(Indranarayan’s Story) Samrat Ashok would be ready in two days. On that score, at least, Indranarayan had nothing to worry about. If the truth were known, he had written four other plays and all were ready. But he hadn’t said anything to the owner of Bharat Opera. He knew very well that not every play could be a guaranteed success. The mood of the audience changed frequently, and a sensible playwright had to judge very carefully what kind of stories or what themes would prove popular. In that context, Samrat Ashok was going to be well suited to current tastes. No, Indranarayan wasn’t worried about his play. What was causing him anxiety was something quite different. It was now ten in the night. The manager of Binapani Opera, a man called Ashwini Bhaur, was expected to call in a few minutes. This would be his fifth visit. Another group called Nobo Natya had also sent its manager to speak to him, but they were not as big and powerful as Binapani. Both wanted him to leave Bharat Opera and join their own group. After seventeen years with Bharat Opera, Indranarayan naturally found it difficult to make a decision. God had given him a special gift that had made him famous. But he also had a strong sense of loyalty. His mind went back to the night when he had been attacked. Perhaps what Pradosh Mitter had said was right. Perhaps it had no connection with other rival groups. Indranarayan had so far been quite unaware of how strongly the feeling of rivalry ran between various theatre groups. Now he knew. However, on that particular night, it must have been an ordinary thief who had hit him with the simple intention of knocking him unconscious to steal his wallet. If he had seriously wanted to crack his skull open, surely he could’ve done so? Thank goodness those two boys turned up when they did. It was because of their timely arrival that even his wallet was safe. There had been around a hundred and fifty rupees in it that day. Santosh, the bearer, came in with a slip. ‘Ashwini Bhaur’, it said. ‘Ask him to come in,’ Indranarayan told him. Ashwini Bhaur came in and took a chair. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘You tell me,’ Indranarayan replied. ‘I’ve nothing new to tell you, Mr Acharya. This is my fifth visit. You must make a decision now, one way or another.’ ‘Yes, I know that. But surely you realize I need to think things through? I can’t just leave Bharat Opera after so many years without giving them sufficient notice.’ ‘Yes, but you won’t be the first one to switch from one group to another. You know about Sanjay Kumar, don’t you? Didn’t he leave New Opera after ten years and go over to Bharat? It happens all the time. Besides, how can you ignore the amount we’re offering you? We know how much you’re

getting from Bharat. Fifteen thousand, right? We’re going to give you twenty. Your annual income will be in the region of two hundred and fifty thousand. You’ll be very well looked after and treated with as much affection and respect as you are in Bharat. Your name will be highlighted in the credits. We’ll accept all your terms, as far as we possibly can.’ ‘Look, Ashwini Babu, I’ll take another day or two to finish this play I am writing. Please wait until it’s been written, and it’s out of my mind. Right now, I can’t think of anything else. Could you come back after three days?’ ‘All right. But does that mean—?’ ‘I wouldn’t ask you to come back if my intention was to disappoint you. But you must consider my position too. Money isn’t everything, is it? If Bharat Opera come to know about your offer, they may decide to increase my salary to match it. What would you expect me to do if that happened? And that isn’t all. A long-standing relationship like this cannot be wiped out in a day.’ ‘Very well, I will leave you in peace now, Indra Babu, and come back a week later. You ought to be able to make a final decision in that time. Keeping people hanging in suspense isn’t very nice, is it? Well, goodbye, Indra Babu. Good night.’ ‘Good night.’ Indranarayan rose from his chair and went with Mr Bhaur to see him off at the front door. Then he returned and went back to writing. He was very happy with the way the last scene was coming along. If he could keep it up till the very last line, Samrat Ashok might well turn out to be the most successful play he had ever written. Indranarayan went on writing. A few green flies flew in through an open window and began buzzing around. This happened every night. It was most annoying, as were regular power cuts. Of late, however, the power supply had improved. Indranarayan waved the flies away and turned his attention to his play. He had to get on with his job. But he couldn’t go on for long. Totally unbeknown to him, a shadowy figure slipped into his room and walked stealthily up to his chair to stand directly behind him. Then it raised an arm and struck a blow with an iron rod. Instantly, a curtain of darkness fell before Indranarayan. His eyes closed, forever.