The Accidental Politician

In the small, bustling town of Vallipuram, where everyone knew everyone else’s business (and everyone else’s goats), there lived a man named Shanker — a rather unassuming fellow, a chap who blended into the background of the town’s noisy market. Shanker was not very noticeable amongst the vegetable sellers, spice vendors, and the perennial swarm of chatty housewives walking around, talking more and buying less. He ran a modest provision store, which, not unlike him, was small, reliable, and utterly forgettable.

Shanker had no political ambitions, nor any itching desire to change the world. He was content to sell lentils and rice, chat with the evening crowd that settled on the small bench in front of his store as the day began to wind down, and occasionally nod sympathetically when a customer grumbled about the price of onions.

However, fate, as it often had in Vallipuram, had other plans. The local MLA, Ranganathan, a tall fellow with a big mustache who was to be seen making promises only when the elections were near, had been caught up in a scandal that had the entire town talking. News had somehow managed to reach Shanker’s shop as well, and he found the evening crowd chatting about how Ranganathan had somehow managed to involve a goat in a scheme to win the local lottery — a feat that was as baffling as it was audacious. The goat, it seemed, had been named the lucky winner, but when it came time to collect the prize, Ranganathan had shown up instead, claiming to be the rightful guardian of the bewildered animal. The scam was so ludicrous that it had reached the ears of higher authorities in Delhi, and he found himself whisked away to the capital for an “inquiry,” leaving Vallipuram without a representative in the state assembly.

A by-election was announced, and the town buzzed with speculation about who would step up to replace the disgraced MLA. Shanker, meanwhile, was more concerned about a shipment of lentils that had failed to arrive on time. But the gods, or rather the local politicians, had set their sights on him. Desperate to find a candidate who wasn’t already involved in scandal or notorious incompetence, they landed on Shanker’s name in a moment of divine—or perhaps disastrous—inspiration.

It began harmlessly enough. One evening, a few party workers appeared at Shanker’s shop, bought a few biscuits, bought some tea from the neighboring seller, and struck up a conversation about the state of the town. Before he knew it, Shanker found himself nodding in agreement as they lamented at the state of local roads, the price of onions, and the rising cost of tea, the latter much to the dismay of the neighboring tea seller. He nodded so vigorously, in fact, that by the end of their visit, they had convinced themselves that Shanker was a man of the people, a hidden gem they wouldn’t find amongst their own workers. By the next week, posters of a confused-looking Shanker holding a tomato in one hand and a banana in the other were plastered across town, proclaiming him as the party’s candidate.

Shanker was horrified. He tried to protest, but the party leaders, sensing his reluctance, assured him that it was merely a formality. “You won’t win, don’t worry!” they promised cheerfully. “It’s just to fill the numbers, you see. We need a candidate, and you’re the perfect, harmless choice.” Shanker wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted.

But as fate would have it, Shanker won the election. The town, tired of scandals, had decided to vote for the least likely candidate to cause trouble —forgettable Shanker. Overnight, the modest shopkeeper was transformed into Honorable MLA Shanker, his shop was handed over to a man claiming to be Shanker’s distant cousin, and Shanker found himself swept into the world of politics—a world that he neither understood nor wanted to understand.

Shanker’s ambitions, now fueled by the sycophants he suddenly found himself surrounded by, began to swell. He envisioned himself as a great reformer, a man who would be remembered by the annals of history as a man perhaps akin to Gandhi. He dreamt of building new roads, opening new schools, and bringing electricity to the farthest corners of the constituency. He imagined giving stirring speeches in the assembly, his words echoing through the halls as ministers nodded in admiration.

His first initiative as Honorable MLA Shanker was to modernize the town’s infrastructure. He called for a grand meeting under the town’s banyan tree, where he intended to unveil his vision for “New Vallipuram.” Standing before a herd of eager faces, he stammered, lost his pace, and ended up declaring that Vallipuram’s most pressing need was to “build more cowsheds.” Shanker’s supporters clapped enthusiastically, while the rest of the crowd, who were expecting announcements about roads or schools, looked at each other with such confusion that even the cows grazing decided to pause in contemplation.

Undeterred, Shanker then turned his attention to education. He was determined to improve the literacy rate in Vallipuram, where the highest prize in mathematics was convincing the local confectioner to bring his prices down. After all, Shanker thought, how hard would it be to start a few schools? But his plan quickly fell off a cliff when Shanker, in his enthusiasm, forgot to allocate any funds for teachers’ salaries. The schools were built, blackboards and all, but stood empty, save for the cattle that had decided to take some shelter from the sun. Shanker’s misadventures continued. He tried to improve healthcare by inaugurating a new clinic, but the ceremony was cut short when it was discovered that in his excitement, Shanker had forgotten to find a doctor.

By the end of his term, Shanker had managed to alienate nearly everyone in town. The roads were still potholed, the schools were empty, and the town’s economy was in a shambles. Even his own party members, who had initially thought of him as a harmless pawn, began to distance themselves from him. The only ones who benefited from Shanker’s reign were the town’s goats, who now had plenty of new schools and clinics to explore. When the next election came around, Shanker was quietly asked not to run again. Shanker’s dreams of political greatness had ended, and he was more than happy to resume his life as an anonymous shopkeeper. The town moved on, and Vallipuram’s political scene returned to its usual chaos.

But every once in a while, when a customer grumbled about the state of the town, Shanker would smile and nod, remembering his brief, disastrous stint as Vallipuram’s most accidental politician.