To Abhimanyu, each laborious hour was one less hour of loneliness. The election campaign was an opportunity for him to fill his mind with inane tasks – a relentless effort to stave off the demons that lurked in the recesses of his being. The empty hours would bring all his dark thoughts to the surface, and Abhimanyu had to use every ounce of his willpower to push them back inside. He once picked up a newspaper to kill time, but couldn’t bear the thought of coming across an article about cricket. Any description of the game was like a whiff of tobacco smoke for someone who was trying hard to kick the habit. Finding it impossible to read on as he feared that a headline about a local or international match might jump off the pages at any moment, he threw the paper aside and went for a jog. Only to come across street urchins blocking his way with their makeshift pitch and rudimentary bats, a sight that sent a chill down his spine and made him turn back, get ready and head to the rally. The speaker arrived before a single soul stood there to listen to him.

Thanks to his growing reputation as a rousing orator, it wasn’t long before the streets filled up. For a man who had spent hours with hundreds of constituents from all walks of life, it wasn’t hard to speak the people’s language. He knew about their hopes and dreams, as well as their difficulties, and could address them honestly. He could talk about their problems and propose solutions. For a man without a clear direction in his own life, Abhimanyu was rather adept at selling a vision – a vision so deftly presented to the people of Ranakpour that they felt it was within their reach as they listened to the towering prince, captivated. It wasn’t Abhimanyu’s best speech, but it was good enough to hold the crowd for over three hours, despite a drizzle. Good enough for the old man’s paan shop to do brisk business throughout the speech.

‘How much did you make, Madhao?’ asked Abhimanyu as he stayed with the old man long after the crowd had dispersed.

‘Better than what I usually make in over a month, saheb,’ he said with hands folded.

Before taking leave, Abhimanyu signalled for his men to bring over a cabinet carrying his radio. It was the same German-made radio that once beamed Nehru’s rousing speech on the eve of Independence.