It had
been a long wait. Sardar Fateh Singh was finally leaving for his heavenly
abode. The clan was in throes of gluttony outside the ICU, their masks
beginning to slip. The patriarch’s estate attorney had spoken of his having
left a legal Will. “What is he leaving Zorawar, that favourite grandson of his?”
they were beside themselves with envious dread. “His ancestral farm, the fixed
deposits or his wife’s gold he has refused to disburse in family weddings?”
there was no abating the feverish fertility of speculative minds.
While the
tribe carved out their imaginary entitlements, Capt. Zorawar Singh Brar
patrolled a far flung sector in Zakhama, Nagaland. It would be days before he
returned to a digitally accessible zone.
Fateh
Singh’s last rites were performed as per the affidavit of cremation produced by
his lawyer. All that was left to do now was to await Zorawar, he had been
found to have been named as the Testator’s Executor. Not only would he review
the Will, he would have the power to settle the estate. “He is going to give
himself a fat compensation for this fiduciary nonsense” the young cousins
fretted over not being given copies of the Will right away. While Zorawar
stomped the Naga Hills on the line of control, the Brar Mansion thrummed with
fears of an ugly family contest.
An
eminent eco-scientist, Fateh Singh was a nominee to the United Nations’
Champions of the Earth award. But for his Alma mater, the Punjab Agricultural
University, Ludhiana not many knew of what he did for a living in the USA. To most,
he was merely another rich NRI, made wealthier by his agricultural legacy back
home.
On a
dusty July noon, Fateh Singh’s biological band gathered around Zorawar who was
finally home on annual leave from his regiment. The taut air in the main hall
slackened in tandem with settling of the shares as the grieving grandson went
down the list in a sombre voice. Suspense over the Executor’s share however,
shot up as he reached the end of the document. He had been left a shoe box
sized carton! That is all. An unadorned, decrepit, harmless looking taped container.
Incredulous
faces urged Zorawar to slit the binding and fling open the lid. Dirt! Ugh, a
pile of ordinary, everyday, regular earth?! The ceiling shook with rambunctious
laughter as the relieved descendants left in a self-congratulatory cloud of
prosperity. What were they thinking? There clearly was a lot less love lost
between the two than what the family feared. How truly deceptive could appearances be!
They had
missed the hand written note he was pulling out from under the clumps. “Go on!
Feel this turf brought over from your 1000 acres farmland in the Sonoran,
Arizona. It is live soil, the endangered dirt called cryptobiotic crust. NASA
is studying the patches for greenhouse farming on Mars! You will never want for
anything. Make me proud. I will watch over you from above.”
No comments:
Post a Comment