Animal’s People

by Indra Sinha

  “Fuck you then!” I shout, “I’ll live alone!”

  Now all of this happens in the first hour of the third day, I mean the first hour of daylight, while I’m yelling like this the sun is trying to rise. After this I’ve lost every trace of time, voices and creatures are gone, all I remember is being alone, naked, looking for water in that burning jungle. Weak I’m, hardly can I drag myself forward. “Stop moving and you’ll die,” drawls a new voice in my head, like it doesn’t give a fuck. Hard it’s to keep moving, one moment the world’s on fire, the next I’ve begun shivering, frozen in the blaze of sun.

  “Not the world, it’s you who’re burning,” this voice informs me. Then, as the world spins in a wreck of colours and shapes, they’ve all joined in, all my voices, old, familiar and new, in a chorus full of hate.

  your torment never can be eased

  for your soul it’s that’s diseased

  tu n’est pas animal mais bête

  your crimes we never shall forget

  and all the friends that you betrayed

  will come to curse your sorry shade

  A man and a woman dressed in Khaufpuri fashion appear among the trees, they approach me, smile kindly and say, “Poor child, you have had a horrible life. Curse the day that Kampani left us dead in the road drowned in our own blood, we are your parents, we have come to take you home.”

  I find Nisha sitting on a rock weeping and she says, “Animal, I have been looking for you all over, it’s you I love after all not Zafar dead and gone, you shall have your desire for it’s mine too, so do whatever you want, go ahead Animal, fuck me, stick your big cock in me.”

  Elli comes to me and says, “Animal climb up in one of these trees and I will undress so you can see my cunt and watch me touch myself and when you come down I’ll straighten your back and make you into a human.”

  Farouq appears before me bringing a suit and tie, says he, “I’m sorry for all the bad things I did mate next year I’ll lie down flat on the hot coals so you can walk over my body and save your four paws from burning.”

  Zafar’s there beside me, walking among the trees, carrying the world on his back, he smiles at me and says, “Let me carry you too, Animal, your feet are sore, by the way I forgive all you did, because you did it out of love.”

  The buffalo says, “Here I am far from my two Italian greyhounds to offer you a big important job with the Kampani with plenty of salary plus you can ride in my car.”

  Evening brings Pandit Somraj walking towards me through the trees. He’s holding two birds, one per hand, squeezing them to make them sing, says he, “No music in this world you cannot learn.”

  With night comes Ma, carrying a corpse, its head she has bitten off, is stuffing its guts in her mouth, “Are you hungry Animal, are you thirsty?”

  “Fuck off! All of you! Leave me alone!”

  The moon rises. By its light I reject all gods including god, all deities, avatars, godlings, I spit in the mother’s milk of holy men, babas, sadhus, gurus, rishis, sufis, seers, priests, rulers of heaven and earth, I shit in the mouths of presidents, prime ministers, chief ministers, politicians, governors, magistrates, generals, colonels, policemen, kampanis, lawyers, jarnaliss, fat-wallet bastards, owners of cocks bigger than mine if any, also smaller, I curse all merchants, chai-wallahs, sellers of cloth, fruit and vegetables, pill-peddlers, magicians, pimps, doctors, sleight-of-hand conmen, beggars, keepers of dancing bears, hunger strikers, Khaufpuris, non-Khaufpuris, the living, the dead.

  I am a small burning, freezing creature, naked and alone in a vast world, in a wilderness where is neither food nor water and not a single friendly soul. But I’ll not be bullied. If this self of mine doesn’t belong in this world, I’ll be my own world, I’ll be a world complete in myself. My back shall be ice-capped mountains, my arse mount Meru, my eyes shall be the sun and moon, the gusts of my bowels the four winds, my body shall be the earth, lice its living things, but why stop there? I’ll be my own Milky Way, comets shall whizz from my nose, when I shake myself pearls of sweat shall fly off and become galaxies, what am I but a complete miniature universe stumbling around inside this larger one, little does this tree realise that the small thing bumbling at its roots, scraping at its bark, clawing a way into its branches, is a fully fledged cosmos.

  I, the universe that was once called Animal, sit in the tree and survey the moonlit jungles of my kingdom.

  “Now I am truly alone.”

  Oh how strange this thing feels, so curious to touch, I’d forgotten how it grows in the hand, swells to fill my fist. Close the fingers round its stem, aim it at the stars, pump it like a shotgun to blast the night with living galaxies.

  TAPE TWENTY-THREE

  That night I died. I crawled down from that tree to find somewhere to finish. Fever was crackling in me, I was dry as a sucked-out, shrivelled orange, the lizard was waiting.

  here is the sun

  lewd irish nun

  Of death I remember nothing.

  My first knowledge of the afterlife is light sliding in between huge rocks. I am in a place where giant slabs rear from the earth and lean one on another. Fever’s gone, hunger and thirst are no more, body feels light as a stalk. I know what’s happened. I’ve died and am now a ghost. Is this heaven or is it hell? No fire’s here, in the shade of the rocks it’s cool. High, far above my head swallows are nesting. So weak I’m, newly born into this new life, hardly can I crawl to the entrance.

  The outside world has changed. Gone is the burning heat of the Nautapa. A cool air’s leaning up through the forest, each leaf on every tree is clear and sharp in a green cloud light. Across the valley trees on another hillside are churning in an invisible storm. I’m lying on my side, looking up into the sky, which is dark, above me large birds are circling. Not all the potatoes did I eat, this is what comes into my mind, together with the thought that the birds are coming down, soon their wings will cancel the light. Zafar’s voice says, “What an ingenious equation.” I look for Zafar but everything’s dark. Later I become aware that I am still lying in the entrance to the cave, my face is wet. There’s a sound of roaring and rushing. It’s water. Rain is falling out there in the world softening the shapes of the forest, the lines of trees on the hillsides, all are misted in grey rain blowing across and water is dripping down from the rocks and pouring in white chutes down the slopes, the water is in my hands and my face and in my eyes, washing them clean, it’s in my mouth, tasting like no mere miracle. Again Zafar’s voice speaks to me, “If there is heaven on earth, it is this.” So that’s how I know I am in paradise. I drink and drink and drink till my stomach’s hard as a melon.

  Towards the end of my first day in paradise the rain clears, a red sun hangs in the west, sending long shadows into the cave. With newly wakened eyes I see what before I’d not noticed, there are scratches on the rocks, and daubs of colour that are not natural marks but like paintings done by a child’s finger. There are animals of every kind, leopards and deer and horses and elephants, there’s a tiger and a rhino, among them are small figures on two legs, except some have horns some have tails they are neither men nor animals, or else they are both, then I know that I have found my kind, plus this place will be my everlasting home, I have found it at last, this is the deep time when there was no difference between anything when separation did not exist when all things were together, one and whole before humans set themselves apart and became clever and made cities and kampanis and factories.

  Time in paradise is like in the Nutcracker, it ceases to have meaning, suns and moons migrate into the sky and tumble into the west. Days pass, or maybe it’s just one, or years, or thousands of years, I am immortal. There is nothing of me that will die. The memories of what happened to me in the forest when I was still alive are like pale forms glimmering in darkness and it comes to me what I thought was life was nothing but darkness. The time before the forest is a fading nightmare of a city of stinks and misery, I think of thousands and thousands dead in the last m
oments of Khaufpur. Our whole lives were lived in the dark. Those who were there with me are now in paradise, where’s no Khaufpur, no India, no trace of flames, hell is not visible from here. These hills, these forests go on forever. Such thoughts are like dreams that attach themselves to this or that, to a bird flying past, or a grass stalk bent under water drops. All things speak to me. From a tiny place inside the curl of a fern comes a voice, that old voice I love, “Now Animal, you are safe, you and all the people of the Apokalis, because he will shelter them, no more shall they suffer hunger or thirst, nor have to do heavy work, never again will they be tormented by the sun nor by burning winds, for he will care for them and lead them to the sources of living water, he will heal their sores and their coughs and fevers and he will wipe the tears from their eyes.”

  Thud. Something’s fallen near my head. High above in the arch of this jungle temple, with swallows darting round it, a beehive is hanging. On the ground is a lump of waxy bee-comb. I’ve grabbed it, bitten into it, honey’s running between my lips down my chin, never has anything tasted so good.

  Much comforted by this food and by Ma’s words I sleep, in my dreams blind bearded men weep over I don’t know what. Next thing sun’s streaming into the cavern. I’ve eaten more of the honeycomb, then crawled to drink from a pool that has filled among the rocks. In this pool for the first time I see my heavenly self. My new face is skin stretched around a skull, huge and dark are my eyes, my strong chest is a rack of ribs, plus here’s a great disappointment, in paradise I thought I would be upright, didn’t Ma promise it? but stretch as I might I’m still bent. Plus I soon learn that in heaven just as in the earthly world is no escape from crapping, my bowels are weak and watery.

  I get to wondering what has happened to all the others who died, not one of them have I seen. Somewhere in these endless jungles must be the city of god and there the poor will be gathered. Singing with joy they’ll be, like it says in Sanjo’s book. I eat more honey, drink water and try to sing, but although in my head I can hear music from my mouth comes nothing but croaking, like one of Somraj’s frogs.

  At some point I’ve heard leaves rustling, may be a boar, or a deer. Then such joy. It’s Jara. Thrilled I’m to see her, I give a great shout, which stumbles out croaking. So she did die in that cloud of poison, surely Ma’s with her, they’ve come to join me in heaven. Jara comes whining to the foot of the rocks. She’s a loud ghost of a dog, because then she’s barking, attracting other ghosts. Soon they too appear before me. Climbing up the hillside through the trees is the shade of Farouq and behind him comes a ghostly Zafar, thin and slow on his spirit feet. Of course, these two were the first to die. I am outside my rock fastness at the top of the slope, they’ve not yet seen me, but Jara raises her head and sniffs. Then she’s leaping forward, up the hill.

  With all my strength I call, “Farouq, you were wrong! There are bees in paradise!”

  “Zafar,” comes the distant voice of Farouq. “We have found him.”

  Both of them begin to run. Behind them, other figures are appearing out of the trees. Looks like Chunaram, so he too’s dead, plus Bhoora, following after these come Ali Faqri plus some lads from the Nutcracker. So Ma was right, the whole city must have perished.

  Then Jara’s on me, licking and whining, tail’s a blur. “Welcome to paradise,” says I as the dog jumps at me, licking my face, whining, placing her paws on my shoulders. “What took you so long?”

  Zafar’s ghost comes up and stands smiling down at me and Jara. He kneels and puts his arms around me. “By god in whom I refuse to believe, we have found you.”

  “Welcome to Paradise,” says I, “there’s honey and water for all. The Apokalis and the bad times are over.”

  “Fucker,” says the ghost of Farouq, all grin he’s. “So you are alive.”

  I have to be honest, at the sound of his rough tongue, great gladness fills my heart. “This is heaven,” I say happily, “and we are all dead.”

  “Cobbler’s arse, do I look dead to you?” He’s given me a tight hug till my bones are cracking.

  “Who are you calling cobbler’s arse? Bordel de merde!”

  “Heap! Dungpile!”

  “Type of a fart!”

  Ha ha ha, we’re rolling on the grass with our arms round one another, then he looks at me and says, “In the name of god in whom Zafar refuses to believe, get dressed, or we’ll all die of fright.” He holds out something, it’s my kakadus. “Found in a ditch. The truck driver who dropped you, he showed us the place. Eight days we’ve been combing these jungles.” He lifts me up and says, with a tenderness I’ve never before heard, “You fucking cunt.”

  “You who’re the cunt,” I says. “Don’t need kakadus here. We are in paradise, where there’s clean water and honey, delicious to eat, every and all things in the forest talk to you, just listen, you too will hear.”

  By now they’ve all come up, this speech of mine they’ve heard in silence, then one after the other my friends kneel down and embrace me and whisper their fond greetings in my ear.

  “Why Bhoora,” says Zafar, as the good auto-wallah with arms around my neck’s kissed me with tears rolling, “I am thinking this too is a chicken day.”

  “What chicken?” It’s Chunaram. “Today is a kebab day. At my place. All are invited.” He takes a great breath. “Today, kebabs are free!”

  Says Farouq to me with a wink, “See how he loves you?”

  Ali Faqri says, “Praise god you are alive. Abdul Saliq sends wishes plus safe return to Khaufpur.”

  “Don’t you understand?” I say to them. “Khaufpur’s gone. No more of that misery, here we are all free in paradise.”

  “Animal, you just take it easy,” says one of my Nutcracker chums. “We’ll soon have you down from here.” To Zafar he remarks, “He must have a fever.”

  “Pity Elli doctress has left,” says another.

  “We’ll take him to my place,” says Zafar. “He shall stay with me.”

  “What? Where are you taking me? I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  But already they are lifting me up. “So light he’s. Hardly weighs at all.” Then we’re all moving down to the trees. I weep, I struggle, I say, “Do not take me away from here, not unless it’s to the city of god.”

  “Animal brother,” says Zafar kindly. He has me by a shoulder and I can see his face. “Try to understand. You did not die. By a miracle you are alive and we are taking you home.”

  “This is my home now, it’s my place.”

  “Then we shall come back again when you’re better. You have a fever, you are starving. One more day up here you would have died.”

  But still I don’t get the message. For a while I’ve raved on about how dying was no big deal, that living in darkness and poverty was the real problem. “Zafar, it’s paradise for us. We’ve left behind the world of suffering.”

  “Alas,” he says, “I fear not.”

  Halfway down the mountain they stop for a rest. “Animal, are you hungry?” asks Bhoora. “We have food.” From a bag he produces a small tiffin of rice, daal soup, pickle.

  “Did Ma send it? Where is she? I thought she’d be with you.”

  A look passes between them. “Eat sparingly,” says Zafar. “First take a little soup. We learned this following our own fast.”

  Zafar says that when news of the factory riot reached him and Farouq they decided to stop their fast. “Police came, they took us to a private clinic where the CM was waiting. He told us that rumours were flying round that we had died, he asked us to help stop the trouble.” Zafar and Farouq agreed to the CM’s request on condition that the CM swore by his temple gods to listen to what they had to say, and not to do anything or make any deal without their consent. This the CM promised. They were taken by a jeep to the places where the trouble was worst, to show themselves, that they were not dead, they calmed the people and sent them back to their homes.

  “What about Nisha?” says I, beginning at last to doubt. “She knew you
were dead.”

  “The first place we went was the Chicken Claw, to show ourselves to Nisha and Somraj-ji. That’s when we heard you had run off. Nisha begged us to find you.”

  “Now I know you’re lying. Nisha hates me.”

  “She does not, she likes you more than me I think for she told me, ‘Zafar, you bring him back or don’t come back yourself.’”

  “She really said that?”

  “Yes, plus she told me when we found you to give you this.”

  My heart fails. He hands me a cap embroidered in blue and scarlet silks.

  By this gift, I lost my immortality, I knew then that Zafar really was alive and so was I. Life dropped like a heavy mantle about my shoulders and I began to weep for pity that I was to return to the city of sorrows.

  When it’s time to move on, they go to lift me up again.

  “Don’t carry me. On my own feet I’ll come.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” says Farouq. “Why did you run away and come all the way up here?” But this I don’t wish to tell.

  With the dog jumping round all, we move slowly down through the forest where I’d done my dying, by daylight in company of friends it seems harmless. The animals that were absent before now choose to show themselves. Farouq exclaims when he sees branches dipping beneath a troop of monkeys. Birds we see, deer in the distance, something like a giant squirrel’s tail hanging out of a tree. Soft clouds of rain come drifting between the trees, by a place where water is running’s laid a long white snake skin, perfect from nostrils to tip of tail. Says Zafar softly, “hameen ast-o hameen ast-o hameen ast.”