King Vikram hauled me on to his back, his eyes red with bloody intent.
- O King! I said. You are mettlesome but your mettle is worthy of appreciation. I will now tell you a story. At the end of this story, I’ll ask you a question. If you know the answer and speak it, I’ll fly away. However, if you know the answer and remain silent, your head will burst into a thousand pieces, in which case you will find it impossible to comb your hair properly.
The King walked on silently, but I began my story.
-Listen up O’ King, I said. Not very long ago, there was an honest man in one of those small towns that make up so much of our large world.
Now, this man, whose name was Kapil, never told a lie. To give just one example, when his computer broke and he took it to the manufacturer store to get it fixed, he began his complaint by saying, It was my fault.
Kapil’s honesty was only matched by his diligence. He worked tirelessly throughout the day for he had to support his parents who were now retired.
One day he received a job offer from the city of San Francisco. With the offer letter was a photograph. In the most enticing hues, it displayed a blue pond with a pink necked flamingo. Of course, Kapil wanted to go. But like any dutiful son would, he first asked his parents.
His parents were racked with dismay. His mother thought just how much she would miss her son’s company in the evenings, while his father thought just how much he would miss the whiskey that his son brought home for him in the evenings.
It wasn't much of a gate, but one hell of a bridge
But they smiled outwardly when their son asked Should I go to San Francisco?
-There’s too much beauty there…and by beauty I mean crime, the mother said.
-It’s not much of a gate, said the father, showing him a photo of the Golden Gate bridge.
These were persuasive arguments. Kapil declined the job offer.
Now there worked in the same bank as Kapil a man by the name of Amir. The human resources department at the bank said that Kapil was his mentor, but for Amir, Kapil was far more than that. He was his guru, his God. In our modern times when honesty is as outdated as Windows Vista, Amir was in awe of Kapil’s integrity.
It so happened that the job that Kapil had passed up found it’s way to Amir. He promptly asked his mentor for advice.
-Well, said Kapil. There is a lot of crime in San Francisco, and the gates are not very nice. But the job seems challenging enough. You are now an adult Amir, and I want you to make this decision.
Amir took the job. He left his town for San Francisco. As his mentor, Kapil paid for the airplane ticket, the first month’s rent, and an amount he imagined would cover the cost of one of those huge hamburgers they had in America.
Even as he found himself separated from Kapil by the seven seas and layers of air conditioning, Amir never forgot these favors. He called Kapil on Sundays, and sometimes even on Tuesdays. He sent regular emails to Kapil. In one such email, he included a link to his Flickr photo stream.
Now one person’s Flickr photo stream can be a source of much unhappiness for another person. In the photos that Amir sent, Kapil saw streets that curved like the bodies of film actresses; his eyes gazed with wonder at the lakes that were bluer than a sky on a postcard, and the green! He hadn’t seen so much of it even in a rap video.
He began to think of what might have been. He brooded. He felt gloom and doom. The resulting sadness crushed his appetite. His situation further deteriorated when Amir told him there was no crime in San Francisco, and that the Golden Gate wasn’t much of a gate, but it was one hell of a bridge. Kapil realized that his parents had lied to him. He felt greatly betrayed, and wasted away even faster.
A mother knows all. She was quick to pinpoint the source of her son’s grief. She wrote Amir an email outlining the condition of his grief and using the suitable emoticons, confessed her crime.
Amir was shocked into action. He called Kapil and offered him his job. After all, he reasoned, he got the job only because Kapil had turned it down in the first place. Kapil heard out Amir’s generous offer and turned him down. Amir called him again and offered him his job. Kapil refused again. Amir wrote Kapil an email offering him his job. Ditto.
-The saddest story O King, I said, is an inevitable one. Kapil rotted away and his insides curdled into an ungodly mess like a bowl of yogurt that has not been placed in the fridge. He lost his job and his assumed the hopeless attitude of a homeless man who is too tired to even ask for change. Deprived of purpose, he died.
Amir stayed loyal to Kapil to the last. He quit his job in San Francisco and moved back to his small town with choked lanes, many of which culminated in unexpected deadends.
-That’s a sad tale, said King Vikram.
-Indeed, I said feeling delighted at seeing him in a chatty mood – a condition that more often than not delivered the giddy high of liberation.
-Tell me, I said. Of the two of them, who was the more noble – Amir who quit his job, or Kapil who refused to take it?
-Ha! said King Vikram. A fine thing to see a devil speak of nobility. But now that you ask- listen!
-Amir was indeed a noble man to respect his mentor, quit his job and move back to his home town. But one must remember that Kapil had done him many a favor, and it was gratitude that drove many of Amir’s actions. But Kapil – he was under no such compunction to refuse Amir’s offer, take back a job that was rightfully his, and move to San Francisco. He refused Amir’s offer purely out of the goodness of his character. Of the two, it is he who is the more noble.
-Well said O’ King, I said. You are as wise as I am free. I cackled gratuitously, but my laughter sounded hollow to my ears. Even as I flew back to the tree, I felt pensive, for after all the story bore further contemplation.
