'That's amazing. Here you are, gambling with the ten million rupees you have already won and you don't feel even a trace of anxiety. Remember, if you give the wrong answer, you lose everything. But if you give the correct answer, a hundred million rupees are yours. No one has ever won such a large amount, not even in a lottery. So let us see whether history is about to be made, right here, right now. OK, here comes question number eleven, and it is from the world of . . .' Prem Kumar pauses for dramatic effect, then completes the sentence . . . 'English Literature!'
The studio sign changes to 'Applause'.
'Tell me, Mr Thomas, do you have some knowledge of English literature? Have you read English books, plays, poems?'
'Well, I can recite "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep", if that is what you mean by English poetry.'
The audience laugh loudly.
'I must confess, I had something slightly more complex in mind, but never mind. You must have heard of Shakespeare?'
'Sheikh who?'
'You know, the Bard of Avon, the greatest playwright in the English language? Oh, how I wish I could return to my college days, when I spent all my time acting in Shakespeare's plays. Do any of you remember your Hamlet? "To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?" But enough of me. It is Mr Thomas who has to answer the next question – and here it comes, for the astronomical sum of a hundred million rupees. In which play by Shakespeare do we find the character Costard? Is it a) King Lear, b) The Merchant of Venice, c) Love's Labour's Lost or d) Othello?'
The music commences. I stare blankly at Prem Kumar. 'Tell me, Mr Thomas, do you have any clue at all as to what we are talking about here?'
'No.'
'No? Then what do you propose to do? You must give an answer, even if it is based on the toss of a coin. Who knows, if your luck continues to hold, you just might hit on the correct reply and win a hundred million rupees. So what's your decision?'
My mind goes blank. I know I have been cornered at last. I think for thirty seconds, and then make up my mind. 'I will use a Lifeboat.'
Prem Kumar looks at me quizzically. It seems he has forgotten that this game has something called Lifeboats. He snaps awake at last. 'A Lifeboat? Yes, of course, you have both of your Lifeboats available. Tell me, which one do you want to use? You can either ask me for Half and Half or go for A Friendly Tip.'
I am confused again. Who can I turn to for an answer to this question? Salim will be as clueless as me. The owner of Jimmy's Bar would have as much awareness of Shakespeare as a drunk has of direction. And literature is as far from the minds of the residents of Dharavi as honesty is from the police. Only Father Timothy could have helped me out on this question, and he is dead.
Should I ask for Half and Half? I insert my fingers into my shirt pocket to take out my trusted old coin and am surprised to brush against the edge of a card. I pull it out. It is a visiting card which says, 'Utpal Chatterjee, English Teacher, St John's School, Agra' and then it gives a phone number. I don't understand at first. I have no recollection of anyone by this name or even how this card got into my shirt pocket. And then, all of a sudden, I remember the scene at the hospital: the bespectacled, unkempt man with a sixteen-year-old son who was dying of hydrophobia. An involuntary cry escapes my lips.
Prem Kumar hears it and looks at me sharply, 'Excuse me, what did you say?'
'I said can you please call this gentleman?' I hand over the card to Prem Kumar. 'I am using my Friendly Tip Lifeboat.'
Prem Kumar turns over the card in his fingers. 'I see. So you do know someone who can help you with this question.' He has a worried look on his face. He makes eye contact with the producer. The producer spreads his hands. The word 'Lifeboat' flashes on the screen. We see the animation of a boat chugging along on the sea, a swimmer shouting for help and being thrown a red lifebuoy.
Prem Kumar picks up a cordless phone from underneath his desk and passes it to me. 'Here you are. Ask whatever you want, from whoever you want. But you only have two minutes, and your time starts,' he looks at his watch, '. . . now!'
I take the phone and dial the number on the card. The call goes through and the phone starts ringing at the other end in Agra. But it simply rings and rings and rings and rings and nobody picks it up. Half a minute passes. The suspense in the studio could be cut with a knife. The audience is watching me with bated breath. To them, I am no different from a trapeze artist in a circus doing a high-wire act without any safety net below. One false move and the trapeze artist will plunge to his death. Ninety more seconds and I will lose a hundred million rupees.
