Artagnan's foes such as Jussac, engaging on all fronts with utmost energy while maintaining a defence showing the highest self-respect, until I would see my very pretty aunt and my mother doubling up with laughter.

I did not understand everything d'Artagnan did. His relationhip with Lady de Winter was something of a mystery. What did he actually do? But that was a minor issue, and did not bother me very much. What really mattered was his quick, impulsive, daring manner backed by sometimes prudence, sometimes brilliance, and determination to do the right thing at all costs.

Jagadish kaku fitted most closely the role of d'Artagnan. I followed him around like a little puppy. My mother had told me quite firmly that when I grew up I had to become like him. His scholastic achievements were well known.

Jagadish kaku was the most godlike among all the gods. Everyone loved him, for he was a genius, a great engineer. They all melted at his very name. In the company, it was well known that technical problems baffling everyone, vanished like the mists of early morning before the puissant sun, when Jagadish kaku looked at them. His solutions were sparkling, clear, simple, direct - and right! They saved money, or made money. There was no hot-air wind-bagging about Jagadish kaku: no talk about what could happen or should happen or would happen; no adulation of personalities with beard, cap, topi, or smooth-cheek; no hoping for this, or wishing for that. Instead what good could be done, should be done, as efficiently as possible - for that he stood.

He was also popular for his keen and cutting wit. His brilliant and insightful statements circulated in our group for ages. He could explain the most difficult and vexing issues in such simple terms everyone could understand. I remember how beautifully he taught me the Atomic Theory and a good deal of Thermodynamics, after I asked him what the wind really was. I learnt to play chess from him. So well did I learn, that before long my father was turning the board over to prevent ignominious defeat. My interest grew so much that my mother finally threw the chessboard and chessmen out of the house.

Jagadish kaku and I were returning from a volleyball match. It had been played between the Soviet experts who had built our companys plants, and the local team. (We had been thrashed, of course.) He told me about the history of volleyball - how it had been invented by the Prisoners of War in the Second World War. He was happy to find that I already knew a fair bit about the Second World War. How the Nazis killed millions of Jews in concentration camps by gassing, and made soap out of their dead bodies.

"Not all Nazis were caught, you know. Quite a few ran away and are in hiding."

"Where?"

"Mostly in South America, it is said." His voice became low. "We have one right here, with us."

I was keenly excited. "Who? Who is he?"

"It is a secret. You must not tell anyone. Your Mondol kaku was actually a very high-ranking German Nazi officer. His real name is Field Marshal von Model."

"But, but... Mondol kaku is very dark."

"Indeed he is. But that is not his natural colour. He gets up at four oclock every morning and applies Cherry Blossom shoe polish to his face. And hands. And other parts of his body."

"But Mondol kaku cannot be a Nazi. He is too nice."

"Oh, von Model wasnt such a bad chap, as Nazis went."

So Mondol kaku (the last of the four gods) was actually a Nazi! I did not think of disbelieving Jagadish kaku. Everyone thought he was simply wonderful. He would not lie to me. The story had the ring of truth, as it contained mention of Cherry Blossom shoe polish, which I knew very well. I polished my shoes with that stuff, and real messy it was, towards the end of its life, when it got all dried up and broke up into small bits. You had to pick up each bit and rub it on the shoe. That meant dirty nails and a lot of scrubbing; or else, maternal scolding. I sympathized with the Field Marshal. But at least he did not have to clean up after using Cherry Blossom.

Bursting with this information, I told my mother the secret. (You can tell all secrets to your mother if you are 8 years old.) She laughed, and immediately told the secret to my aunt, who giggled and dimpled in her very pretty way. They went on and on in admiring tones how clever Jagadish kaku was, and what fun he was making of poor Mondol.

"But Mondol kaku is actually the German Field Marshal von Model!" I insisted.

"O! Is that so?" my mother said, with very round eyes.

Seeds of doubt entered my head. My mother and my aunt were always laughing over me. I could never understand why. I was such a serious young fellow. Or at any rate, wanted to become one.

That evening when the gods came to our flat I snuggled near Mondol kaku. I was still sure that he was in fact the Field Marshal von Model but I wanted to check up. I thought I could find out if he indeed was Cherry-Blossomed. He hugged me in his usual affectionate manner, and I took a hard look at his skin. No, there was no trace of shoe polish there. I looked up to find Jagadish kaku looking admiringly at me. Our eyes met in sudden understanding.

Why did he kid me? Because I was an available kid, and he was in a quirky mood? I would appreciate the impact of his kidding much later. So many solemn and extraordinary lies form the bedrock under what most consider civilized existence. Should they be dragged into the light? Or should they be allowed to remain hidden, and more cunning lies invented, in the interest of peace and stability for certain groups?

Jagadish kaku did not work for very long in the company. He did not get along with his superior officer. The man, apparently, did absolutely nothing. He just toasted his backside in front of the radiator all day.

What did he do in the summer, I wondered.

He left for the golden shores of the United States, leaving behind many mixed feelings. There were those who thought what a waste it was. This one man could have created opportunities for many thousands or millions, given the right circumstances. Others of a more practical nature said that such circumstances would not occur in the country in the foreseeable future. It was only too easy to see that upward mobility was for the purveyors of wind, unscrupulous rogues, mediocre sycophants, and the well-connected. Let the man do as much good as he could for at least himself, and his near ones, in a foreign land. With more knowledge and money, he would be in a far better position to benefit his motherland in the future, if not claimed by comfort and convenience.

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