to the depths. Like a piece of iron attracted to a magnet, he swiftly moved towards the chair. The speaker stopped in mid-sentence, too shocked to continue. But the audience soon found voice.
“Vacate the chair!” “This lecture series has no chairperson...” “Away from the platform, mister!” “The chair is symbolic, don’t you know?” What nonsense! Whoever heard of a public lecture without a presiding dignitary? Professor Gaitonde went to the mike and gave vent to his views. “Ladies and gentlemen, an unchaired lecture is like Shakespeare’s Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark.
Let me tell you...” But the audience was in no mood to listen. “Tell us nothing. We are sick of remarks from the chair, of vote of thanks, of long introductions.” “We only want to listen to the speaker...” “We abolished the old customs long ago...” “Keep the platform empty, please...” But Gangadharpant had the experience of speaking at meetings and had faced the Pune audience at its most hostile. He kept on talking.
He soon became a target for a shower of tomatoes, eggs and other objects. But he kept on trying valiantly to correct this sacrilege. Finally, the audience swarmed to the stage to eject him bodily. And, in the crowd Gangadharpant was nowhere to be seen.
“That is all I have to tell, Rajendra. All I know is that I was found in the Azad Maidan in the morning. But I was back in the world I am familiar with. Now, where exactly did I spend those two days when I was absent from here?” Rajendra was dumbfounded by the narrative.
It took him a while to reply. “Professor, before, just prior to your collision with the truck, what were you doing?” Rajendra asked. “I was thinking of the catastrophe theory and its implications for history.” “Right! I thought so!” Rajendra smiled.
“Don’t smile smugly. In case you think that it was just my mind playing tricks and my imagination running amok, look at this.” And, triumphantly, Professor Gaitonde produced his vital piece of evidence: a page torn out of a