OF UNMOVED MOVERS: FATIMA ALAM

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Funny things have been happening at home all day.

The household has been reeling from crises of various sorts and magnitudes. The crisis was effected largely by the ungentlemanly actions of a certain, otherwise remarkable young man who goes around by the name of Chotu and who we would henceforth refer to as Driver no. 3. From the look of things it appears that on some amount of reflection he concluded he had had enough of us and decided it was time to move on with life. So the sky fell at 11 O’ clock this morning when it was discovered that Driver no. 3 had left, with belongings et al, leaving only unanswered questions, a large vacuum and the ingredients of a crisis behind. Though the immediate reason for his rather unceremonious departure from our lives has generally been attributed to his sudden shot of luck at lottery, I have reason to believe there were other sinister motives brewing before the fine young man was forced to take such an extreme
step.

We will now go back to the events of a few weeks ago and with the brilliant instrument that is hindsight, analyze them to try to find answers of some of those unexplained mysteries that make life so perplexing.

Enter Gardener, the "unmoved mover" of our tale.

Now, local legend has it that for a while now the Gardener had his heart and eye fixed on the prime location of Driver no. 3’s lavish quarter. However, this belief is completely rubbished by a section of the populace- the cleaning lady, the cook and her assistant- also known supporters of the Gardener league. According to their claim, this is nothing but misinformation spread by Drivers no. 1, 2 and 3 to malign the name of an honest and upright man for ulterior motives. And though, in this mutual mud slinging match we may never be able to reach the crux of the mystery of what lay inside the Gardener’s heart which prompted him to do what he did, it is early yet to give up hope. We must continue on our journey for Truth and explore other avenues to find it.

We now come to the first of those fateful days when the Gardener presented his seemingly faultless case before the lady of the house who, though young of heart, warm of blood and slightly more than a little gullible, must on no account be considered less than highly capable in all spheres of life. It comes into view that he had on a previous occasion, when he had chance to have audience with the above-mentioned lady, been directed to grow vegetables in the lawn. This fateful day when he met her again it was with the same look on his face as his ancestor might have had before he tore the Bastille down. He said things unexpected of mere gardeners. He complained of too much work. He complained of unequal distribution of work. He complained that while he toiled in the sun certain other people enjoyed two-day weekends. And rather unproductively, he added as an afterthought, thereby steering in the end of Chotu’s near blissful existence. And though his was not the face that launched a thousand ships, it was nevertheless the face that demanded feudality to sit up and take immediate notice and probably do more than just that. Driver no. 3 was summoned and swiftly. Our lady instructed him to devote two hours of his otherwise rather unproductive weekends to growing vegetables in the lawn. That he would never need to buy vegetables from the market in future was also declared, as an incentive. However, two weekends passed as the Gardener waited in the fields for this young man, ready to teach him the fine art of driving away the birds that ate his prized vegetables but it appears that he was too independent a spirit to be clubbed down by either incentives or instructions.

The third weekend the Gardener was back before the lady with his vile, impassionate speeches. He told her she had been useless and ineffective. Not this directly though, no or he would have lost his head, but subtly and efficiently like those old evil maids of fairy tales who turn the heads of innocent queens around to send their stepchildren into exile. Driver no. 3 was summoned a second time, this time with much more speed and much less ceremony. He was commanded by our lady to appear in the lawn at an exact time which she deemed fit to grow vegetables in the lawn on weekends. Independent spirit, disgust and wrath at having to grow vegetables in the lawn on weekends notwithstanding, reason and only that prevented him from breaking out into an open revolt then.

Discontent was continuously growing among the proletariat. Two incidents just short of an open revolt within a fortnight. These were dangerous times the family was living in.

The events that followed are now widely known and accepted as true. Driver no. 3’s free spirit buckled, the unfettered, fancy-free hero of our story ultimately succumbed to the social set-up, packed up and left. The proletariat hereafter divided itself into two major factions, Drivers inc. and Gardener and Co. Revolution was thus averted. Order, restored.

The loss of driver no. 3 is, however, being deeply felt.

Epilogue:
The post of driver no. 3 is vacant. Applicants should apply along with two passport photographs and a self-addressed stamped envelope and must have a working knowledge of gardening and crisis management.

* * *

According to Aristotle, everything that happens in the world has a cause and effect like a link in the chain. The divine first cause (or God) is therefore the "Unmoved Mover" which affects or causes other events but is not caused by anything other than itself.

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