by Indra Sinha
Demure housewife with small child? “She’ll do.”
So it goes on. “No good.” “Definitely.” “Nothing doing.”
I sort of recall Farouq pressing into my hand another bhangy glass, plus drinking as if all the thirst in the world’s in my mouth. I spit in the mother’s milk of time, which, I suppose, passes. How can you tell?
Hearing a knocking in my brain I open a door that leads into a room in which is a long table of dark wood polished like glass. On this the Khã’s jar stands balanced on its own upside-down reflection.
“I’ve been waiting for a good moment,” says he, “to remind you of your promise to us. Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to our good friend Animal.”
Further along the table are other jars in which are small forms floating in fluid, I can’t make out their features.
“Evening, evening,” they chorus, in little voices that sound like bells.
“Animal, meet the other directors of the board.”
“Board of what?” The children in the flasks all have terrible injuries. One has a single huge staring eye in the middle of the forehead, another has three arms, a third lacks nose and mouth.
“The Kampani of course,” says my friend, as if I’m a fool to ask.
Well, this is shocking news. “So you are the evil-minded, greedy—”
“No, you idiot,” cries my two-headed mate. “Everyone on this earth has in their body a share of the Kampani’s poisons. But of all the Kampani’s victims, we are the youngest. We unborn paid the highest price. Never mind dying, we never even got a fucking shot at life. This is why, Animal miyañ, we are the Board of Directors of the poisonwallah shares.”
I am thinking that this is a very strange turn of events which nobody could have predicted and how life is stranger than stories and these little creatures in their round long-necked flasks, even they have found some purpose in the web of things.
“Not only have we never lived, but so long as we are stuck in this situation, we will never die. You see our problem. After some time we realised that the Kampani also never dies, so we formed the Board.”
“And what is your work, exactly?”
“To undo everything the Kampani does. Instead of breaking ground for new factories to grow grass and trees over the old ones, instead of inventing new poisons, to make medicines to heal the hurts done by those poisons, to remove them from the earth and water and air…”
At this I start laughing. I say, “You are fooling yourselves if you think you can ever change the Kampani. It is too big and powerful, it cannot die, it will go on for all eternity.”
In the jars some transformation is taking place. Around the small forms of these youngest of the Kampani’s victims the soft light of moons and stars begins to shine and symbols of justice appear. As I watch they grow tall and change into shining beings of such terrifying beauty that I want to fall on my face for surely they must be angels.
“Release us,” says my friend, “and then Animal, you may rest your troubled mind, for even eternity does not last forever.”
Back to this life in a small room, sunlight creeping under my eyelids. I’m lying on a narrow cot. Curled to me is a girl, naked as the day she emptied from her mother’s womb. The dark skin of her back and arse is a shocking sight, it appears to be split, as if she’s been whipped, or some beast has raked her with its claws, but then I see it’s thick streaks of colour. Her body bears amazing markings, stripes of orange hug the curves of her ribs. Who is she? I’ve no idea. Checking myself reveals more mysteries. First of all, I too am naked. Stained I’m with the colours of Holi, my kakadus are gone, plus my lund-of-lunds, lying thick and floppy between me and the girl, is fully covered with bright powder-blue dots. What the hell has been going on?
Failing to remember, I crawl to the window. Outside, dawn is breaking over Khaufpur. It’s a morning of bright, cool air. The tops of the houses are just catching the sun and in the distance pigeons are circling the minarets of the Taj-ul-masjid. At the corner of the lane below, I can make out a sign,
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My god, so Farouq kept his word. It’s a bordello.
“So,” says a sleepy voice. “His lordship is awake.”
The girl’s eyes are open. Slanting they’re in a face daubed with green leaf shapes, looks like she’s peering through a jungle.
“Say good morning, Animal. How is your head? Remember last night?”
Full of consternation, I’m. Often I’ve thought of coming to such places, but never dared. The girl’s staring at me.
“How do you know my name?”
“Pretending you don’t know me? Ogled often enough, you’ve.”
So then it comes to me that this is Anjali, the friendly girl who used to tease me in my street days. Hard it’s to recognise her under all the colours’ve changed the way she looks, completely different she’s.
“What? Lost your memory? You don’t remember coming in shouting to make way for the lord of beasts, you’d show us something we’d never seen before?”
“No.”
“You’d have every girl in the house. You do remember saying that, after your friend left?”
“Where’s my friend? You say he left?” The two of us are naked, covered in colour, this is a very bizarre situation.
“Right after he dropped you off. Don’t blame him. I’ve never seen anyone as out of it as you were. Can you remember what you were wearing?”
Ah, it’s coming back to me now, that deep nasha, the world breaking up into points of light connected by coloured shapes, in the alley of tinsmiths that winds down from the Pir Gate, I am with Farouq. Despite the fact that it’s night and Holi night too, the smiths are doing their stuff, working the metal, pouring it into their moulds white hot flaring so bright it hurts the eye. Farouq for some reason is wearing shades and asks if I would like to borrow them. Good idea, now the furnaces are easier to look at, so many colours there are in flame, it’s like they too are playing Holi. Next thing Farouq has draped a cobra round my neck. Well I know he’s a desperate man, but this is too much. I leap back screaming in terror, the bastard just laughs. “You moron, it’s a tie.” Well, never have I seen one loose before, how was I to know they were so long and shaped like that, like a snake with a fanned out hood, like the cobra that garlands Siva? Farouq, giggling, knots it round my neck. “Wah, a fillum star you look,” says he, standing back to admire. “Shah Rukh Khan, step aside, here’s Animal Khan.”
No more than this do I recall.
“You came roaring in,” says Anjali, “some of the girls were terrified, others were laughing at you. You demanded drink, when it came you spilled it on the floor and said you would not touch such vile daru. Some were for throwing you out, but madam said no, you’d paid, or at least your friend had. Then they ask which girl you like, you’ve said, ‘My old and dear friend Anjali.’ Difficult bastard, you. Madam asks your name, you say ‘Animal!’ in a fierce voice. So I said, ‘Always boasting, men. What are you going do, Mr. Animal, bite me?’ ‘Talk to me like that, I will,’ you said, so I grabbed you by the tie and led you up here like a dog, the rest of them were falling about hooting. Do you really remember none of this?”
I don’t but a big question is burning in my mind. “Excuse me asking, Anjali, but after we came up here, what exactly happened?”
“What happened? That too you’ve forgotten?”
“Please tell me.” Surely it can’t be. What vile and malicious fate would give me my first fuck then completely erase the memory?
“Did we…do anything?”
“Last night,” she says, “you wouldn’t stop talking. You talked of old times, when we knew each other before, all your friends. Oh don’t look worried, it was interesting, I enjoyed it, we had a laugh. Then you got all dowly, said you
were the only animal that never would find a mate because there’s only one of you, no female like you there’s. I said, not surprising have you seen how you look, well, you resembled a wild rainbow, so then I got this idea, I found some Holi colours, we painted each other.” Leaning there in bed she seems quite happy to chatter, I become aware of her bare breasts, hanging near my face.
“So we didn’t do anything?”
“Darling, don’t look at me like it’s my fault.”
“Well, did we or didn’t we?”
“You fell asleep.”
Seeing my dejected expression, she says, “Aha, so you’d have liked it? I did wonder whether your friend was taking the piss.”
What can I say? Of course I wanted that thing for which I’ve been lusting so long, plus I used to be fond of this girl. Almost pretty she’s, her face is fully pocked, what in Khaufpur we call naqsheen katora, an engraved bowl, but her smile is certainly friendly, plus of course she’s naked, never have I been so close to a naked woman.
I think maybe she has guessed what’s going through my mind, for a look of mischief comes to her face, she says, “O ho, so now after all you’d like to do it? Today is a new fee, let’s see your money. Give.”
“I haven’t any.”
She bursts out laughing, “I am teasing you. Your friend paid, you’re still owed. I guess I could throw you out if I wanted, but you know what, Animal, I always liked you, I used to wonder what it would be like to do it with you. And that was even before I saw this thing you’re toting around.”
“Please, I am so embarrassed,” I’ve mumbled. This sets her off in fresh peals of laughter. “Wah, hark at this gentleman. Comes to a place like this and wants to show off his Lukhnawi manners. Come on, do you want it or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Oh my!” Suddenly she’s got it. “You haven’t done it before. Your first time.” She’s laughing at me.
“Never mind,” says I, whose head is full of pain. Naked, covered in colours as I am, let’s try to recover whatever dignity a person like me can have.
“Don’t be that way,” she says. “I’ll show you what to do. Look, you could touch me if you want. Here, like this. And I could touch you, so. See, if we lie like this, if I’m like this and you are there…”
Well, I would like to touch her. I reach out a hand but at the last moment hesitate. She takes my hand and presses it on the breast which is warm and full, the nipple’s tickling my palm.
“Take more.” She offers the other one. “Do you want to kiss them? Or lick? Do you like to suck them? You can bite too, if you’re gentle.”
“I just wanted to touch. To see what it’s like.”
At last I take away my hand from her breast. I’ve made no further move, after a while she begins stroking my back. “So strong, beautiful the top half of you, such a fine chest, strong shoulders. So good-looking a face. And this thing of yours…” She’s reached out and taken my heavy monster in her hand, “If only the rest of you matched, you could marry a princess.”
So then she begins doing stuff which, Eyes, I don’t want to tell, nor is there a reason why I should. Let it be enough that at this moment, when at last I could have my desire, enjoy that pleasure of which I’ve so long dreamed, you know what, my big, boastful, out-of-control lund won’t wake up. Deep asleep, it’s, or else cringing in fear.
“Don’t worry,” the girl says. “You and me, sweetheart, our life is tragedy. Come here.” She gives me a cuddle, this I like a lot. We two rainbow-coloured animals lie curled together in the dawn light of that small room.
“Anjali, did you really like me? Before?”
“Yes I did.”
“But why?”
The cot’s narrow, our bodies are touching. My hand is on her side, I let it slide to where her waist narrows and on over the high curve of her hip.
“We were both in the shit,” says Anjali, “but you were always laughing. So I laughed too.” She looks so sad, it comes to me that she’s hardly older than I am.
“Anjali, how did you come to this life?”
Her story’s the same as so many you hear. She had gone to the fields near her village to cut grass. A woman came, accompanied by two men. They took her to Lucknow and put her in a kotha. “That’s where I learned the trade. From there I was brought here. I can’t escape, it’s my life now.”
“Sounds like you hate it.”
“What’s to hate? Automatic it’s as namasté. Undress, close your eyes, after that, what can I say, time passes.”
“You want to leave? Walk out of here. Come, we’ll go together.”
“It’s not that easy. I have no money.”
“You don’t need money,” I told her. “I can show you how to live without it.”
“Dreaming, you’re,” she says with a bitter sigh. “Madam paid money for me. Think she’ll let me go just like that? A girl tried to run away, the pimps caught her, they beat her, then they threw acid in her face.”
“Don’t worry. I have friends who can deal with those bastards,” says I.
“You’re crazy. Better not even to think of such things.”
We lie in silence a while, each with our own thoughts. At last she says, “Sorry I couldn’t do anything for you.”
“There is one thing I would like.” I whisper and she looks amazed.
“Just that?”
“I swear, nothing else.”
So she lies back and obliges. Now this is the third naked woman I’ve seen, this one has a figure like a Coca-Cola bottle, and plump brown legs. When I spied on Elli and Nisha all I saw really were dark shadows, never did I get a good look. Now at last I’m seeing from close up, just a few inches, in all its detail, this mysterious thing, this alluring grace of which I have dreamed, for which I’ve lusted, over which I’ve disgraced myself and behaved like an idiot.
Dark it’s, the outer parts look like the swelled lips of a large cowrie, within it’s more like a canna lily, two whorled petals whose edges are almost black, tinged with purple like the bloom on a grape. These edges are also somewhat frilly, do not join below, at the top they collide in a small peak that resembles a woman with her head veiled. This is it, the most powerful thing in the world because all men go crazy for it, more precious than gold since for its sake rich men lose fortunes, sweeter than power because craving for it makes leaders of countries risk their jobs, more powerful than honour because it makes fools of respectable men. What is this thing? It feels wrong to call it a thing, from nowhere the word grace jumps into my head.
“You can touch if you want,” she says, but I don’t want to, I just want to look. So her fingers open the petals to let me see, a glistening rosy cavern is revealed. How delicate the skin is, of such softness, threaded with tiny veins, like you find in leaves or petals, really it is most like a flower and reminds me of the hibiscus at the base of whose petals is a tube filled with liquid, you pick a flower and suck, it’s joyous as honey. She shows me how the rose cave leads to a tunnel whose mouth at first was hidden, this is the way that leads to the womb, where life begins, where I began, where we all began. I try to imagine the womb and realise that it’s an empty space, which means there’s nothingness at the very source of creation. No wonder by some this grace is worshipped with incense and flowers and prayers. I said it was the most powerful thing in all the world, I was wrong, it’s more powerful than all the world for it contains the whole world plus heaven and hell beside, in its depths is the whole of the past plus all that will be. I’m thinking of le pouvoir et la gloire that Ma Franci’s always talking about, the power of this grace makes nuclear bombs look like firecrackers, the glory is that it makes its home between the thighs of this child whose thighs are bruised by the hips of drunken men, not one of whom, I’m willing to bet, has ever understood what he is defiling.
“I have seen now, thanks.” With that I’ve looked for my kakadus and begun preparing to leave.
Says Anjali, “You are a
very weird person, Animal. Give me a little money,” but I say no and she says, “Animal, you are a hard-hearted bastard.”
TAPE SIXTEEN
Oh the homecoming from that day and night of bhang, the city is full of coloured winds, scents sing in my nostrils, my four feet press lightly on the earth. As I near our place Jara comes running, and there’s Ma. “Where have you been, we were worrying, the dog and me.” “Never fear,” I say cheerfully, “see, I’ve brought food.” I’d found money in my pocket and bought ishtoo and kulcha from a cafe. “Today we’ll have a feast.”
What joy, I’m telling myself that it’s a good thing my zob didn’t get hard like it normally does, must mean I didn’t want it to. I’ve conquered, mastered that unruly thing, it cowered like a sulky dog all the while I was with the girl, no longer am I ruled by a fucking quéquette, this is how I’m celebrating. This foolish state of affairs lasts until night, when the last of the bhang has worn off. Listening to the scorpions, unable to sleep, I imagine the girl beside me. No longer does my monster wish to abstain. The curse of lust is back worse than ever. No peace the bastard lund now gives, constantly it begs for the fist, sends you blind they say in which case I’ve no right to be seeing the light of this world, oh it fills me with shame to remember, Eyes, don’t tell me you’ve never touched yourself, if you felt shame, imagine it a thousand times worse.
From joy runs a straight road to despair. Cursing silently on my bed of grasses, why do I allow myself to be dominated by the thing between my legs? Is it my master? Have I sworn to obey it? Will it kill me if I tell it no? Hatred of the self, deep and harsh I feel, loathing for all the dreadful things I’ve done. Claim to love Nisha yet spy on her and go to bed with a prostitute. Elli’s my friend yet secretly I gloat that I have seen her grace? I dream of tumbling down endless stairs until I am at the bottom of a deep well with the opening far above me and out of reach. Days and nights are the same down there, but one night the moon shines in, a crow flies down to dip its beak in my guts.
