The Golden Gandhi Statue From America

by Subimal Misra

  1968

  The Naked Knife

  Butku glanced at his watch. It was two minutes to one o’clock. It was time. He looked this way and that a few times. He then fixed his eyes on the pavement kerb. ‘Not a second to waste,’ Ghentu had said. He had said, ‘Be very careful! Say a thing out of step, and you might arouse suspicion. She’s a clever bitch.’ And so, accordingly, one had to be very attentive and watchful. Without taking his eyes off his target, Butku took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He let out a lungful of smoke. From the corner of his eye, he once again cast a look at his own body, the pair of black trousers and the flaming red T-shirt. He thought: ‘Wow, it’s really radiant! Look at it, and your head will spin!’ A faint smile formed at the corner of his lips. Flicking away the cigarette, he bent backwards slightly, twisted his torso and stuck his right leg out in front. Meaning, he would stand in that famous film-star’s pose. He smirked. Just then, a taxi turned the corner and screeched to a halt.

  It took only a couple of seconds for him to spot Mamata and Ghentu seated in the rear, Ghentu’s eyes signalling him. Just as Butku opened the door and got in, the taxi began to move. Mamata was seated in the middle, so when he got in, his leg brushed against hers. Butku saw that Mamata had dolled up wonderfully, the preening bitch. The anchol of her sari kept slipping off her breasts. She looked like a smug tomcat. As Butku tried to put his right hand on her ample rump, the girl pushed it away. ‘Damn it!’ Butku removed his hand. He saw Ghentu’s brows were creased. Meaning, it was not yet time for all this. That meant one had to keep things in check.

  The taxi went through the commercial district. A few jolts, body grazing against body. The fragrance of a female body, from her hair and the cheap perfume, pricked Butku’s nose. He glanced at Ghentu out of the corner of his eye. He was sitting with his back slanted, positioned as low as possible. Butku remembered they had decided to do just that. Meaning, try to stay as low as possible while in the car, so that it wouldn’t be easy for anybody to recognize them. For that might create difficulties. Witnesses and evidence would cause a fix.

  Butku lit a cigarette and looked at the people all around. It was now tiffin-time in the offices. A crowd of clerical babus on the street corner ate sliced cucumbers. Many cars were lined up ahead of them. They got stuck too. Looking out, he saw a red-flag procession. He hoped they wouldn’t be stuck here for an hour, or even half an hour. But the procession was not such a long one, about mediumish – it shouldn’t take long to go by. Butku heaved a sigh of relief and puffed at his cigarette.

  The girl, Mamata, fidgeted. She couldn’t sit still even for a moment. ‘D’you know what I’ve said at home, Butkuda? That Shanta and Shiuli are going on a holiday and I’m accompanying them.’ She laughed – hee hee! She looked pretty when she laughed. Butku gaped at her. Ghentu sat motionless, looking tense. He didn’t make the slightest movement. A small bag lay beside his feet. All the stuff was inside that, reckoned Butku. The car moved very slowly. The procession didn’t advance at all. Butku’s exasperation grew. Damn it, who wanted all this now!

  Some more time passed. After they had crept along for a while, the road ahead cleared and the car gained speed. They reached Howrah Bridge. Butku saw snatches of the Ganga between the passing girders. The river flowed by, heavily laden boats, steamers and cargo vessels on its bosom. People were busy all around. A heap of cauliflowers. They passed by the orange and apple vendors. The taxi moved along slowly and came to a halt after a while. Ghentu opened the door and stepped out. Mamata couldn’t decide which side to get out from. She shifted this way and that, then finally got out. Seeing Ghentu, poker-faced, paying off the cabbie, Butku moved ahead towards the station. Tickets had already been bought. He looked at his watch – there were still twenty minutes to go.

  The station was packed with people. The bases of the walls were brown with paan spittle stains. People ran. An announcement: ‘Bombay Express running twelve hours late.’ A long engine whistle sounded. Butku passed all this by and reached the platform. He looked behind to see if Ghentu and Mamata were coming along all right. Mamata’s body brushed against Ghentu’s. Her sari was worn well below the navel. A lot of vacant space, like a playfield. Could play football there! She laughed, glowed with her laughter. Ghentu held on to the bag carefully. His face was very grave. Looking at him, one would think of him as a decent, serious youth of few words. The cunning fox could brilliantly conceal his thoughts when, in fact, he had an accomplished master’s prowess in netting the catch! Butku slipped as he trod on a banana peel and just about managed to prevent himself from falling.

  The train was already on the platform. They ought not to be on the platform where they could be noticed by others. Ghentu signalled with his eyes to get into a vacant compartment. The train was quite empty, but all the compartments had a few people. Butku spotted a small cabin. There was an old woman there – one could make out that she was a villager. She sat crouched, holding a baby girl to her bosom. Butku and company got in there.

  Butku didn’t do much in the train. It left without anyone else getting into their cabin. It was a splendid late afternoon outside. Winter hadn’t arrived, yet there was a slightly chilly breeze blowing. Dust flew in the wind. Butku looked at the old woman. She dozed while the baby girl, her face puckered, gazed outside. Mamata couldn’t sit still in one place – she shifted restlessly. The anchol of her sari slipped off her breast, revealing the voluptuousness of her bosom. Oh what a juicy babe! Butku couldn’t hold on any longer. Impatiently, all of a sudden, he kissed Mamata’s cheek. Ghentu looked her in the eye. Mamata laughed out – hee hee! The old woman woke up at the sound of laughter. Not realizing anything, she stared blankly, as did the infant.

  Butku had become desperate. He wound his left arm around Mamata’s waist. Her bare waist electrified his arm. The old woman stared, as if at something novel, her eyes wide. As he sat like this, Butku twisted a bit to the left and, in a flash, again kissed Mamata’s cheek. She almost rolled over with laughter. She moved his hand away. ‘Butku, you bastard, if you do this…’ – Ghentu’s voice. But Butku didn’t look in his direction. Ghentu was obviously very angry and sullen now. Bad news. Better not to cross the line. The old woman stared, the baby too.

  The train was in motion. At a station, a group of boys, books and notebooks in their hands, got up, shouting and swearing. They got off after two or three stations. All the while, they gaped as one at Mamata’s body. An old vendor, a scraggy beard on his chin, shouted for some time: ‘Oil for cuts! Tansen pills from Punjab!’ Mamata constantly pestered them for things to eat. When a ghugni seller came by, she said she wanted some. She gazed at the moshlamuri. And when she saw lozenges, she wanted even that. Spotting the boiled-egg vendor, she burst out: ‘Please buy me one, Ghentu da… I’m terribly hungry!’ But no one paid her any heed. Not getting any custom, the egg vendor got off. Mamata’s face turned really sad.

  The day was coming to an end. The light of the setting sun fell on a fruit-laden orchard. Books referred to such colours as golden. But Butku didn’t have anything to do with books or poetry. He didn’t like them. The train noisily crossed a bridge. His body rubbed against Mamata’s. But Butku didn’t look in that direction. If he looked, he would want to paw.

  After getting off the train, a bus had to be taken to reach the sea beach. It had just turned evening when the train stopped. They didn’t have any luggage to speak of. Getting off, they crossed the overbridge and boarded a waiting bus. The whole place was enveloped in fog. A solitary lamp shone dimly. Everything looked blurred in that light. Just a few people in the bus, they sat all wrapped up. Some puffed on bidis. The bus sped along. Every once in a while, the headlights showed up hedges and thickets on the two sides of the road. Cycle-rickshaws and, occasionally, like shadows, a couple of bare-bodied villagers floated by. But Butku didn’t like looking at all that. There were people in the bus, so it wasn’t possible to try any tricks either. Ghentu watched with alert eyes. Ghentu was the most adept and ale
rt one among them. If Ghentu hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have been able to carry out this scheme by himself. Hooking Mamata and bringing her out like this would have been impossible on his part, though she was just a girl from the slums and couldn’t get enough to eat half the time.

  The bus turned a corner with a nasty jerk. It stopped for a bit. People got in or out, and so on. Butku looked at his watch. It was time. In a few minutes, the bus would reach the sea beach. The hotel room had been booked in advance… And after that, the whole night would be hot, hot, hot! He felt a tingling sensation in his lower abdomen, around his crotch. Butku scratched himself.

  He wanted to get down to business as soon as they reached the hotel, but Ghentu wouldn’t have that. He wanted to take his time doing everything. Butku didn’t have much patience. Ghentu looked him in the eye. Meaning, be careful, take it easy.

  When the window in the room was opened, the southern breeze entered the room lustily, along with the roar of the sea. The night was dark now, nothing was visible outside. But it was obvious that the sea was nearby, very near. Butku had been here earlier, he had stayed in this very hotel. But he had never ever opened the southern window and gazed at the sea on a moonlit night. He didn’t fancy any of that. Gazing at the sea had never held any fascination for him. And the few times he had come here earlier had also been for other business. But Mamata jumped around now, exclaiming: ‘The sea! The sea!’ Butku moved away and sat on a sofa.

  There were two adjacent rooms. Each room could be entered through the other. The rooms could also be separated by bolting the door. Spanning the room was a large cot, the white bed linen sparkling bright. A table with chairs, a flower vase with a few stems of flowers, and a couple of easy-chairs. Ghentu set the bag carefully to one side and stood beside the window. Mamata stood at the other window, facing the sea. Her hair blew in the breeze.

  The cot lay in the middle, its linen sparkling white. Butku’s eyes were on Mamata. Her sari was now dishevelled. Everything was clearly visible. Butku didn’t exactly gape, more like licked it all up with his eyes. He came close to Mamata and, affecting a dancer-like pose, asked, ‘What are you looking at, honey?’ And with that, he kissed her on the cheek. Butku then began to paw her body. Seeing this, Ghentu slowly stood up. He came close and, like a hunter, grabbed Mamata away from Butku. He held her tight and pressed his lips on hers. His left hand frenziedly groped her bare midriff, his right hand squeezed her ample breasts. When he released her after about a minute, Mamata’s face had turned red. Lipstick was smudged all over it. A tooth mark was clearly visible on one corner of her lip. Looking at herself in the mirror, somewhat angrily, somewhat satisfied and somewhat indulgently, Mamata spat out two syllables: ‘De-vil!’

  Ghentu and Butku stood in front of the mirror, observing Mamata examining her face. There was a knock at the door, startling the three of them. Mamata adjusted the anchol of her sari and moved away. Butku looked at Ghentu’s eyes, then, unlatching the door very cautiously, he silently stepped to one side of it. It was a hotel attendant – he had come to enquire about the dinner order. Ghentu came forward. He asked for rotis, chicken curry and various other things, after which he left. Butku shut the door and sat down. Everyone was silent now. The roar of the sea floated in from the darkness outside.

  After a while, Mamata said she wanted to go to the bathroom. Ghentu got up and opened the bag carefully. He slowly took out a sari, a blouse, a bra, and so on. Mamata looked at the bra dangling from his hand. It was new, radiant white. She burst out laughing. ‘Do you know the size!’ For the first time, Ghentu smiled a little. ‘If after so much sleeping around…’ Mamata laughed, took her things and, swaying her hips, sauntered to the bathroom.

  After the bathroom door was shut, Ghentu came up to Butku and whispered, ‘Beware! Nothing whatsoever should arouse suspicion. I’ve given false names to the hotel. After finishing our business, just at the break of dawn, we must leave on the pretext of going out to see the sea. Be very careful.’ Glancing at the bathroom door, he bent down and reached inside the bag. After he had finished rummaging, he said, ‘It’s all there, at the bottom…’ He zipped up the bag, stood up straight and turned away, as if he was standing and gazing at the sea through the window.

  There was silence in the room now. Butku lit a cigarette. He blew smoke rings over his nose. The sound of water running in the bathroom was drowned out by the continuous noise of the sea. After a while, Mamata came out. There were droplets of water on her neck and brow. She was clad only in the bra, she hadn’t worn the blouse. The sari was loosely wound. Seeing Butku staring at her, she made a face at him. Butku ran to catch her, but Mamata moved away nimbly, saying loudly, ‘Hey!’ Butku didn’t go any closer. He restrained himself, consoling himself with the thought that after Mamata went off to the other room, she would take off her sari and all…

  There was another knock at the door. Mamata was in the other room, the door in between was half shut. Ghentu opened the door to look. It was the attendant. He came in, arranged the food on the table and left. After he left, Ghentu shut the door and fastened the bolt carefully. He pulled at the door to check whether there was any chance of it opening suddenly. Satisfied, he went and opened the bag and took out two bottles, a bottle opener and a packet of cashew nuts. Ghentu stuffed a piece of meat into his mouth and swigged directly from the bottle. As he watched Ghentu, Butku realized he was hungry too. Without further delay, he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

  There was no sound in the room other than those of eating and drink being poured into glasses. Butku had shut the seaside window saying that he did not care about the sea. Mamata had only feebly protested as she chewed the meat. She hadn’t said much, so as to not interrupt her eating. Seeing the food on the table, she had immediately pulled out a chair and sat down. Gravy dripped from her mouth. Mamata ate as if she was crazed with hunger. She chortled, ‘Oh I’m eating meat after so long…’ Mamata now expertly sucked the marrow out of a bone. Butku heard the sound she made – sooan-ooo-sorhat. It seemed that Mamata didn’t care for anything right now other than the plate of meat. ‘The meat’s nice, really nice!’ she exclaimed as she licked her lips. Butku took a gulp from the bottle and, when Mamata looked at him, he filled a glass for her. Mamata chewed on the meat with her eyes shut, downed the glass and then looked at Butku with a grin on her face.

  Ghentu did not like to talk much. He was busy eating single-mindedly. He chewed the tender, soft bones, making a crunching sound. He lifted the bottle and took two more gulps. As Ghentu ate, he looked at Mamata out of the corner of his eye. Butku too looked as he ate. It was Mamata alone who did not waste time looking or doing anything else. Perhaps she had hardly eaten anything the whole day. When her plate of meat was empty, she herself poured some more booze into her glass and drank. After that, she stared greedily at Butku’s plate. Butku saw Mamata staring. He saw her smile. Without so much as waiting for his approval, she snatched a chicken leg from his plate and stuffed it into her mouth. At that moment, Butku saw the inside of her mouth, her tongue, teeth, gum, yellow stains on the teeth and behind them. Mamata looked into his eyes and laughed. Butku poured booze into his glass and – glug, glug – gulped all of it down. Mamata’s eyes sparkled now, her face had begun to acquire colour.

  Ghentu’s plate was empty. He was now busy uncorking the other bottle. He opened it, put the bottle to his lips and drank a little. Then he laid it down on the table. Butku had almost finished eating. Bits of chewed bones were scattered all over the table. Mamata continued to stare at him as he finished his food. There was still some meat and gravy on his plate. Her eyes were on that, but now she wasn’t quite up to grabbing it. Seeing Mamata like this, gaping and hunger-crazed, a plan came into Butku’s mind. He picked up a big piece of meat, held it between his teeth and signalled to Mamata. She saw through his ruse, laughed and tried to take the piece with her hand. But Butku turned his head away. Meaning, not with your hand, you must take it with your mouth. With a broad grin
on her face, she bent down and tried to pull away the piece of meat. But Butku was ready. He swung around his left hand and landed a hard whack on her bare waist. The piece of meat flew out of Mamata’s mouth and landed far away, on the floor. Mamata crashed down on the table, with its spread of gravy, meat, plates and rotis. Butku burst out laughing – ha ha! Mamata’s face, smudged with meat and gravy, was red with rage.

  Ghentu observed all this detachedly as he ate. Butku stopped laughing. He said, ‘Why do you get angry, my sweetheart, can’t you take a joke?’ He wiped her face with the anchol of her sari. He then went and picked up the fallen piece of meat from the floor and shoved it into her mouth. Mamata feigned spitting it out in disgust, but didn’t after all, and began eating it. She hadn’t eaten her fill like this in a long time.

  Ghentu watched Mamata closely. He tore open the packet of cashew nuts and threw a handful into his mouth. As soon as she saw this, Mamata did the same. She took a handful and chewed the meat and the cashews together. Her full mouth and her bobbing Adam’s apple moved together, as if to the same tune. The packet of nuts emptied quickly. She swallowed hurriedly and held out her hand for another handful. Ghentu crept slowly towards her, held her by her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. Mamata had then just put another handful of nuts into her mouth and chewed away for dear life. Ghentu didn’t wait, he couldn’t hold on any longer. He grasped her shoulders and pressed his mouth on hers, making an o-o-o-o-n sound. A mix of chewed nuts and saliva entered his mouth, which he swallowed. By then, Mamata had taken control of herself. She poured herself a glassful with her left hand and gulped it all down. Saying, ‘I’ll teach you a lesson,’ she pounced on Ghentu’s chest and planted her lips on his.