Chapter 322 Zoo
Muna has been having dreams recently. In his dreams, he is standing on the ruined wall of the Black Castle, surrounded by a group of panicked monkeys.
He recited aloud poems by the great pastoral poet Iqbal, poems about gods and demons.
In the poem he imagined himself as a devil, resisting the bullying of the gods.
According to herders' legend, the devil was once an ally of the gods, but they later became enemies and went their separate ways, starting a war between the gods and the devil.
Iqbal's poem was about this incident, and Muna only remembered it in outline.
The god said: "I have great powers, and I am the only one in heaven and on earth. Come back and be my servant!"
The devil said: Ha!
Muna thought of himself again, the short, dark boy in a soaked khaki uniform, lying on the earthen wall of the Black Castle.
The god spread his palm across the blue sky, shading the plains below, so that the little man could see the village of Karna, the small tributary of the Ganges, and everything in the distance: thousands of such villages, a billion such people.
The god asked the little man: "Isn't this all wonderful? Isn't this all magnificent? Aren't you grateful to be my servant?"
The little man in the wet khaki uniform began to shiver and then woke up with a start.
Muna sighed and sat up in bed. He had recently had another quarrel with his family, and his cousin Pappu came to him and asked him to go back and get married.
Muna was unwilling to do so. He always associated Lao Lutu with the god in his dreams, and he himself was the devil.
They were originally a very close family, but they drifted apart due to various reasons.
Family is supposed to be the strongest bond, especially in India, where success for one person brings prosperity to the whole family.
But in rural India, especially among the lower classes, home also binds everyone.
You can't just take care of yourself, you have an obligation to make sure they live a good life too.
Your income, your connections, all must serve your family, even your marriage!
He was like a big lump of sugar dropped into an anthill.
This kind of thing is very common in India, especially among officials who come from Dalit backgrounds.
Why he had no choice but to be corrupt.
Because he was a golden phoenix that flew out of a sparrow's nest, he was able to get an official position in the "imperial city" Delhi.
Every time he returned to the village, his family and even the entire poor community looked forward to him bringing back various "tributes".
This country is hopeless. The more books Muna reads, the more he understands this truth.
Democracy! What a joke!
India's foreign brochures devote a lot of space to describing India's glorious democratic cause: how awe-inspiring it is that one billion people vote to decide their own future, how they fully enjoy the right to vote freely, and so on.
Some politicians said on the radio that they would definitely surpass Southeast University because although they did not have a developed drainage system, pure drinking water, or Olympic gold medals, India had a great democracy.
Muna thought that if he were to create a country, he would first lay the sewer pipes, then consider democracy, and finally give brochures and statues of Gandhi to foreign guests from all over the world.
But what did he know? He was just a candy maker, Harvey!
Muna has no problem with democracy; on the contrary, he has benefited greatly from it!
Because even his birthday is thanks to democracy.
This is a long story. At that time, Muna was still doing odd jobs like breaking coal and cleaning tables in a tea shop in Kana Village.
One day, there was clapping sound from the direction of Gandhi's portrait in the tea shop. The tea shop owner started shouting loudly, asking them to stop what they were doing and march to the school in a line.
A man in official uniform sat at the podium in the classroom with a large notebook and a black pen in front of him. He asked the same two questions to everyone.
"Name?"
"Muna Harvi."
"age?"
"No."
"Do you know when your birthday is?"
"I don't know, sir. My parents didn't write it down."
He looked at Muna and said, "I thought you were eighteen. You turned eighteen today. You just forgot, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir, I forgot. Today is my eighteenth birthday."
"What a good and obedient child."
Then he recorded Muna's information in the notebook and told him he could leave.
So Muna had a government-recognized birthday from then on.
He had to be eighteen years old. All the employees in the tea shop were registered to be eighteen years old, which was the legal voting age.
Just before the election, the tea shop owner had sold them for a good price.
He was selling the fingerprints of Muna and his ilk, because the illiterate people here voted by fingerprints.
This was what Muna overheard from a tea drinker. It was said that the election was too close to call and the tea shop owner received a lot of hand stamp money from the Socialists.
Alas, according to government documents, Muna had turned eighteen three or four years ago, and now he is twenty-four!
According to this age, she should have gotten married long ago in rural India.
"Country mouse!" Doggie appeared at the door. He never knocked.
"What's the matter?" Muna made the bed.
"The master is calling you." He had a bright smile on his face.
The mouse actually slept in. Doggie guessed that his owner was calling him over and was definitely going to give him a good scolding.
How can a servant have the right to sleep in? It's a heinous crime!
"I'll be there now." Muna hurriedly packed up and went downstairs.
His dormitory building is on the west side, and the factory's office building is on the south side, some distance away.
Muna jogged across the concrete floor and was already out of breath when he arrived at Ron's office.
"Master." He panted.
"Why are you in such a hurry?" Ron waved him to sit down.
"I'll just stand here, Master." Muna stood there stubbornly.
"Have you been reading recently?"
"yes."
"Have you watched Politics and Elections?"
"I saw it."
"Tell me what you think."
"Master?" Muna was confused.
"How can a newly born political party quickly establish its own base?"
Muna pondered, then raised his head uncomfortably, "Master, you already said it last time."
"Um?"
"Of course, it's about monopolizing voters at the grassroots level. That's not difficult. What's more difficult is building connections with the upper echelons of politics. A political party needs a stage where everyone can see it."
"Let's talk about the voters." Ron said noncommittally.
"The quickest way is to unite people of the same caste. Secondly, we should focus on poor areas. Winning votes there is much easier than in cities."
“Caste.”
"Yes, caste is the best way to divide constituencies."
Munna had read history and felt that India was like a big zoo, a self-sufficient, hierarchical and well-ordered zoo.
Everyone has his own job and is happy in his own place. There are goldsmiths, cowherds, and landlords here.
The Harveys made candies, the cowherds herded cattle, and the untouchables carried dung.
The original landlords were managers, and whether they were kind to the serfs depended entirely on their mood.
They also required women to wear veils and to keep their eyes on the ground when speaking to strange men.
In the zoo, members of the same species will of course be closer to each other and are most likely to gain the trust of their companions.
"From today on, a new political party will be born in the Pufancha District, and you will be in charge of it." Ron handed him a piece of paper.
"What?" Muna was so frightened that he dared not move.
He lowered his head. On the paper was written: All India Socialist Progressive Front.
This was the name of the new party, simply the Progressive Party.
"Starting with your Halvey, they know you and you are their role model."
Muna has long been famous in this area. He is a successful and important person among the Harveys, and many Harvey children regard him as a hero.
Before this, no Harvi had ever reached Muna's current height. He was the ceiling-level existence in the caste.
That car was proof that a Harvey could drive around by himself. It was his own car!
"But, Master, I..." Muna was trembling and couldn't speak.
Fear? Excitement? Terror? Joy? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that the god had spread his palms before him.
"I'll find someone to help you set up your political party. Don't worry about the money, all expenses will be managed through dedicated accounts. Your mission is to expand southward, ideally to cover Songbalad."
"Master, what should I do?" Muna asked, trembling.
“Do what you have to do, become a candidate and a representative in the constituency, until you win the election.”
"What is the purpose of the Progressive Party?" he asked.
"It's on paper, but the core is just two things: jobs and infrastructure. Of course, bigger slogans include representation, honor, and deserved rights."
Slogans are used for publicity, but the real core that attracts people must be down-to-earth.
Work is something that all poor people desire, and it just so happens that the Suhr family can provide a large number of jobs.
Want to live a life of luxury? Vote for the Progressive Party!
It is reasonable for voters to consider people's livelihood and build roads, bridges, hospitals and schools, right?
If we hand it over to the Suer family, not only can the quality and quantity be guaranteed, but some jobs can also be provided.
Win-win! The logical loop is complete!
"Master, if we want to extend the electoral district to Songbalad, we need at least three electors."
"I will arrange two more. You can also recommend them, but it would be better if they are from backward castes other than the Halvi. Although the Progressive Party is a bond based on caste, it still needs to unite the majority."
"I understand, Master." Muna had now accepted the news.
If a political party wants to become big, it cannot rely on a single caste, as other political parties in Uttar Pradesh have proved.
There are many caste-based political parties here, including Lodhi, Karta, and Jat.
But they are not mainstream and can only rely on joining forces with other political parties to barely get one or two seats in the state assembly.
Since a single caste party cannot grow big, why not take a long-term view from the beginning?
"You should start preparing now. In two months, you must capture at least the Mirzapur region."
It was already early 1996, and the general election was imminent.
"Yes, Master." Muna stood up and prepared to leave.
"Muna." Ron called him from behind.
"Owner?"
"From today on, call me sir."
"Yes sir" Muna started shaking again.
(End of this chapter)
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