Our Favourite Indian Stories

by Khushwant Singh

  Amman was too annoyed to get any sleep. The indecent voices of the drunkards outside were coming closer, "Mali! Mali!" inflamed by anger, Amman picked up the lamp and came out. The drunkards, rolling on the grass sat up holding their breath when they saw the light coming in their direction. Amman was confused with rage. Even in the light of the lamp she could not see anything. Suddenly, she stumbled upon a brick at the edge of the flower bed. The tin lamp flew out of her hand. Everything was drowned in darkness. She could not even hold herself up. The hands of darkness seemed to catch her in their grip. A hand gagged her mouth tight. She could neither shriek nor cry. In the darkness, different voices whispered the same sentence, one after another, 'How she warbles, like a Koel!' Then the darkness and stillness thickened. Amman dipped into the well of unconsciousness, down and down, to the bottom!

  Next morning when Pheenu emerged from sleep, he rubbed his eyes for sometime. His insides seemed to be on fire. He gulped some water to calm himself. Picking up a broom he made a move towards the park. He was surprised to notice that the water in the canal had come down to knee level. The canal was muddy. In the lawn lay some torn clothes, empty bottles and tins strewn around. Seeing a naked woman lying in their midst, he mouthed a terribly foul invective. Coming closer and seeing the clothes in shreds, he remembered the contractor. I wonder whom they had brought here to commit sin! Was this a park or a whorehouse? If the police came to know, he would be the first to be harassed. Chh... he covered his eyes with his arm and spat.

  Getting still closer, he was struck speechless. He felt as if a big hole had sprung in the earth under his feet. Underneath, was a bottomless ocean. In the ocean were waves dragging him into dark caves full of algae. He did not know how to get out of the hole.

  Moving up, he saw Amman's body. It had turned stiff like a log of wood: it bore marks of injury at different places. A dog was going around her body. Nose to ground, it was sniffing at the parts of her body covered with blood. Pheenu clenched his teeth and threw a stone at the dog. It ran away. The stone had hit the tin lamp lying near the dislodged brick. All of a sudden, Pheenu seemed to catch the thread of all that had passed before he had become unconscious and all that must have happened thereafter.

  But these threads were unconnected, without any link. To link them and come to some conclusion was beyond him. After the sweets and rounds of glasses full of liquor, he wondered what had been said.

  The pieces of sweets he had kept in his pocket last night, were still there. What should he do? He was at his wit's end. Can a brick that breaks be put together again? What should he do with the brick of his house which was now broken? Without it the entire roof would come down!. A straw structure with weak foundations would not be able to withstand a single shower of rain. What would become of Kalo? He put his hands on his head and squatted on the ground.

  It was daylight. At the temple of Hanuman, bells were ringing. He gathered the corpse, put it on his shoulders and took it inside the hut. Kalo was fast asleep. Pheenu's wail startled her and she sat up. Then she fixed her eyes on her father. He was wailing. 'Amman, don't leave me, Don't go. You should have at least thought of your Kalo.' Kalo got up and went to the corpse. She lifted the sheet of cloth to see her face and pulled back in fright. 'So, they have killed the crow?' She murmured. She felt that Amman was actually a sorceress. How dreadful she looked! Pheenu kept striking his head against Amman's chest, crying all the while 'Hai Amman. Hai Amman.' Kalo looked on, petrified.

  It appeared to be noisier outside than inside. Had something worse happened outside? She got up and came out. She heard shouts outside the gate of the park—

  Vota da kun haqdar? (Who deserves to get the vote?)

  Duloram Thekedarl (Duloram the Contractor!)

  Jittega bhai jittega (He will win, surely he will win!)

  Ghode ala jittega! (The one whose symbol is the horse will win!)

  She saw that the boys were dancing a bhangra on the stone slab where Amman used to sit. She flared up, picked up a broom and ran towards them. Before she could get to the slab, the boys had jumped into the water.

  'Kalo, we hear that a vampire has chewed up your Amman?'

  'Outside the park, there is also a crow lying dead.'

  'Your Amman's soul has found release?'

  She picked up some clods and began throwing them at the boys who swam across to the bank on the other side.

  She kept looking at them with burning eyes. Then, as she moved to retreat, one of them said, 'Wonder if the old woman's soul has entered Kalo now?'

  Kalo had covered some distance when her eyes fell on a dislodged brick. This reminded her of Amman. How much care she used to take of these flowerbeds! She glanced towards the slab where the canopy of leaves was swaying in the wind. It was absolutely empty. It was a scene of complete desolation. Even though the sun shone, raindrops kept falling. Across the canal, on the other bank, the boys were rejoicing. 'Hey! ah! buddhi da by ah..'

  (See, see, the old woman's wedding!)

  Eyes full of tears, Kalo dug at the ground to put back the brick. Bapu's wailing became loud and relentless.

  Translated by Shivnath

  KONKANI

  Hippie Girl

  Chandrakant Keni

  Sunday

  It was five in the evening and raining heavily. One look at the looming black sky told me it wasn't going to stop soon. It was already getting dark. I was driving home quite slowly when I saw this girl thumbing a lift. She had no umbrella or raincoat and was completely soaked. I stopped my car and invited her in.

  'Thank you,' she said.

  'Where are you going?'

  'Anywhere under a shelter.'

  I took her home with me. My wife was astonished to see me with this hippie girl.

  She was wet and shivering. I told my wife to take her inside and give her a change of clothes.

  Half an hour later she emerged in a sari, her hair tied in a bun. She had put kumkum on her forehead. She came into the sitting room and posed before me.

  'How do I look?'

  Sexy, was the word that came to my mind, but since my wife was standing behind me, I only murmured:

  'You look like the typical Indian woman.'

  She laughed and settled comfortably in a chair. We chatted for a while, sipping hot tea and eating the savouries my wife had fried for us.

  Her name was Cinderella. She came from France. She had been in India for the last six months. Before that she had studied science at a college in France. She was twenty years old but looked nearly thirty. She lived in Colva along with several other hippies.

  'What made you go out in this rain without even a raincoat or an umbrella?'

  'I don't buy such things. That's the only way to know the joys of getting wet in the rain. Have you ever tried doing that?'

  'Very romantic, I'm sure, but frankly, getting wet is not my idea of tun.'

  'How can you sit here cooped up inside this prison while all Nature is dancing at your doorsteps? If you want to know what true happiness really means get out of the four walls of this room.'

  I appreciated her point of view, but I knew it wouldn't have suited me at all.

  'Why do you wander about like this? Why have you abandoned your home and your education?'

  'For a new wisdom, for a new way of life, here in the lap of Mother Nature!'

  'But how did your parents allow you to go?'

  Cinderella laughed. For a while neither of us spoke. Then she said: 'Do this — come and spend a few days with us.'

  I accepted the invitation without batting an eyelid, and asked her, 'But won't your people make me feel out of place among you?'

  'We don't usually like strangers poking and prying around us, but you're different. You're an intelligent, responsible person. Having you for a few days isn't going to hurt us.'

  'Suppose I find your way of life so enticing that I desert my family for you?'

  'I'll consider that an achievement on my part!'

  Cinderella
had dinner with us that evening. After that my wife and I dropped her at Colva. She had put on her own clothes before leaving, but she hadn't wiped off the kumkum.

  Sunday

  I ran into Cinderella again when I visited Colva today. It wasn't pouring this time. She was on her way to the beach. Alone. She asked me to join her. We went and sat on the wet sand. Her loose, long hair billowed in the sea breeze. She wore a flimsy shirt that fluttered over her chest. The top two buttons of her shirt weren't fastened and every now and then my eyes strayed there.

  'Cinderella, tell me. Why do people wear clothes?'

  My question made her a little self-conscious and she put on one of the buttons.

  She said, 'To cover one's body, I suppose...'

  'From whom?'

  'Not from the view of others. But from the cold, the rain, the sun.'

  'So that's your sartorial philosophy, is it?'

  'What's yours?'

  'Human beings can't live outside society; so they should behave decently if only for the sake of others. Birds and animals don't dress but humans do. If they do, they should do it properly.'

  'What about your sadhus and sanyasis?'

  'They have renounced the world.'

  'So have we!'

  'But there is no vice in their world; I'm not sure about yours.'

  'I know what you're trying to suggest about us hippies, and you're wrong! By your line of thinking all our males should be rapists, considering the number of naked women they see every day. The truth is quite the opposite, if anything.'

  'You must be accustomed to this. But what about our boys and girls who are not?'

  'We don't intrude into their world; they shouldn't in ours.'

  'How can we avoid that? You wander about on the beach, in the city...'

  'In what way are we indecent?'

  'When our adolescent boys see young women with not a stitch on, they might get the wrong ideas about sex.'

  'What you're saying is you repress Nature in the name of Morality. Let your boys and girls live in freedom. Then they won't have any trouble with immoral thoughts.'

  'That's only half-true. Total freedom will only lead them to lust after one another's bodies.'

  'Let them. Provided the boy and the girl agree.'

  'And what if they have children?'

  'They should bring them up. Children are the responsibility of their parents. When they grow up God and the Government can solve their problems.'

  But if we do this won't the family institutions itself collapse?

  'What institution! Despotism is the right world.'

  Our ideas were so diametrically opposed to each other, I realised we would get nowhere with this argument. I got up to leave.

  'Are you leaving?

  'It's late. My wife will be worried.'

  Why didn't you bring her with you?'

  'I got to the beach today only because I happened to be passing this way. And as chance would have it there you were...'

  Cinderella took a bottle of kumkum from her bag and said, 'Please put a dot on me.'

  'Why don't you do it yourself?'

  'I don't have a mirror. For a woman the mirror is another tyrant.' Opening the bottle of red liquid, I dipped a matchstick into it. But then a disturbing thought rose in my mind. I wiped the red colour off the matchstick.

  'What is the matter?'

  'In our land only a husband may put kumkum on a woman. It signifies an intimate relationship between husband and wife.'

  Cinderella giggled.

  'Then you can make love to me.'

  'We're followers of Lord Rama - we're monogamous.'

  'Your traditions are very repressive, aren't they? Now what would happen if I were to fall in love with you?'

  'Our lives would be ruined.'

  'Why should that be so? If you love me does that mean that your love for your wife should diminish?'

  I was confused. To end this inquisition, I put the kumkum on her forehead. She clasped my right hand with both her hands and taking it to her lips, kissed it. My body quivered as though a streak of lightning had passed through me.

  I got up and walked towards my car. Cinderella walked beside me.

  Abruptly she asked, 'When shall we meet again?'

  'Next Sunday.'

  'No. Sunday is a long way off. Come tomorrow.'

  'Let's see. But I can't promise anything.'

  Meanwhile another hippie came towards us. Cinderella raised her arm in greeting. The moment he drew close, she slipped into his embrace. He rested his chin on her head and hugged her tightly with one arm while his left hand caressed her breasts. Cinderella introduced me to him.

  'Meet my friend Paul.'

  I greeted him politely, but my heart seethed with envy. I wondered if it showed on my face.

  Tuesday

  Cinderella came to our house this evening. I wasn't at home. My wife can't speak English but perhaps she understood a little of what Cinderella said. Apparently she wanted to know how to make curry, but since we make enough of it in the afternoon to last us for supper she didn't get to see how it was done. But she seemed to like my wife's dry mackerel salad and ate quite a bit of it even while it was being made.

  At dinner we tried to convince her to spend the night at our house.

  'And become a barrier between you and your beloved wife? Oh no!'

  'There's a room you can have all to yourself.'

  'Won't that be a terrible punishment for you?'

  I felt like laughing. My wife couldn't follow the conversation and Cinderella didn't venture to explain anything to her.

  'So you won't stay, after all.'

  'Yes, I will. But on one condition — all three of us should sleep in one place.'

  'That's not possible. I'll take you home.'

  'Why don't you stay with us instead?'

  'And leave my wife alone at home?'

  'Don't you ever go out leaving her alone?'

  'I do, but what do you think she'd feel if under her very nose I go away to spend the night with you?'

  'That's true. You can drop me and come back home.

  It was quite dark when I drove the car with Cinderella sitting beside me.

  'You surprise me. Why do you consider me a stranger?' asked Cinderella.

  'Is that what you feel?'

  'Yes. The other day you put the dot on me, but even now, if my hand so much as brushes against you, you seem to shudder.'

  'That's because of the way I've been brought up.'

  'Can you honestly say that you look upon every other woman, besides your wife, as a mother or a sister?'

  'Frankly no. But in my culture that's how it ought to be.'

  'Which means you do have desires but you repress them.'

  'That's true. But to do otherwise is immoral...'

  'There you go again with your morality. Tell me, are all these sanyasis and brahmacharis and yogis really like what you said?'

  'Yes. Their minds are devoid of passion.'

  'How can that be?'

  'What else are their terrible sacrifices for? If someone moves his finger over the sole of somebody else's foot, it tickles. But move a finger over your own sole. Does it tickle? It doesn't. Why not?'

  'You tell me.'

  'Because the mind is aware that what is moving is one's own finger. In the same way it's not easy for a mind to believe that just any woman is a mother or a sister. It has to be conditioned to achieve this state.'

  'So it's possible to conquer one's desires!'

  'Yes.'

  'But why should your suppress your desires?'

  'If I didn't I would be being unfair to my wife!'

  'What if another man was on your wife's mind?

  'I wouldn't like that.'

  'Doesn't this mean you are against her being a free person?'

  'How can I help it?'

  'You can. You can free your mind by snapping the chains of tradition. The more you suppress your passions, the more it increase
s, but once you satisfy them, that's the end of it.'

  We had arrived at Colva by then. Cinderella exclaimed, 'See how quickly we got here. Let's go and sit on the beach.'

  'But my wife is alone at home.'

  'Just for a little while. Let's finish this discussion. Before coming to India I had visited Iran and I want to tell you about an incident there.'

  'About the satisfaction of desire, isn't it?

  'What else?'

  Both of us laughed.

  When we settled down on the beach, Cinderella said, 'Why does society expect only women to cover their bodies?'

  'That stops people from lusting after them.'

  'You mean it stops men.'

  'Yes.'

  'Don't you think women get aroused when they see men bare their chests?'

  'How should I know?'

  'All these standards of morality that women have to abide by have been imposed on them by men.'

  I was silent.

  Then, self consciously, Cinderella peeled off her blouse. Embarrassed, I turned my head away.

  'Don't blush like that. Once you grow accustomed to this, you won't feel ashamed.'

  'How can I control my feelings?'

  'Don't control anything.'

  Trying to behave as naturally as I could I turned towards her, while Cinderella talked away without the least trace of embarrassment.

  She narrated an incident about Mazook, an Iranian sanyasi. He had left home with the intention of relieving the miseries of mankind. After having traversed the entire country, he came to the conclusion that when man's desires remain unsatisfied he becomes unhappy. Man suffers from two kinds of hunger, hunger for food and hunger for pleasure. If these hungers are placated he is at peace.

  One day Mazook saw a young man singing a melancholic song by the bank of a river. Mazook felt that what issued from his lips was no song, but a shower of misery. He approached the youth and asked him why he was so miserable.