Deliverance

Sivaraman got off the bicycle and parked it against the village hotel/tea-shop, housed in a shed made of thatched roof covered with dried coconut leaves. He peeked into the hotel and placed the order to nair, who was the owner of the hotel and also doubled up as the cashier as well as the waiter.
“Oru meals nayare” (“One meals, nair!”)
Nair nodded and repeated the same directing it this time to the back of the shop, towards the kitchen. The response came back loud “One meals in the line”. This was the confirmation of the order.
Sivaraman walked towards the banyan tree where the white dilapidated premier padmini was parked. The car had long back given up hopes of being able to ply on the roads of mahadevapuram and now stood on just 3 wheels. Ismail, the lottery vendor, from inside the car, flashed his toothless smile at sivaraman.
“5 rupees one or 10 rupees one rama?”
Nair smiled back wistfully.
“smayile, you know I always take the 2 rupees one and can’t afford the others”
“there is no harm in trying aint it?” Quipped ismail.

This exchange happened at least once a month. Ismail was alarmingly old. Legend had it that, as a 17 year old, he had traveled to one of the eastern Arab countries in an illegal ship and had made tons of money over there. Some people even thought that ismail was a slave of one of the rich sheikh when he was there.
He had then come back to mahadevapuram after 15 long years as a rich man and had married 2 girls, both of them who where half his age at that time. He had started multiple businesses and was the first one in mahadevapuram to buy a car. A white gleaming premier padmini. Disaster stuck when his first wife ran away with an outcaste and ismail then took heavily to drinks. He was chastened by the elders from the mosque and his second wife tried, in her own ways, to lessen the grief that ismail felt, but it just got worse. Finally he lost all the wealth and soon began selling lottery tickets under the banyan tree, sitting in his premier padmini, which soon became more of an antique object than an object of use.

“Is there any chance this time?” asked sivaraman with no expression on his face.
“The coprah mothalali babu who took the bumper ticket last week got 50,000 rupees”
Ismail conveyed this information with a sense of pride which led others to think as if he had a personal role to play in babu’s luck!
“why does destiny always favor the rich ismail?”
“you keep faith sivarama…allah never gives up on decent people”

Sivaraman was 55 years old. He had started buying the 2 rupees lottery ticket almost right from the time ismail had started selling them. He had never won anything on the lottery but still religiously bought tickets on a regular basis. He worked in the brick factory from 6 in the morning till 3 in the afternoon. He would then cycle back from the factory and then stop in the village centre to have his meal. He would then get food for dinner packed for himself and his daughter and cycle back home. This was his routine for the past few years. The meals at nair’s shop came cheap at 8 rupees and was the only affordable option for sivaraman. His income from the brick factory was meager and he had to support himself and his daughter with his income.
Nair would once in a while chide sivaraman with “Shall I take something special to go with the rice?”
Sivaraman would wince at this question and then smile at nair.
“you know I cannot afford it nayare, then why ask?”
Nair was a short thickset sturdy man and was often the butt of jokes of the village folks for his lack of height. But if god didn’t make nair tall, he definitely made sure that he had a sharp tongue. No one escaped nair’s sadistic comments.

Nair recently had introduced chicken biriyani in his hotel. No other hotel or shop in the village served chicken biriyani and nairs biriyani got a lot of mileage and name. even ismail managed to have biriyani once in a week and would always tell nair after his meal “though not as good as my noor used to make, still mouth watering”
Noor was ismail’s first wife.
Sivaraman was a man who loved his food and he would always think for a moment before ordering the regular meals at nair’s shop. Nair would then come out with his sharp tongue “what rama, thinking of ordering biriyani?”

But, biriyani was out of reach of nairs pocket, costing 25 rupees. Sivaraman always dreamed of one day when he would walk into nair’s shop and bark at nair “One biriyani now and one parcel!”
Ah! When one dreams, you should do so unabashedly!


A few weeks later

Sivaraman parked the cycle at the same place that he had been doing for the last 20 years. He walked into nair’s shop and sat down wearily from the fatigue of the work. He called out to ismail.
“Has the results come yet?”
Ismail bobbed his head from behind the steering wheel of his padmini, nodding in affirmative.
Sivraman walked over to the bench where the day’s paper lay strewn and picked it up.
His shaky fingers went straight to that familiar page where the results of the lottery were always declared. Sivaraman’s fingers always shook during this ritual, even after 20 years of taking a lottery and not winning anything. He took the crumpled lottery ticket from his pocket and put on his soda glasses to read.
The miniature wordings were difficult to read, but this time, that didn’t explain why sivaraman stood staring at the paper and then at his ticket for what seemed like an eternity.
“what happened sivarama? Shall I take the usual?” nair asked.

Sivaraman removed his spectacles, folded the ticket and put it back in his pocket and placed the paper back on the wooden table. He then rubbed his eyes, looked up to the sky, his eyes closed and then smiled, as if saying a prayer of gratitude to the gods in heaven.
He then turned to nair, smiled and said “No nair, get me a chicken biriyani”…….and then, not forgetting to add “..and yes, please get one as parcel too!!!”