My Inheritance

Looking back on that winter afternoon, it seemed like a scene straight out of a story. I heard the ping on my laptop and paused the Netflix movie I was watching to check my mail. It was from an unknown sender. Though I never open mail from unknown people something prompted me to open this. Boy! Was I in for a surprise!

From:

Navroz Patel,

Longwood Shola,

Kotagiri,

The Nilgiris

Madam.

It is with deep regret we inform you about the death of your uncle Jasper Jeevaratnam. It was his wish that you, being the sole surviving member of his family, should be informed of his demise. He has furnished us with your details – email address, telephone number, and postal address. 

We will be in touch with you to let you know how you should proceed.

Regards,

NPatel

Uncle? Member of my family? Demise? Proceed? The words swam in front of my eyes.

After having read the mail a couple of times I was convinced that this was a scam. I deleted the mail and went back to watching my movie.

A couple of days later, the postman rang my bell and handed me an official-looking letter. I hastily tore it open to find that it was the same Mr. Navroz Patel with the same information. Later, he called me on my mobile phone. He spoke well and convinced me it was not a hoax and I would need to travel to the Nilgiris for the reading of my late ‘uncle’s’ will. He said he would make the necessary arrangements for my stay and would meet me at the Coimbatore airport and drive me up to the mountains.

Having just retired, I had time on my hands and adventure in my brain. So I booked my ticket, informed Patel of my travel plans, and set off into the unknown.

It was almost 9 o’clock when I landed. When I got out of the terminal I found a driver waving a card with my name on it. Soon, I was winding my way up the steep slopes of the western ghats. The view was breathtaking. I had never imagined anything as spectacular as this. High mountain ranges covered in shola forests, a cold breeze, and a faint grey mist swirling up from the valley. I was mesmerized. Secretly I thanked ‘Uncle Jasper’ whoever he was for this unplanned holiday.

I was driven to the Club, which was a stately old building – a throwback to the days of the Raj. I found the room clean and airy and when I opened the back door found a small verandah with cane chairs laid out and a splendid view. The bearer who took me to the room informed me that all meals would be served in the dining room and I would need to dress up to make an appearance. This meant a clean shirt, trousers, shoes, and socks. Thankfully I had packed well.

A hearty breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages and a pot of tea had me smiling. Patel called to tell me that the Will was to be read that morning at 11 in his office and he had sent a car for me. I locked up my room and walked out and my car and driver were waiting for me.

A short drive later, I arrived at Patel’s office. I was eager to meet him. He was a portly Parsi gentleman, with a Poirot-like moustache which he twirled while he watched me get down from the car. He was effusive in his greeting and led me into his office. It was a large room with a big teak table in a corner by the window, a small sitting area, and two bay windows looking out at a garden. Patel led me to a chair and then picked up his phone and said, “He’s here. Bring in the others.”

I raised an eyebrow. So, there were other beneficiaries too, I thought. The door opened and a lady, smartly dressed in a light silk sari ushered in four people. They huddled together at the door until Patel asked them in and invited them to sit, which they all refused to do.

“This is Jasper’s driver, cook, gardener, and housekeeper,” said Patel as he made his introductions. Then looking at me he told them, “He is also mentioned in the Will.” The four of them nodded, knowingly.

Patel then took a file from his table rifled through some papers, cleared his throat, and began to read. I gazed out of the window, his words floating over my head. I must have let my thoughts wander for suddenly, I heard my name and “…I bequeath my house and the entire estate to my son…”

Son? Son? SON? What? Surely there was a mistake. I felt weak and nauseous.

“Er…um…excuse me…” I began. Patel paused and looked up. “There’s a mistake,” I stuttered. “This is not my father. I know my father. He was E.Z. Ebenezer…”

Patel smiled, raised a hand signaling me to remain quiet, and continued with the reading. I was so confused I did not hear the rest of the Will.

After the reading of the will, Patel sat with me in his drawing room and offered me a cup of tea. When we had munched on biscuits and sipped some tea, Patel looked at me and said, “I too am a son of Jasper’s.”

I balked. Who was this man?

Patel laughed and said, “Oh! It’s a long story…”

“One I am not too keen to know, but I guess I need to get to the bottom of this mystery.”

“Jasper Jeevaratnam, our distinguished father, was a handsome man. Women, young, old, married, unmarried… all were in love with him. Jasper was no saint…” Patel laughed as he lamely finished his story.

“Whatever Jasper may be; I cannot believe my mother would have slept with a man like that. She was totally devoted to my father…”

“So we all thought about our mothers…” said Patel, smugly.

We argued back and forth for some time until he had me convinced. “Before we transfer the assets there are some forms and documents that you will need to sign,” said Patel. I obliged.

Patel took me to his house and gave me lunch. The meal I am sure was great but I could not taste anything. My head was in a whirl and my stomach in knots. After lunch and his cigar, Patel offered to take me to Jasper’s house.

This was a small town and every place was within a radius of a kilometre or so. We drove through the centre of the town, up a hill, and turned left at a mud road leading up. The road was bumpy and tall trees grew on either side of it, cutting off most of the sunlight. We turned a bend and with no warning at all, a rambling old house came into view. I gasped. I seemed to be living in a dream. This house now belonged to me? I thought.

Patel parked the car on the porch and said, “Welcome home.” He handed me a key and bade me go in. I unlocked the front door and stepped in. Patel was kind enough to give me a guided tour of the place. “The staff have cleaned the house and prepared Jasper’s room for you. It is only right that you should occupy the master bedroom now that you are the owner. If you wish to retain the staff they are more than willing to continue. If not, let me know I will inform them that their services are not needed anymore.”

I was tongue-tied. Never in all my life did I think I could inherit something as grand as this. Six bedrooms, a big dining room, a smaller one, a pantry, a kitchen that could cater to almost 50 guests at one time…It was unbelievable.

“I can get your stuff from the Club for you, while you make yourself comfortable.”

I nodded. I had nothing to say.

By the time, Patel returned with my stuff I was in a better frame of mind. I told him I would retain the staff until I had decided what I wished to do. Some part of my mind told me that this was some elaborate joke that was being played on me.

In the evening, the cook prepared a light meal for me. I went to bed early, tired and confused with the day and the strange turn of events. I don’t know how long I slept but I was woken up by a strong smell of tobacco.

Seated on the chair was a handsome gentleman dressed in a suit. Startled, I sat up. The man smiled.

“Hello, my son…” he said in a hoarse whisper.

The shock was so great. I fainted. When I came to I found no trace of the man. But the smell of a cigar hung in the air.

I had informed Patel, that I would go back home the next and day and make arrangements to settle into my new life. He readily agreed.

The morning, I got back home I received a frantic call from my bank manager.

“Sir, why have you withdrawn all your savings from my bank?”

Even before I could answer that question, I got another call from my broker. “Sir, why have you sold all your stocks?”

Throughout the morning, I received calls from the people in charge of my investments.

I filed a complaint with the police. Investigations proved that there was no one by the name of Navroz Patel or Jasper Jeevaratnam. However, one piece of information that gave me confidence was that they had some leads.

A week later, I was walking to the grocers (yes, I had to sell my car and my house) a stone’s throw from the small flat I now rented downtown.

“Hello! Hello!” shouted a loud, cheerful voice.

It was my old colleague, Ramankutty. He parked his car by the curb and jumped out.

“We need to celebrate. I have just come into a fortune. A long lost relation of mine in Trivandrum has left me his fortune…I’m leaving tomorrow. Let’s get together when I get back…”

Before I could answer, he jumped into his car and drove off. I smiled.