True Fiction

TRUE FICTION?[Believe it or not]ByVIKRAM KARVE  


I never reminisce. It makes me nostalgic, poignant, and melancholic. But there is one thing that happened; quite long ago – whenever I remember it – I always burst out laughing and it makes my day. Let me tell you about it. 

This is a true story. It happened – actually happened. I saw it happen many many years ago in far-off tea-estate country, in a remote corner of
India almost in the back of beyond – then still a relic of the Raj.

I shall not tell you the place, and I will also change the names; for we just want to have a laugh, not embarrass someone. 

There was a handsome planter. 30. Let’s call him Roy. And his beautiful wife. Let’s call her Helen. A dashing couple, and an ideal match – at least from the outside!  

“Please. I’d like to have a word with you,”
Roy sidled up to me at the bar in the Planters Club.

“Sure,” I said. “Join me for a drink.” 

“Not here. In private.” 

“Okay. Let’s go outside.” I ordered two whiskies; we picked up our drinks and went out on the lawns. It was dark, desolate and cold. 

“I don’t know how to say it,”
Roy hesitated.

“Just say it,” I said. 

“I want you to keep an eye on my wife,” he said. 

“Something serious?” 

“I think she is having an affair,” he said, “Someone visits her whenever I go out on my weekly tours.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Not really. But I suspect. There are those telltale signs.” 

“Telltale signs?” 

“She seems a bit too satisfied – especially when I return from a tour. And there is a strange gleam in her eyes. And now-a-days she is overly polite. I suspect she is up to some hanky-panky. ” 

“Well this is really your private matter. You know I really can’t ….” 

“Please,” he interrupted, “you’re the only one I can trust.” 

He seemed so desperate that I had no choice. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll need to see the place and meet her.” 

He told me the way to his tea-estate and next morning I was on my way, driving my jeep with my loyal Doberman, Bruno, sitting beside me. 

It was a lonely bungalow atop a hill surrounded by tea gardens.
Roy welcomed me and introduced me to his wife. “I’m Helen,” she said looking into my eyes for that moment longer than could be considered polite greeting. She looked so ravishing that it was with great effort that I could take my eyes off her.

No wonder he was so insecure – anyone with such a beautiful wife would be – especially a clot like him. I wondered why chaps like
Roy always got the most beautiful wives.

We indulged in some small-talk, and it was only after lunch that I brought up the subject. “Mrs. Roy, don’t you feel lonely out here? Especially, when he goes out on his frequent tours?” 

“Oh yes, she does,”
Roy interjected.

“I like my privacy,” she said. 

“Why don’t you drop her off at the club on your way and pick her up on your way back?” I suggested to
Roy. “She can make some friends, play tennis, cards, tombola, a movie – whatever she likes and then stay the night at the guestroom.”

“I like my solitude,” she said. 

“She even sends the servants away,”
Roy complained.

“I told you I like my privacy,” she said, a tinge of irritation in her voice. 

She was quite obstinate, so I changed the subject. 

“You like dogs, Mrs. Roy?” I asked her. 

“I love them,” she said excitedly. “We always had pet dogs back home. I’ve been telling
Roy to get me one.”

“Your prayers are answered,” I said and took them to my jeep where Bruno was sitting obediently. “A gift for the charming lady,” I said holding Bruno by the collar and making him smell her. 

She was overjoyed.
Roy apparently was not too enthusiastic but I silenced him with a stern look.

On my way out, when I was alone with
Roy, I told him, “We will catch him now. Bruno is the best guard dog in our kennel. I trained him myself. Just leave him in the verandah when you go out at night. He is deadly ferocious – whoever is up to hanky-panky with your wife, well, he is going to be ripped apart from limb to limb. A wicked smile appeared on Mr. Roy’s face.

That evening many things happened. Mr. Roy left on his tour, viciously excited, for in his mind’s-eye he was imagining what was going to happen to the unknown “lover” that night. 

Later at night, after a bout of furious lovemaking, Mrs. Roy lying fully satiated asked her lover, “How did you manage? The dog didn’t even bark.” 

Her lover gently took her to the window, drew the curtains, and said, “Look!” 

In the verandah was an exhausted Bruno, coupled with a beautiful Doberman she-dog, both interlocked pointing in opposite directions, after vigorous bout of mating. 

The lover looked at Helen Roy naughtily and said, “Which dog can resist the charms of a hot-blooded bitch in heat?” 

“You hot-dog;” Helen Roy said lovingly, “every dog has his day.” 


True Fiction? Dear Reader – what do you think? Did this really happen? Is it true or just a yarn? Well, it’s up to you – believe it or not! 



Copyright 2006 Vikram Karve 




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