by Anosh Irani
In one swift motion, Anand Bhai slashes Munna across the right eye. Blood spurts out. The ladies’ slippers that were in Munna’s hand fall to the floor. Then Munna is painfully silent as he bends over and covers his eye. No one looks directly at him. Chottu grits his teeth. He may be blind but he seems to be aware that something terrible has happened. One low, raspy “aah” from Munna joins the bleating of the goat.
“Take him to Darzi,” says Anand Bhai, to no one in particular.
He wipes the blood off the knife with his white shirt. Chottu leads Munna away, to the room on their left. A young man opens the door. He sees Munna and then looks at Anand Bhai.
“Navin, ask Darzi to take care of this one,” says Anand Bhai.
“What happened?” asks Navin. He is thin and wipes the sleep from his eyes.
“Munna thinks he’s a big don. Take care of him, brother.”
Chamdi wonders if that is truly Anand Bhai’s brother or if it is just a manner of speaking. The young man does not resemble Anand Bhai at all. He is clean-shaven and very thin.
“Okay, Anand,” replies Navin.
They must be brothers, thinks Chamdi. No one has called Anand Bhai by his first name. Navin lets Munna and Chottu in and closes the door.
“I have something important to tell you all,” Anand Bhai says. “There was an incident in the city last night. Does anyone know where Radhabai Chawl is?”
No one answers.
“Radhabai Chawl is in Jogeshwari,” continues Anand Bhai. “A Hindu family was sleeping in their room. Six people in all. Some say there were nine of them. We are not sure at this point. But the family included two children and one crippled girl. Some men bolted the door from outside and threw a petrol bomb in from the window. The family was burnt alive. Some say only the cripple girl survived.”
Anand Bhai purses his lips. Then he sticks his tongue between his teeth as if something is stuck in there.
“Do you know who did this?” he asks.
In the silence that follows Anand Bhai’s question, Chamdi thinks of Mrs. Sadiq. Perhaps she was right. Bombay has gone mad and people are hurting each other in terrifying ways.
“I’ll give you a hint,” says Anand Bhai. “The neighbours heard shouts of ’Allah-O-Akbar’ as the flames were rising. So let me ask you again: Who did this?”
“Muslims,” comes the answer.
“Yes. Muslims,” says Anand Bhai.
“Why did they burn them?” asks Jackpot, the boy without legs. Chamdi is surprised when he hears Jackpot’s voice. It is truly the soft voice of a child. Jackpot raises one hand to his face, but realizes that his slipper is on his hand, so he puts his hand back on the ground, takes the slipper off, and then scratches his nose.
“They burnt them because of Babri Masjid,” replies Anand Bhai.
The name is familiar to Chamdi. The Hindus broke down the Babri Masjid, a mosque in Ayodhya, a faraway place, Mrs. Sadiq had said, and now Hindus and Muslims were hurting each other in Bombay because of that.
A few days later, when Raman was cleaning the toilets, Chamdi had asked why the Hindus broke down the mosque. Raman explained that Ayodhya was where Lord Rama was born. Hundreds of years ago, there used to be a temple there. A Mughal ruler called Babur broke down the Ram temple and built the Babri Masjid in its place. Now the Hindus want that temple rebuilt. So they destroyed the mosque. At the time, Chamdi dismissed Raman’s words as those of a drunkard.
As Chamdi recalls this, Anand Bhai calmly removes a packet of Gold Flake cigarettes from the pocket of his white shirt. He takes out a cigarette and puts it into his mouth. He holds the cigarette very lightly between his lips, and Chamdi feels the cigarette will fall to the ground at any moment. Anand Bhai then uses a gold lighter and speaks with the burning cigarette in his mouth.
“This retaliation from Muslims should not have happened. Mark my words, the flames of Radhabai Chawl will spread all over Bombay,” he says. “The order has come from very high. There will be more riots. Killing, raping.”
Chamdi takes a step back when he hears Anand Bhai talk about killing. Sumdi firmly holds Chamdi’s shoulders and Chamdi understands that he must stay calm and not move again.
“I have organized a group of men,” says Anand Bhai. “You boys must also join in. It will be good training. Get ready to bajao some young Muslim girls. Shops will be looted also. Police will be on our side, no fear.”
Chamdi feels uneasy. He did not understand all of what Anand Bhai just said. But the word killing is known to him.
“Now all of you hurry up and give me the begging money,” says Anand Bhai. “I want to steal Mohan’s car tonight. Hope it’s in good condition so I can sell it fast. Jackpot—you want to buy a car?”
Everyone laughs. Soon, they all start to line up.
Handsome inches forward, the ball-bearing wheels of his wooden platform unable to move freely on the gravel. Anand Bhai looks at the old man who sits near the goat. The old man has lit yet another beedi, but he throws it away immediately and picks up what he was sitting on—a metal box. He walks towards Anand Bhai and places the metal box on the gravel.
Handsome states the amount he earned. Anand Bhai gives Handsome his share. The rest goes into the metal box. Handsome vigorously scratches his head with both hands as though he has not washed in weeks.
When it is Jackpot’s turn, Anand Bhai tousles the boy’s hair. Jackpot is younger than Pushpa at the orphanage, Chamdi thinks, and yet he knows so much. Chamdi stares at Anand Bhai’s bloodshot eyes and the sweat on his chest. Even though they are out in the open, the smell of beedis is very strong. Perhaps it is because there is no wind. The air is old and it refuses to leave.
Handsome draws Anand Bhai’s attention to Chamdi.
“So who are you?” Anand Bhai asks Chamdi.
“He’s new here,” says Sumdi. “We brought him to take your blessing.”
“I’m asking the boy.”
“My name is Chamdi.”
“Chamdi? What sort of name is that?”
Chamdi knows his answers must be brief. A lack of respect will result in blood.
“My father gave me that name.”
“Where’s your father?”
“Dead.”
Chamdi is surprised at the speed of his answer. But he will never reveal that he is looking for his father.
“Did Sumdi explain the rules to you?” questions Anand Bhai.
“Yes.”
“Explain them back to me.”
“Everything we make is yours.”
“Lovely rule.”
“Then you give us back whatever you feel is right.”
“And you saw what happened to Munna—he didn’t follow rules. He carried a knife. He disrespected me. Now for a while you will beg. Get to know your area really well. Then slowly you will progress to stealing. No stealing until you are trained.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Anand Bhai.”
“Good.”
“Tonight was your first night and I’m in a good mood. So you keep whatever you earned.”
Chamdi is glad to hear that. But he corrects himself immediately. He is not proud of the way he has earned his money.
Anand Bhai turns to Sumdi. “So—how are my eyes doing? Have they seen anything useful?”
“Yes,” says Sumdi. “On Lamington Road there’s a jeweller shop. Every Monday, in the afternoon at around three, this young woman comes to buy jewellery. She looks like she is newly married. Only the driver is with her and he’s not very strong. I have seen for a month now, and she is there every week on Mondays, without fail.”
“Hmm. We’ll do some setting.”
Sumdi tells Anand Bhai how much money he made. He gets his share and deposits the rest in the metal box.
Then Anand Bhai asks Guddi: “Did you sell anything today?”
“One Laxmi, one Hanuman, one Ganesha,” she replies.
A wail erupts from the room to their left. A glow ema
nates from the open window—it is the light of a natural flame, an oil lantern perhaps.
Anand Bhai clicks his tongue. “Darzi must be sewing Munna up,” he says to Guddi. “So you can’t enter the room now. But the old woman has made more gods for you. Go to her tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Anand Bhai.”
“Don’t worry, Munna’s a tough boy.”
Anand Bhai says this to himself as if he now regrets slashing Munna. They all stand in silence and listen for more wails. As Chamdi stares at the room, he sees shadows on the wall, vague shapes, and he understands now why the man is called Darzi. He is Anand Bhai’s tailor, the one who does the dirty stitching. Darzi must be taking a needle and thread and sewing Munna up while Chottu holds Munna. He wonders if Darzi is a real doctor—probably not. He hopes Munna gets some medicine for the pain.
“I’ll go and see how Munna is,” Anand Bhai says. “You all go home.” He turns to Sumdi. “On the way feed Dabba. Here’s some money, buy him mutton chops. I don’t think anyone has gone to him since yesterday. And tell him I will come for information later tonight. He’d better have something.”
As Anand Bhai is entering Darzi’s room, a large white car pulls up in the square. The driver keeps the engine running and the car’s headlights blaze onto the gravel, and Chamdi can see every stone and pebble. The back door of the car opens and out steps a boy. Chamdi is glad that the boy is not deformed in any way. In fact, the boy looks very clean, as though he has been scrubbed thoroughly. His blue T-shirt and white shorts seem brand new. He is as young as Chamdi, and his features are very soft, and his hair falls over his eyes. Chamdi says to himself that this boy could easily be mistaken for a girl.
Anand Bhai comes out of Darzi’s room and goes to the driver’s window. The windows are tinted. A male hand drops a packet into Anand Bhai’s palm and the window closes. Anand Bhai digs the packet into the front of his black trousers and watches as the car turns and drives away.
The boy stands still for a moment. Then he walks quietly towards Anand Bhai. As he walks, the boy looks at Chamdi, probably because he has spotted somebody new. Chamdi smiles at the boy, but the boy does not return the smile. He simply walks lifelessly across the gravel as if he has nowhere to go. Then suddenly the boy collapses to the ground, and Chamdi rushes to his aid. As he bends down to help the boy, he notices the boy’s white shorts. There is a dark patch of blood on them and drops of blood trickle down his thigh. Chamdi cannot take his eyes off the blood. He wonders why the boy is bleeding. Anand Bhai crouches down and taps the boy lightly on his cheeks. For a moment, Anand Bhai’s eyes lock into Chamdi’s. Anand Bhai smiles, and Chamdi looks away. Anand Bhai picks the boy up and carries him to his room.
Sumdi leads Chamdi away from the adda. This time, the three of them take a new route. Chamdi trails them, and pays little attention to his surroundings. He is trying hard to forget the boy. Even though he has seen so many deformed people, there was something about this boy that disturbed him. He does not understand why Anand Bhai smiled at him, and why that smile made his skin crawl.
“Who was that boy?” asks Chamdi after a while.
Guddi picks up a broken twig from the ground and chucks it onto the wall that surrounds a building compound. There is an advertisement for Lifebuoy Soap painted on the wall.
“Who was that boy?” Chamdi asks again. “There was blood on him …”
“That was Khilowna,” answers Sumdi.
What strange names these people have, thinks Chamdi. Handsome and Jackpot’s names do not match their appearance at all. And now this boy is called a toy.
“Why is he called Khilowna?” he asks.
“Look—do you have to know everything?” snaps Guddi.
“I just …”
“He must know,” says Sumdi. “Let him know. The boy is called Khilowna because grown men play with him. They hurt him in dirty ways. The blood you saw, that was because …”
“Sumdi …” interrupts Guddi.
“Anyway, he belongs to Anand Bhai. He looks pretty, but he’s filthy, he’s …”
“That’s enough,” says Guddi.
There is a look of disgust on Sumdi’s face. Chamdi thinks he understands what Sumdi has just told him. But not entirely. He feels sorry for the boy, and then very afraid. But he does not fully understand his fear.
They all remain quiet for a while. A watchman taps his large cane on the ground and patrols the building compound. He notices the three of them and starts tapping loudly. Sumdi slows down on purpose. It seems to bother the watchman, but he does nothing.
“I want to feed Moti,” says Guddi.
“He’s a dog. He can take care of himself,” says Sumdi.
“But he’s not well.”
“Not now. Later.”
Guddi does not argue. She walks with her head down. Chamdi is sorry that he asked about Khilowna. It seems to have made Sumdi angry. Chamdi wishes he had not seen Khilowna at all. Why did Anand Bhai smile at Chamdi like that? He distracts himself by eyeing a packet of cream biscuits that hangs from a blue rubber sling in a beedi shop. A few packets of sliced bread are stacked on the counter.
Just in front of the beediwala is a man who sells mutton chops. His face is dark and sweaty as a result of the coal of the iron grill. Chamdi stares at the beads of sweat on the man’s face. The man exchanges greetings with Sumdi, who takes out the ten-rupee note that Anand Bhai gave him and hands it to the man.
“Are you okay?” Guddi asks Chamdi.
“No, I …”
“You’ll be okay,” she says. “Once you live on the streets, you see everything in a few days. You see in a few days what most grown-ups see in a lifetime. That’s what my father used to say. Don’t worry.”
“Yes,” replies Chamdi. “Thank you.”
It is the first time she has spoken to him gently since the night she found him. The man twirls the mutton skewers and wipes his face with his shirtsleeves.
“Now you’ll meet Dabba,” she says. “I like Dabba.”
“Who’s Dabba?” asks Chamdi.
“Dabba’s a beggar. He’s been with Anand Bhai for very long.”
“But why is Anand Bhai asking Sumdi to feed him?”
“You’ll see.”
Chamdi does not like that this man is called Dabba. It means he must resemble a box. This time Chamdi does not ask. It is best he leaves their names alone.
When they are ready, Sumdi takes the mutton chops that are wrapped in a newspaper. He puts one in his mouth and immediately spits it out on the paper. “Hot,” he gasps. The man laughs, the crackling coal of the grill giving birth to new sweat on his face. As they walk away, Guddi flips a piece of mutton from hand to hand. She blows on it, and then, even though it is still steaming, she eats it. Sumdi gobbles down a piece as well. He holds out the meat to Chamdi.
“Eat while it’s hot,” he says.
“Isn’t this Dabba’s food?”
“Delivery charge. Now stop being a saint and eat.”
“Don’t feed Chamdi,” says Guddi sternly. “He has to fit in through the temple bars.”
“Let him eat,” says Sumdi. “Otherwise the fool will faint while running.”
Chamdi does not wait for Guddi’s approval. He savours the taste of the mutton as it melts in his mouth. “First time in my life I’m eating mutton,” he says.
“What?” asks Sumdi.
“At the orphanage all we had was vegetables, rice, and dal.”
“It sounds like a horrible prison.”
“No, it was good. We had beds. We learned how to read and write.”
“You and your reading and writing. What a waste! Tell me, if Munna knew how to read and write, would he have been able to prevent the knife from gouging his eye out?”
“The eye was gouged? It came out?”
“I hope so.”
Chamdi is shocked. “Why?”
“I don’t like Munna. He wants to be a don someday. Talks of cutting and killing all the time.”
“But Munna might go blind, no?”
“Who knows? Anyway, did you like the mutton?”
“I did.”
“You know what mutton it was?”
“Meaning?”
“What mutton—cow, goat, lamb …”
“I don’t know.”
“It was dog meat.”
“What?”
“These vendors kill stray dogs and cook their meat.”
Chamdi stares at Sumdi in horror. Could this be another one of Sumdi’s pranks? Chamdi turns to Guddi to gauge her reaction. But she is not laughing.
“Would I eat a dog?” she asks Chamdi. “You saw how I feel about my Moti. Would I eat Moti?”
“Thank God,” says Chamdi. “I felt sick.”
“I only eat dogs I don’t know,” she says.
Sumdi’s gleeful laugh cuts through the night air. He wraps the rest of the mutton chops in the paper, then hits his sister on the back. She hits him back hard. How can they be so relaxed after what they have just witnessed? It is as if Chamdi cannot fully absorb this strange new world.
“I don’t understand something,” he tells Sumdi.
“Yes, say.”
“If Anand Bhai can make money stealing cars, why does he need beggars?”
“Begging is a big business, that’s why.”
“So all the money, does it make him rich?”
“More important than that, it keeps us poor. We don’t die of hunger, but we wish we did. Men like Anand Bhai make sure we have no way out. We are too afraid to get real work because he will come after us. We bring him money, we bring him information. Once you fall into this trap, it becomes your life. That’s why we are stealing the temple money. We want to get out of this hell.”
“What if he catches us?”
Sumdi does not answer. The three of them find themselves on a main road again. This road is full of sari shops and jewellery shops. There is a police station as well. It has blue and yellow stripes on its pillars. What a strange tiger that would make, Chamdi thinks.
A police-tiger.
Chamdi is excited by the thought. Perhaps the real, living policemen of Bombay need strong tigers to help them keep Bombay safe. One day, the walls of these police stations will shake and tigers will emerge from their pillars and patrol the streets. Then we will see who riots, thinks Chamdi.
