It was the day of reckoning - a day to decide who would boss the cops, in addition to their private army of henchmen. The votes cast to elect the mayor of the city were being counted. The Eastern emir was vying with the Western warlord. Esteban, in the Eastern suburbs of society, controlled all the enterprises - commercial, educational, medical and vocational - and arm-twisted the administration when amenable. The Western localities formed the dominion of Wendell.
Both Esteban and Wendell had inherited their realms, which they had fortified further. Esteban and his aged parents lived in a palatial bungalow with his two wives, each of whom had borne him a daughter. He claimed to have married the second of his wives only to espouse widow remarriage. The rumor, though, was that soothsayers had warned him that his first wife would never be able to beget a son - a heir to the seat of power. Esteban, to his credit, had squelched his critics by not wedding a third time despite fathering a girl child from his second wife too - something he cites as his contribution to family planning, population control and gender equality. His elder daughter had recently enrolled in a reputed Management Institute in the nation's capital to pursue her post-graduate studies and the younger girl commenced her bachelor's course in Esteban's own college - an institution he often advertised as his most significant pro-people investment. In brash candor, perhaps, he had always admitted that the hyper-markets, fuel stations and hotels he owned were money-making ventures.
Wendell was the sprout of an agrarian family that had transplanted to the city. His father and grandfather had cornered the flourishing residential layouts one after another by drawing on the yields from the fertile fields of their native village. Wendell was shaped more by the city schools than the tempering monsoons. He had accelerated the sprawl of the family's influence throughout the Western landscape of the city once he was at the helm of the family business. He had raised a spectacular modern edifice befitting the power centre that was his residence. He was the nucleus of a family that was completed by his wife and three sons. All the sons were being educated in England; the elder two in college, and the youngest in school. He had always encouraged those in his locality to send their wards to study abroad. He offered them loans at rates the banks would never climb down to. The penalties, of course, were harsher than those of the banks, but you can't have the Sun, the Moon and the stars together in the sky, can you? He also had opened a speciality hospital that offered treatment and surgeries at affordable EMI's - a revolution in healthcare he promised to expand if he were to get elected. Despite the wealth, he was not entirely feudal. The family had employed only three retainers, all from the surrounding slum. Wendell also recommended others from the slum to his wealthy friends. This constituted his noble effort to economically uplift the indigent by aiding them with employment.
Wendell and Esteban had specific commonalities, too - the East did meet the West. They both quelled protests through the mercenaries they had hired from other parts of the country and were therefore, unlikely to sympathize with the locals and their issues as long as wads of cash offset their morality. When the opposition was principled the two herds of heavies would be unleashed to create a stampede that would pummel dissent into dust to be carried away by the desolate winds. Also, both men had been repeatedly accused of running brothels and gambling clubs, infringing on the law of the land, but no irrefutable evidence had been found. The impunity with which both men had publicly argued that prostitution and wagering should have been legal, as the former would reduce sexual affronts to women by helplessly lascivious men, and the latter, the evasion of taxes and unregulated exploitation of the gamblers. Neither had admitted to being involved in such relief efforts, though. Admirably, all the waterholes in the city rationed liquor to the alcohol enthusiasts against their unique identity numbers - everything in moderation, even moderation, as the saying goes. The Eastern and Western syndicates were working together to enforce this method of liquor distribution, and this had earned them some goodwill.
The syndicates did undercut prices as they tried to gain monopoly over the sales of fuel, textiles, clothing, gold and other consumer goods. But, with the election around the corner, the syndicates erred in their judgement, and formed a cartel in onion trade. The tongues deprived of the pungency of crisp onion rings relished the acerbic curses aimed at Esteban and Wendell instead. Along with the tears educed by the cost of onions, news of the top-most judicial body in the country making the option of rejecting all the candidates in an election joust available to the voters trickled in. And this had a telling effect.
Counting day. After the first session, both Wendell and Esteban were told by their polling agents that their vote tallies were tied. The update after subsequent sessions hardly changed, and Esteban and Wendell began to worry. What the polling agents had not told their bosses - either out of concern for the bosses' health or their own well-being - was that both men had got a mere 5 votes each with one last session of counting remaining. At the end of the process, though, there still was a winner: Esteban. He had beaten Wendell by a solitary vote, one he might not have got but for filial sentimentality. His elder daughter had flown in on the day of polls to vote for her dear dad, having begged Esteban to part with the cost of tickets. Esteban had swiped his card grudgingly, but that was to be the ace up his sleeve.
The residents began to panic when the result was announced. Esteban, in his victory speech, had allowed the herds to hog on the hash of hate, untethering the last scraps of scruples that might have held them back. The residents had rejected both the candidates in the fray, hoping to shake off the chains of the old order. If only they had realised that they were on an island condemned by democracy - where the polling process amounted to opting for one of the hues of the rainbow; never the black, or the white - they might not have hoped to find a patch of paradise beyond the East and the West. They were in a hard place, and the rock was rolling in rapidly...
Wendell and Esteban had specific commonalities, too - the East did meet the West. They both quelled protests through the mercenaries they had hired from other parts of the country and were therefore, unlikely to sympathize with the locals and their issues as long as wads of cash offset their morality. When the opposition was principled the two herds of heavies would be unleashed to create a stampede that would pummel dissent into dust to be carried away by the desolate winds. Also, both men had been repeatedly accused of running brothels and gambling clubs, infringing on the law of the land, but no irrefutable evidence had been found. The impunity with which both men had publicly argued that prostitution and wagering should have been legal, as the former would reduce sexual affronts to women by helplessly lascivious men, and the latter, the evasion of taxes and unregulated exploitation of the gamblers. Neither had admitted to being involved in such relief efforts, though. Admirably, all the waterholes in the city rationed liquor to the alcohol enthusiasts against their unique identity numbers - everything in moderation, even moderation, as the saying goes. The Eastern and Western syndicates were working together to enforce this method of liquor distribution, and this had earned them some goodwill.
The syndicates did undercut prices as they tried to gain monopoly over the sales of fuel, textiles, clothing, gold and other consumer goods. But, with the election around the corner, the syndicates erred in their judgement, and formed a cartel in onion trade. The tongues deprived of the pungency of crisp onion rings relished the acerbic curses aimed at Esteban and Wendell instead. Along with the tears educed by the cost of onions, news of the top-most judicial body in the country making the option of rejecting all the candidates in an election joust available to the voters trickled in. And this had a telling effect.
Counting day. After the first session, both Wendell and Esteban were told by their polling agents that their vote tallies were tied. The update after subsequent sessions hardly changed, and Esteban and Wendell began to worry. What the polling agents had not told their bosses - either out of concern for the bosses' health or their own well-being - was that both men had got a mere 5 votes each with one last session of counting remaining. At the end of the process, though, there still was a winner: Esteban. He had beaten Wendell by a solitary vote, one he might not have got but for filial sentimentality. His elder daughter had flown in on the day of polls to vote for her dear dad, having begged Esteban to part with the cost of tickets. Esteban had swiped his card grudgingly, but that was to be the ace up his sleeve.
The residents began to panic when the result was announced. Esteban, in his victory speech, had allowed the herds to hog on the hash of hate, untethering the last scraps of scruples that might have held them back. The residents had rejected both the candidates in the fray, hoping to shake off the chains of the old order. If only they had realised that they were on an island condemned by democracy - where the polling process amounted to opting for one of the hues of the rainbow; never the black, or the white - they might not have hoped to find a patch of paradise beyond the East and the West. They were in a hard place, and the rock was rolling in rapidly...
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