The Do Gooder

Mrityunjay went from the hall to meet the only person who cared for him in the whole wide world... his grandfather.

Harshvardhan Gaekwad was a man ahead of his times. Even as the chef minister of Maharashtra, some of the decisions he took had a long term impact on the welfare of the people. Of late, the seventy something year old man preferred being alone in his library with his many books, or in the company of his favourite grandson, Mrityunjay.

When Mrityunjay walked into his grandfather's library, he was busy reading a huge volume of Collectors Edition of Shakespeare’s classics. He was surprised to see what his grandfather was reading. He had always known his

grandfather to read about philosophy, Hindu scriptures, etc. but Shakespeare?

"This is strange. How come you are visiting Mr Shakespeare today?" quizzed Mrityunjay, as he went in to touch his grandfather's feet out of love and respect.

"Oh, look who's here... finally you thought of me," beamed the old man, touching his hand on Mrityunjay's head and pressing a kiss. “

"You know how election times are...." Mrityunjay tried to reason.

"Yeah yeah... I know all about elections..." the old man continued.

"What's this? A man who seldom reads anything other than Ramayan and Bhagawat is reading Shakespeare today? Why?" asked Mrityunjay, with a mischievous smile.

Oh! Well, someone's got to read it. A young man in this household seems least interested in love stories, so at least I am reading them," he stated sarcastically.

"Oh please daddu...don't start now," retorted Mrityunjay, trying to avoid the discussion.

"No, you tell me if you are going to get married or not. How long will you go on like this? You need a nice girl, who can love you and teach you what love feels like," proclaimed the old man in a dramatic manner..

"And such a girl does not exist. Wake up daddu, smell the coffee. This is the 21st century. Girls here have ambitions, they want to go places, travel abroad. Why would anyone want to marry me? I am a nobody,” Mrityunjay couldn't complete his sentence. His grandfather's walking stick, slammed into him gently.

"Oh shut up!” said his grandfather, brushing aside all of Mrityunjay's excuses. "I am sure, there is someone mad enough to fall for you and I am sure she is coming your way...very soon,” he teased Mrityunjay.

He left his grandfather's room after an hour and went to Gaekwad Farms, his address, for all practical purposes. As he went into his cottage, Paras Kaka came in. "One more doctor has run away. I can't do this anymore. Either find a doctor who will stay here for a while, or relieve me of this stressful job," he whined.

Mrityunjay looked at Paras kaka, shaking his head in disapproval. How many times had he heard him say the same dialogue?

"Alright, alright," conceded Mrityunjay. "I have a simple solution. Local guys are not ready to stay so far from the city na, advertise in other cities. Then the person who comes in will take whatever accommodation we give," reasoned Mrityunjay, washing his face in the bathroom.

"Oh yeah!" exclaimed Paras kaka. "Why didn't I think of this? Now you watch, how I find Veterinary doctors. They'll all line up for this job," he said boastfully.

"But first, give me a cup of tea and send in Madhu Bhau," ordered Mrityunjay.

"Why do you bother so much for those people? Have they ever even treated you like a human?" snapped Paras Kaka, annoyed at how much interest Mrityunjay was taking in his step brother's elections.

"If they behave a certain way, should I stoop down to their levels or live such that no one can point a finger at me?" retorted Mrityunjay.

"I don't understand these things you say. Maybe in Lord Ram's times people lived like that. But in today's times, if you live like that, people will crush you and walk all over you," Kaka warned.

Mrityunjay quietly walked to another part of his cottage, which was blocked by a partition. It was where he spent his time painting. Paras Kaka watched sadly as Mrityunjay went into the area to paint, and mused, while a tear escaped his eyes, ‘A man fit to be a king, is forced to lead the life of exile, for no fault of his.’