Everyone in Bangalore knows that the site business is the most valuable business ever. Around every corner, in every little ‘Darshini’ , you would hear talk of BBMP (which, to give it its full exalted name is the Brihan Bengaluru Mahanagar Palike). Keep your ears open, and all you will hear is of the engineers there, and of the best way to get something sanctioned. And, indeed, in a popular Basavangudi restaurant, the management had put up a board requesting patrons to refrain from site-talk, but, of course no one cared, and over a “by-two” coffee or two, deals were discussed for hours on end.
Naturally this kind of talk was also favoured among the earnest walkers who thronged Lalbagh, early in the morning, all decked out in their fancy tracksuits and expensive running shoes . Nothing could keep them from talking about their sites, not the cool breeze that wafted though the park, not the crowds of people who earnestly walked, eyes set straight ahead, not the twittering of the birds. Silence was unheard of. Conversations moved easily from language to language, from Kannada to Tamil to Telugu to English, but “siteuuu” was ubiquitous.
Krishna Reddy was a regular in the park, And invariably, for he was a “regular” kind of chap-he usually found himself following the same set of people- a group of earnest builders, or ” siteuuu” people, as he liked to think of them. He usually enjoyed listening to them, especially when they talked about people in the BBMP. He “owned” a property too, and you never knew when such information could come in handy . To be accurate, he didn’t actually “own” the property – it belonged to his mother, his father having bequeathed it to her – and, as he was her only child, it was only natural that he thought of the property as being his. He, however, lived separately from his mother – his wife couldn’t stand her mother-in-law, as he had quickly discovered – and it had seemed prudent to move out as quickly as he could.
The walk around the lake was his preferred route, and he enjoyed looking at the placid water. But you had to walk carefully, especially during the rainy season. And this previous night, the rains had been particularly heavy. One slip, and you could be sliding down the embankment and into the lake, before you knew it .
The conversation that he had overheard the previous day had disturbed him, for the “builders group” had been talking about “his” property. He had heard his name mentioned, his ears had opened wide, and he had quickened his pace so as to hear them more clearly. Yes, it was definitely “his” property that they were talking about.
One of the “builders group” – Venkiah – had been an acquaintance of his late father, and he seemed to be the principal plotter. He knew everything about the property – the exact dimensions, the registered owner, the name of the contractor who had built the house, the date on which the khata had been obtained…
The plans that were being discussed seemed to go into great detail, too. Venkiah said he had identified a builder – ‘very reasonable chap, with excellent contacts at the BBMP, he had no problems with money transactions’, he said. He said that they were currently discussing about how many flats could be built, and about the types of flats that could be conveniently constructed there. He had been talking to the old lady, too, he added, referring to Krishna Reddy’s mother. The only problem, Venkiah continued, was that the old widow was holding out – she always said that she needed to consult her son before she signed off on any paper.
But, Venkiah continued, “I think I can get around her soon. I know that she doesn’t like her daughter-in-law at all, and if I can bring her into the conversation and suggest that by helping her son, she would only be helping her daughter-in-law, there would be no problem in pushing the transaction through. But I needed to get everything in place before I use that brahmastra. ” And then in gleeful tones he went on to speak of the vast sums of money that could be made if the transaction went through. troubled Krishna Reddy.
Today, as he walked behind the group, Krishna Reddy was pensive. How could he prevent this sale? His wife loved the huge old-fashioned house, and although she had no love lost for her mother-in-law, and she would hate him for the rest of his life, if he couldn’t somehow hold on to his property. His wife was always complaining about the flat that they had moved out to – the troublesome neighbours, and the lack of privacy, and the perennial water problem. She had always told him, “we will go back to your house, once ajji passes away, and then we will really enjoy the place”. His mother, on the other hand, didn’t like her daughter-in-law at all and could, perhaps, go to any length to deprive her of the property. If only they had got on well, there would have been no problem at all, Krishna Reddy sighed, as he continued his walk.
There had been heavy rains the previous night, and the path around the lake was very slippery. The fence around the path was being repaired, and the work was still in progress. There were wide gaps in the fencing, and you had to be very careful in some places. They were walking now near a particularly slippery spot. Almost without thinking, Krishna Reddy shouted out , loudly, “Venkiah!”. Venkiah turned around quickly, and in so turning, found himself slipping, away down the embankment and into the lake, screaming.
There was a brief struggle, Venkiah’s head popped up once or twice and his anguished screams broke the calm of the early morning. He seemed to be shouting “ Siteuuu!”, with the ‘u’ extending loudly across the lake and losing itself in the expanse of Lalbagh.
The lake was exceptionally deep in some parts. Neither Venkiah nor his friends knew how to swim, and everyone stood around, helplessly, shouting. Finally, someone rang up the emergency number – which someone remembered had been put up on a board a little way ahead on the embankment- but by the time help arrived, it was already too late. Equipment and divers had to be brought in, and it was quite some time before the body was recovered.
Krishna had waited for some time on the path along with the others, and then, as the rest of the ‘builders group’ began to talk excitedly about the incident, he had quietly walked away. No one had noticed him and no one knew who had shouted out Venkiah’s name.
Krishna did not go out for his usual walk the next morning He wasn’t feeling well, he told his wife, who told him he had woken her up in the night, shouting what sounded like Siteuuu! “It’s better that you don’t go to Lalbagh today – take some rest,” she said.
When he opened the Herald Tribune later that morning , over his second cup of coffee, he found that there was a small piece about the incident in Lalbagh, headlined, ‘Tragedy at Lalbagh lake”.
He resolved not to go to Lalbagh ever again for his morning walk – he would instead go to the nearby Krishna Rao Park in Basavanagudi. There was an open-air gym in this park, and he would work away on the equipment, he thought, and maybe lose some weight, too. Walking in Lalbagh didn’t seem good for his health anymore.
In the evening, when his wife read the paper, after all her chores were done, she asked him about that incident in Lalbagh, and whether he had seen it.
He nodded perfunctorily, and spoke, as if of nothing in particular, “we must go to meet my mother soon!”
‘You can go ‘, his wife replied, ‘I am not coming!’
‘Ok’, he said, and thought to himself, that doesn’t matter at all, whether you come or not, our house (and the site would be safe!)