Devolution

3 returned home to find journalists covering the footpath and milling around the front of his house like ants. As he approached he was spotted by one of them who called the others so in moments, 3 was surrounded. They shouted questions at him, raising their voices above the others to be heard but drowning each other out in the process.

A policeman rushed to 3’s side, activated his CMP and shepherded him to the front gate of his house. The gate closed behind 3 as he passed through, having had his eyes scanned and the policeman keeping himself on the outside of it, temporarily plugging the hole to prevent any media men leaking in.

Unenthusiastic jeers and protests came from the ants but fell on the deaf ears of the officers assigned to the security of this residence. There was no animosity between the two groups. Each had a job to do, and while they may have disagreed with each other there would not be any lawlessness here. Journalists largely without the respect or empathy of the community would do nothing to further jeopardize their standing in society. No one took on Chief Inspector Jacobssen’s police force and came out on top.

3 left them, not for the first time admiring the way the police asserted their authority without being overbearing. There were no bullies among them these days. Jacobssen had seen to that.

‘Mum?’ called 3 as he searched the house, ordering lights on and off as he went. Finally he found her in the laundry.

‘Mum? What are you doing here?’

She ignored him and kept loading the washing machine as if it was the most urgent task in the world.

‘Mum, stop it!’

3 moved next to his mother and reached out to take hold of her hand. Lifting her eyes to look at him as she turned her hoverchair around, she began to cry. 3 cried too and wished desperately that he could hug her, and he cursed the damn hoverchairs and he cursed the world in which they lived; the world which had now taken his father from him and destroyed his family. The reality of what had happened now burst upon him. There was the pain and grief he felt, mixed with confusion and anger, and there was the desperate sadness in his mother’s eyes as though her own life had been taken from her as well as her husband’s. Worst thing for 3 was knowing that his mother might not recover from this as she was already a terribly unhappy person. Now she would add loneliness to her woes.

‘It’s all right, mum,’ said 3, not believing what he was saying. ‘It’ll be all right.’

Between sobs and amidst rivers of tears she mumbled a rejection of 3’s platitudes. Not that she blamed him. What else could he say? But she wished herself dead now. The kind of world they were living in where respected members of society were killed for having opinions. The kind of world where the tribes were heading down the road to isolationism. The kind of world where the very air they were all breathing was slowly killing them. What a pitiful place. And to face it without the love of her life? Her son’s attempts to console her were cold, cold comfort.

Two blocks away at the Singh residence, Veena was also swamped as she approached her home, before being escorted inside by a policeman. Her mother was responding to the tragedy with stupor, unlike 3’s mum who responded with busyness, sitting on the edge of her bed crying quietly. Sitting beside her, Veena whispered words of comfort as much for herself as for her mother and the two women embraced tightly, trying to draw strength from each other.

Noticing the television was on, Veena ordered the volume up causing her mother to protest.

‘Don’t watch that or listen, Veena. They are saying horrible things about your father. Lies.’

‘I have to know mum,’ said Veena. ‘I have to know why.’

‘He had made many enemies in parliament and out of it. As the years rolled on, he seemed to make more. And he didn’t care. Said he believed in what he was doing and he wouldn’t be backing down no matter what pressure was brought to bear on him. I love the pig-headed way he held to his beliefs, his principles were not for sale, but damn it! Did it have to come to this?’

Veena pulled a few tissues from the box on the bedside table and offered them to her mum, who dabbed wet mascara from her swollen eyes, then took a few for herself. She gently stroked her mother’s thick, long hair and admired its softness, as she patted the tears from her cheeks with her other hand.

‘In this case, it appears that dad and Ted’s dad had made some mutual enemies. The police seem pretty sure the two mur-’

The word caught in her throat and the harder Veena tried to force it and keep speaking, the more forcefully tears surged in her eyes, blurring her vision.

‘It’s all right, precious. Be strong later,’ said Veena’s mum, taking her heartbroken daughter into her embrace, ‘Cry now.’

Later Veena made them both a cup of tea and they sat again to watch the latest news on the murder investigation.

’Chief Inspector Adrian Jacobssen has confirmed that the murders of Senators Singh and 15 are possibly related and that this afternoon, not more than two hours after the assassination of Senator Singh outside the Hibiscus Club, an attempt was made on his own life, during the aftermath of a staged motor vehicle accident.

Inspector Jacobssen was uninjured in the incident and has promised he will devote all available resources to finding those responsible for these assassinations. He says he and his team already have numerous strong leads, but would remind all citizens of their duty to report anything they may think could be helpful in the investigation.’

Continually running reports, conducting interviews with experts and interviews with eye witnesses, the official broadcaster covered the murders in more detail than any single person could digest. Veena and her mother, touched first hand by these events, were entranced like millions of others who were only outsiders. The television became a necessary distraction. A source of information as more and more eyewitness accounts and opinions came to light. It was also a half delusion for the grieving, an ultimately untenable hope that these events were not real-it was only television.

‘Daniel Armitage speaking from outside the Hibiscus club in downtown Mumbai. I’ve heard talk that the two men, the two senators were involved in something which they shouldn’t have been and the details of this are to be released soon. When he learned they were going to be exposed Senator 15 decided to kill himself. Senator Singh refused to do that, preferring to face the music. His bravery seems to have got him killed.’

‘What are they saying? I can’t believe the lies, and everyone will believe it.’

‘Calm down mum.’

‘How can I can calm down when they are slandering your father? Just killed in the streets of our city, and already the subject of cruel rumors.’

‘You know the way it works. People have enough information to make up their own minds. Everyone gets a say and everyone listens and decides for themselves.’

‘They believe what they want to believe. People have always been sheep. Too dumb or too apathetic to discern whether the shepherd is real or a wolf in disguise. Any evidence supporting their prejudiced views will be taken on board and the rest, true or not, will be jettisoned.’

‘For all the changes we’ve experienced,’ said Veena, ‘the news is still the same. Different media, more of it, but it’s the time. They try to screw as much as they can from every single story, exploring it and probe the issues from every conceivable aspect. It’s too much, isn’t it? But that’s the way it is now. A lot of news is manufactured.’

Veena realized as soon as she stopped speaking and listening to her mother’s silent reply that her little tirade was inappropriate.

‘I’ll turn it off, okay?’

‘Leave it, dear.’

I’m sorry mum,’ she said giving her another hug. ‘What are we going to do?’

More silence was accompanied by a slow shake of the head.

Standing and walking to the window, Veena sighed as she looked out at the teeming crowd of media people and on-lookers. Tears welled in her eyes as she listened to the continuing news reports and opinions on the television.

‘Police believe the murders of Senator Singh and Senator 15 are related. Breaking news to hand; a suspected assassination attempt on the life of chief of police, Adrian Jacobssen took place on a crowded city street as he was heading back to the police station after attending the scene of Senator Singh’s murder...’

‘Turn it off, mum. It’s the same news over and over again now. They keep saying my daddy’s dead. My daddy’s dead! I can’t stand anymore,’ said Veena between sobs. ‘It’s all wrong. I can’t believe it.’

Her mother finally showed signs of life and rose to take Veena in her arms and they cried together again, where no words could express the pain they felt.