The Storyteller

by Adib Khan

  I made my way to the tap. Those who bothered at this hour of the night were rewarded with a thin trickle of water. I drank and washed my eyes. Before I slipped away, I paused to listen to muffled giggles and whispered lies about love.

  The night was in no hurry to leave. I felt free, skipping among the shadows, walking past sleeping bodies and murmuring trees. The earth was warm under my feet, and there were moments when I floated towards my chosen destination, so preoccupied was I with the sights of the mind.

  She stood as I had seen her, the face masked with uncertainty. I was in a heroic frame of mind—supremely confident about my ability to give her life, slightly drunk on the assumption that I was invincible, and totally convinced of the righteousness of my cause. I whispered comforting words, my face pressed against the glass. I couldn’t tell if she would fit into the sack or how heavy she was. I looked around. Streetlights and shadows. Darkness. I did not detect any movement. I unfurled the sack and laid it on the footpath. I grasped the timber firmly and swung it in the air to give myself some practice.

  My apprehension was unfounded. The window shattered quite easily. There was a sharp noise followed by the clink of disintegrating glass. There was no alarm to prompt police vans to arrive noisily on the scene. Fortunately the shards of glass fell inside the shop window, enabling me to move freely on bare feet. I had to stand on tiptoe to reach inside. I could barely touch her ankles with the tips of my fingers. I had to be careful. Jagged bits of glass protruded from the wooden frame like the teeth of a primitive predator. I grabbed a handful of sari and pulled as hard as I could. She tumbled on top of me, her face hitting my shoulder. The lightness of her weight surprised me. I was able to lift her and drag her out without much exertion. Her sari was torn in several places, but otherwise she was unharmed.

  I paused to listen and look around. The night’s empty presence was comforting. I laid her out flat on the footpath. The sack wasn’t big enough to fit her in. With trembling hands I raised the sari above her knees. I couldn’t resist stroking her ankles. Her right leg moved and folded easily. Her flexibility was astonishing. She appeared to be in no discomfort.

  Does that hurt?

  No.

  I shall have to put you inside the sack, Meena. You don’t mind that name?

  Slowly I bent both her legs until the knees touched the shoulders. She made no sound of pain. I struggled to fit her into the sack.

  Please…please bear with me.

  Part of her head stuck out. I had to keep pushing until she was well inside, and the mouth of the sack could be bunched up and tied with a piece of string. The sack bulged awkwardly, but there was no discomfort in slinging it over my shoulder.

  I was unable to walk under stalls and squeeze through narrow openings. I tried to remain in the dark, but the streetlights made me occasionally visible. As I neared the bustee, my sense of growing elation must have made me careless. Unintentionally, I wandered into the middle of a well-lit street. It must have been an unusual sight—a near-naked dwarf with a sack on his back. A thief with a booty of stolen goods. Normally I was alert and suspicious of the slightest movement I could detect. The thrill of an audacious rescue and the unbounded joy of possession made me complacent. Visions of a future life with my partner made me oblivious to my surroundings. I assumed that no further danger would confront me until I reached the godown.

  I figured that we were likely to reach the bustee close to dawn when even the most hardened of night prowlers were asleep. It was my plan to slip into the godown unnoticed and settle her down comfortably before daybreak. I intended her to stay in my hideout and rest during the day. At night we would enjoy each other’s company. She could emerge from the hole to watch the night sky and talk. I would be a patient listener and a tender lover. A friend and a guardian. Naturally, I expected to hear how much she missed me when I was away. I would tell her stories and transport her to worlds she would otherwise never have known. The prospect of our togetherness drugged my senses. But my greatest delight was in the certainty that she was mine alone.

  I heard the voices before I saw them.

  ‘What is this?’ one of them sneered. ‘An animal that looks like a human?’

  ‘With a sack of stolen goods?’

  A stick prodded me in the ribs. ‘There are bones, skin and flesh. It might even feel pain. Does it talk?’

  They laughed. There were four of them—muscular young thugs who were bored with the quietness of the dark and wished to be entertained.

  ‘The sack? What’s in the sack?’

  I received an open-handed whack on the head. ‘The sack!’

  I thought of the future I had created for myself and tried to protect it by being reasonable. ‘Only pieces of junk I’ve gathered from various garbage dumps,’ I explained. ‘I might be able to sell them for a few rupees and buy roti.’ I rubbed my stomach. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two of them circling to get behind me. I moved quickly in a straight line to my left. My right hand fumbled inside the satchel. With the other hand I tightened my grip on the sack.

  ‘He is slippery!’ The tallest among them chuckled and lunged at me.

  The knife slashed his forearm. He staggered back, staring at the blood gushing from the cut. In slow motion he rubbed the wound. ‘The little bastard has a knife!’ he screamed in disbelief. He looked at his blood-soaked hand and began to sob.

  His warning was a deterrent. Their moment of hesitation was my opportunity to escape. I ran, snarling and barking. The street dogs began to howl. A few windows lit up. Irritated voices hurled abuses. The thugs disappeared into the night.

  I reached the bustee, stinking of sweat and oil. I crept into the godown and stood quietly, listening for the sound of breathing. The night was nailed with silence. It was too hot to sleep inside. The others would be sprawled on straw mats somewhere in the open. I lowered the sack onto the mattress and untied it. She slept peacefully. In the darkness I was unable to see her face. I imagined she would look calm and pretty. Her presence made me giddy. It wasn’t easy to slip the body out of the sack without hurting her. I straightened her legs and smoothed the sari. To touch her was to be aware that she was no longer an invention of my loneliness. I felt the softness of her clothes and caressed her face. In the joy of calmness there was no raw desire. My contentment was the awareness of her presence. Finally I had captured a strand of love. I was about to experience normal life. I sought nothing more. I lay on my side beside her, cradling her in my arms. The silence and the stillness were sacred. Outside, the paleness of the lunar light.

  ‘You do not know how lonely I have been.’

  The fountain gurgled a shy welcome for a newly married couple. The earth was a mesh of moss and ivies. We drank the sweetness from the fountain.

  There is nothing that threatens here. We can shed our fears.

  Did you bring me here to live permanently?

  This is where we can find whatever is denied to us in the other place.

  And what can you offer me now?

  Paradise.

  And what’s in this Paradise?

  Us…Our children. Enough to eat. Peace.

  But I want more. Much more.

  What would you like?

  Friends, money and nice clothes. A house…Proper men.

  Why do you want so much?

  Because, like all humans, I desire more than I need.

  And whatever I have offered? Don’t they satisfy you?

  For now, yes.

  Do you wish to go back?

  Very much.

  And…and leave all that can be yours?

  What you desire and what I want are not the same. I do not belong here.

  This wasn’t what I had planned. She hadn’t embraced my sanctuary with any enthusiasm. A coldness crept over me.

  Are you angry?

  I did not reply.

  Will you take me back?

  I didn’t mean to grip her throat so tightly. She didn’t struggle.

  Did you
bring me here to punish me? Am I your prisoner? She sounded provocatively unafraid.

  I removed my hands. I could not bring myself to give her a choice. There was a necessity for more control.

  You must be tired. You need rest. No, not here.

  I removed the coverings and placed her in the chamber.

  A comfortable home? There is a candle and a box of matches. Magazines and books, should you awaken and feel lonely. During the day I must go out and earn us a living. You mustn’t come out when I am away. Understand?

  I stroked her head to assure her of a new stability in our lives before I dragged the cover over her. It was weariness that made her unappreciative of what I had to offer. Another chance. She had to be given an opportunity to accept my gifts.

  I dragged myself to the door. Outside there was a faint breeze. I needed sleep. The ripples of pain returned. There was a hollow inside me, an empty pit without the treasure I had foreseen.

  I sat on the ground and rested my head on raised knees. Was Meena a mistake? I thought of Kamini and others like her—women I had created in my imaginings and then discarded. All those brief encounters I had found so unsatisfactory. What was wrong with them? Why didn’t they wish to come with me to the purity of a land I offered? Was it because they were corrupt and afraid of a holy alliance?

  For the first time I dreamed about Chaman. She was young and without the shadows of mortality haunting her face. Her skin was without sores or blemishes. Her teeth were faultless, and the streaks of white had disappeared from her hair.

  I didn’t think you knew about this place. I couldn’t prevent myself from staring at her.

  There was a scornful note in her laughter. I live here now. You never thought of asking me. Why?

  Baji saved me from the embarrassment of a reply. She came screaming from behind a clump of trees. Leave her! Vile creature! You kill everything you touch in your mind. Let Chaman alone! She carried a burning torch in her hand. Get out! She brought the flame close to my face.

  It wasn’t the threat of being burned that made me look at her. Like Chaman, she was transformed. The swellings on her chest had disappeared, and she wore no make-up. A rugged, broad-chested male confronted me.

  Do I look different? I blurted. Have I also changed?

  Change? You? Baji pointed a finger at me and then looked at Chaman who giggled and shook her head.

  This is my home, I said bravely. You are not allowed here.

  The sound of a flute drifted towards us. A procession of chanting men dressed in saffron robes. Leading them was…Jhunjhun Wallah. I had to look closely to be certain. He had lost weight. His face was gaunt and his stomach flat. His eyes were closed and the palms of his hands were joined in prayer.

  The men spread out in a circle around us. A priest sprinkled holy water and mumbled words of blessing for the newly acquired land. I could see a long line of men, dressed in grey, walking in our direction. Behind them were trucks and vans, tractors and bulldozers, crawling in a straight line.

  Jhunjhun Wallah clapped his hands. His eyelids sprang open. This, he declared proudly, is the land of the future. Although it belongs to me, we shall live together in prosperity. A new life! Poverty and ugliness are banished!

  A truck pulled up, close to where I was standing. Several workers emerged with a large white disc and carried it to the priest. The holy man blessed it.

  Behold! Jhunjhun Wallah cried. One of the eyes of a new God we shall worship. It is our way to salvation!

  The noise increased as the other vehicles approached.

  Poles, cables and more eyes.

  I moved quietly towards Baji. She looked startled when I jumped up and snatched the torch from her hand…

  Was that a scream?

  The crowing of the solitary rooster in the bustee.

  But…another noise. A repetitive shout that multiplied and grew louder. Again, one word—haunted, fearful.

  ‘Fire! Fire!’

  The tip of an orange tongue leapt upwards and licked the dawn sky. People ran with pots and pans. Buckets.

  I watched the stain of contrasting colours spreading against the skyline.

  11

  A riddle that inspires awe

  I am not interested in talking.

  My neighbour’s name is Sher Mohammad. A fruit-seller—drug-peddler and thief—but he is in prison for assault and rape. An unsettled man, afraid of the dark.

  ‘A mistake. A deliberate mistake,’ he mumbles as he walks around in the confined space of his cell. ‘A frame-up to throw me in jail. Otherwise they could never have trapped me. I am too clever!’ He launches into a spirited self-defence, as though I am the judge responsible for his future. ‘The girl winked at me!’ Sher Mohammad whines. ‘She stood at the door and unbuttoned her blouse.’

  This I want to hear. There is a tantalising silence. I stir in my corner. ‘And? What was she like?’

  There is a whistling noise as he sucks in his breath. ‘Tauba! Tauba!’ He is shocked by my lack of inhibition. ‘What kind of man are you to ask so shameful a question? I only went to see if she needed help.’

  The girl screamed. Her relatives rushed to assist her and found Sher Mohammad in the room.

  ‘But what happened before they came? Did you rip off her clothes?’

  ‘A set-up!’ he insists. ‘All because I am a Muslim living in a Hindu locality. They have put me here—’

  ‘Don’t lie about why you are here!’ I snap irritably. ‘These two cells are for the worst prisoners. The ones considered to be exceptionally dangerous.’

  ‘I was in a fight,’ Sher Mohammad confesses. ‘I was praying in a corner of the overcrowded cell when other prisoners began to make fun of my faith. And you? Why are you in solitary confinement?’

  ‘Assault,’ I reply solemnly. ‘Without too much provocation I bit a new prisoner. Tore some flesh from his shoulder.’

  I can hear Sher Mohammad retreating from the bars.

  ‘May I ask…why you did that?’ A tone of awed respect creeps into his voice.

  ‘I wanted to be in charge.’ That doesn’t sound authoritative enough. ‘He made too much noise. Asked too many questions. I silenced him.’

  ‘I don’t know how long I’ve been here,’ Sher Mohammad says dejectedly. ‘It is dark all the time. That high window is useless.’

  ‘Pay too much attention to time and it becomes an enemy. Learn to swim in your dreams and you will find it bearable here.’

  ‘I fear the darkness,’ he blurts unashamedly.

  ‘Retreat into your mind. You will find a candle burning there.’

  ‘Did they…’ He hesitates. ‘I know you don’t like questions, but did they take you to a mind doctor before bringing you to prison?’

  His question amuses me. ‘Are you saying I am mad?’

  My stifled giggle disturbs him. He is quick to apologise. ‘Allah strike me with pestilence if I entertain such a thought! May I burn in the flames of Jahannum! I beg forgiveness!’

  ‘I wasn’t taken to a mind doctor before coming here.’ I am careful not to give him any further information.

  ‘I do not know your name.’

  ‘Nor my face or size or shape. From my voice, can you tell how I look?’

  ‘Tall…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well-built and strong.’

  ‘Your mind sees well in the dark.’

  ‘Your name…’

  ‘I have many. Do you think I am a man?’

  ‘Well, yes! Aren’t you?’ A fearful wonderment creeps into his voice.

  ‘I could be.’

  ‘You are not a…a…djinn?’

  My voice deepens. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I beg double forgiveness if I have offended!’

  ‘What did you do to the girl?’

  He tells me and then adds, ‘I haven’t had a woman for several years. Not since my wife died.’

  ‘How do you think it feels not to have had a woman at all?’

  ‘Never?’
he gasps incredulously. ‘Is that possible? It would be like living alone in a desert. The body would waste slowly. The mind would be unhinged.’

  ‘But would such a mind see more?’

  ‘See more?’ He is bewildered.

  ‘Yes. Would it provide what the world doesn’t offer?’

  ‘I…I don’t understand!’

  ‘What can you see in the dark, Sher Mohammad?’

  ‘No…nothing.’

  ‘Close your eyes. Call that girl. Undress her slowly. Can you see her? Smell her skin? Feel her softness? Gently! Can you taste the saltiness of her sweat? Can you imagine all that?’

  ‘I…yes. Yes!’

  ‘And can you see what might have happened if you hadn’t been apprehended. If she wasn’t afraid of you…if you had been her lover…’

  ‘Yes!’ he groans.

  ‘Does that mean that you are mad? If you are able to find fulfilment in your life by some means that may be strange to others, is that madness?’

  ‘Is that what you do?’

  ‘I create what is denied to me.’

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘The inside.’

  ‘I don’t understand. The inside?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who are you?’ The fear has left him. Curiosity brings him back to the bars. ‘What are you?’

  I allow myself a chuckle. No more. I must remain elusive. A riddle that inspires awe. I retreat into silence.

  ‘I don’t even know if all this is happening!’ Sher Mohammad shouts. ‘Is my mind playing tricks?’

  Footfalls. Sher Mohammad continues to rant, indifferent to the approaching footsteps. Tonight he will be without roti and water. A faint light moves in the dark. Like an idea crossing the mind. The usual abuses. A threat to cut out Sher Mohammad’s tongue. He will bleed to death, slowly and in unbearable pain, if there is any further noise.

  ‘You are unusually quiet. For a change!’ the gaoler barks in my direction.

  Something scrapes the floor. A tin plate and a mug. I have learned to wait until he leaves. Previously I have been tricked. One night he waited until eager hands reached under the door for the bread and water. A cane came crashing down on my fingers. He laughed and shuffled off. He waits. I can hear him breathing.