‘Ya fir, mehne ke pehle, sau gayon ko khana khila do, bas. Shanivaar nahin hua to bhi theek hai, koi bhi din le lo. Ginti mat bhoolna, sau gaay, kisi bhi rang ki, na ek jyada, na ek kam (Or, feed a hundred cows before the month is up, that is all. It doesn’t have to be a Saturday. Any day will do. Don’t forget to count, exactly one hundred cows, of any colour, not one more, not one less).’

‘I am not here to show you my palm, why don’t we—’

‘Phir mat boolna, chetavni nahin di (Later don’t say I didn’t warn you).’

‘Sir, look at mine,’ the officer presented his hand.

‘Bayaan nahin, dayaan (Not the left, the right).’

‘My left hand dominates my right.’

‘Tum jahaan ho wahin theek ho (You’re fine where you are),’ he said with a single glance. The officer was disappointed. His family astrologer was a lot more encouraging.

‘You tell him exactly what I tell you. Not one word more, not one less. Am I clear?’ Young ordered the officer.

‘Sir says he has two rupees for you for which you have to answer five questions  . about paan,’ the officer said.

‘Ask, ask,’ said the swami in English. ‘Translate,’ he commanded the translator.

‘Ask, ask,’ the translator repeated.

‘Question one: Why are there more clove-eaters in Mahim than in Colaba or Fort?’

‘Mahim mein log laung kyon khate hain? Kar lo baat  . Kitaboon mein dekhna padega. Meri yahaan manyata hai, yun hi nahin. Tumhe gumraah nahin karna chahta. Vedon mein to aisa kuch nahin likha ki Mahim mein laung nahin khani chahiye (Why do people eat cloves in Mahim? What a question!  . I have to look through my texts. I have a reputation to keep so I don’t say anything that could be misleading. There’s nothing in the Vedas that forbids the consumption of cloves in Mahim),’ said the swami.

‘Bachke rahiye (Beware),’ whispered a disciple in the swami’s ear.

~