Bumper Lottery

Fiction

“Did you check your bumper result?” Anna asked as she dropped the chopped onion into the sizzling oil.

“Not yet, not yet,” Chacko answered with visible impatience. “Where do I get time for anything once I put my hand to this?” He was kneading the dough for the parathas which the clients of the restaurant relished throughout the day.

Chacko and Anna were the popular pair at the restaurant in the small town on the bank of the Periyar River. Chacko made the delicious parathas while Anna cooked the Kerala delicacies that accompanied the parathas.

Both Chacko and Anna belonged to the social class that could never dream of any annual income which the government recently fixed as the limit for job quotas for the economically backward classes. The classes in the country and their various quotas never made any sense to Chacko and Anna except that they knew they never belonged to any of these privileged classes whichever party came to power. “Ten per cent jobs reserved for those with annual incomes less than Rs 8 lakhs,” the TV news had said.

“Aye, Anna, did you hear that?” Chacko drew her attention to the TV as he ran the rolling pin over a ball of kneaded dough.

“What’s the use?” Anna asked as she checked the taste of the Chicken 65 she had just finished cooking. “You and I never studied enough to qualify for any quota.”

“Ah, that’s true,” sighed Chacko. “At any rate, if those earn eight lakh rupees per year belong to economically backward classes where do we belong?”

It’s then the lottery agent walked into the restaurant for his usual paratha-meal that doubled as his breakfast and lunch.

“Shall I try my luck with the bumper?” Chacko asked Anna.

“The ticket costs Rs 200,” Anna cautioned him.

“Yeah. But the prize is Rs 6 crore,” It was the Kerala government’s Christmas ‘bumper’ lottery. Chacko pulled out Rs 200 from the pocket of his shirt that was hanging on a hook in a corner of the kitchen.

That was the turning point in Chacko’s life. From the very next morning, Chacko arrived at the restaurant half an hour later than usual.

“I go to St Antony’s church to pray,” he explained to Raghavan Nair, the owner of the restaurant.

Raghavan Nair decided to let it go because to question anyone’s religious practice was to step on to a slippery slope given the country’s current scenario. You never know when and how people’s religious sentiments get hurt.

“I’m offering the novena to St Antony,” Chacko told Anna. “He’s a powerful saint, that one; he’ll give me the Rs 6 crore.”

“Is St Antony more powerful than Jesus?” Anna asked.

“Of course!” Chacko was surprised that the silly woman didn’t know even that.  “Have you ever heard of any miracle worked by Jesus? Antony is the miracle man.”

Anna did not look very convinced.

“You’ll see when the result comes, the bumper result.”

“What will you do with 6 crore rupees?”

“Don’t you know that the government will take back about half of that in the form of various taxes?”

“Ok, still, 3 crore is a pretty huge amount!”

“Oh, there’s so much to do. Build a big house, buy a big car, marry a beautiful girl, travel all over the world with her…”

“Marry a beautiful girl!” Anna looked coquettish as she repeated that. But she was already married. Her husband was a truck driver who came home only once a week or even less. Chacko had occasionally given her a hint or two by touching her ample buttocks while passing by her pretending that the touches were by sheer accident. She too pretended so.

“Umm,” Chacko winked at her and she blushed. She’s quite pretty, Chacko told himself and wondered why he had never noticed that so far.

“Let me get the newspaper,” she said as their schedule had become rather relaxed. "We can check the result.”

She managed to get a newspaper from the restaurant.  She read out the winning number and Chacko tallied it with his lottery ticket. His head revolved crazily. He checked again. He had won it. He won the bumper prize of six crore rupees. The giddiness became a pain in his chest. He put his palm to his chest. His eyes bulged. And he collapsed.

Anna was confounded for a moment. But only for a moment. She put her two fingers to his nostrils to make sure. There was no breath. She was certain.

He had a weak heart indeed, she muttered to herself as she picked the lottery ticket from his hand. Jesus is a greater miracle worker, she realised as she put the ticket into the secret place where she used to keep money sometimes, close to her heart, her strong heart.