The Song of Kahunsha

by Anosh Irani

  Tonight, Anand Bhai wears a black shirt instead of his usual white shirt. His trousers are black too. It is like a uniform. Anand Bhai holds a large piece of folded paper and a flashlight in his left hand as he walks towards his men. He greets each man individually and Chamdi hears some of their names: Rathore, Vishnu, and Sitaram.

  Anand Bhai walks to the car, which is parked at the back of the adda outside Darzi’s room, near the tomatoes and cucumbers. Anand Bhai gets in and drives the car to the centre of the adda where the men have gathered. The headlights shine on the walls of the one-room homes and make the cracks stand out.

  Anand Bhai gets out of the car and opens the trunk. As it swings up, Chamdi remembers Sumdi, lifeless under the white cloth. Anand Bhai uses a flashlight to display the contents of the trunk. There are knives, like the one Anand Bhai used on Chamdi’s tongue, there are long curving swords, their handles in bad condition, and there is a solid iron rod. There is also a large padlock, the kind Chamdi has seen on shop shutters. And there are two cricket bats.

  Anand Bhai faces his men and speaks in a strong voice.

  “This city has become dangerous,” he says. “The Muslims are warriors too, just like us. That much I will give them. They are also tigers. But the rule is that every jungle must have only one tiger. And in an Indian jungle, there is place for a Hindu tiger only. I appreciate that you are all doing your duty as Hindus. Now pick your weapons. Except Munna and Chamdi.”

  Hands reach out and grab knives and swords. There is the clink of blades as the weapons graze each other. When all the knives and swords are gone, a man picks the iron rod. He feels its surface and kisses it.

  “Come on,” says Anand Bhai. “No cricketers here? These bats have smashed a few heads. Take the bats. Let’s enjoy some night cricket.”

  Two men reach for the bats. Their blades are thick and the wood looks old but solid. The rubber around the wooden handles is used, yet intact.

  “What about me?” asks Munna.

  “You get the iron lock,” says Anand Bhai. “You get to lock the family in.”

  Munna reaches into the corner of the trunk and lifts the iron lock.

  “Don’t shut it,” says Anand Bhai. “I don’t have a key.”

  “Yes, Anand Bhai,” replies Munna. His tongue comes out of his mouth a little, as if he is holding food that he likes.

  Anand Bhai slams the trunk shut. Chamdi is relieved that he has not been asked to pick a weapon. Perhaps all Anand Bhai wants him to do is watch. Anand Bhai places a large folded piece of paper on the trunk of the car. Chamdi sees it is the map of Bombay that was in Anand Bhai’s drawer. Anand Bhai unfolds the map and shines the flashlight on it. Even though Chamdi is scared, the map fascinates him. He has never seen Bombay before. It has such an odd shape, and from where Chamdi stands it seems as though Bombay has a huge mouth, the yawn of a terrible Chandamama creature. There are lines along its body and he guesses they are roads, but he cannot help but think of them as cracks in the creature’s skin. It looks as if Bombay is cut and bruised.

  “There will be multiple strikes,” says Anand Bhai. “That is what I have been told.”

  “By whom?” asks the man with the iron rod.

  “The order has come from top. That’s all I can say. As we speak, something is happening in Byculla.”

  Anand Bhai’s forefinger points to Byculla on the map. It is deep in the throat of the creature, only a few inches away from its screaming mouth.

  “Tonight, there will be trouble in Byculla, Parel, and Dadar,” says Anand Bhai. “I know that none of you need this map, you all know the city well, but I brought it here for a reason. See the name on the map. What does it say?”

  “Bombay,” comes the answer.

  “From now on, we are never to utter that name again. This island belongs to the goddess Mumbadevi, and we must reclaim it as a Hindu city. Jai Maharashtra!”

  Chamdi recognizes the name Maharashtra as the state that Bombay is in. Mrs. Sadiq taught him that. Anand Bhai uses his gold lighter to set the map on fire. “We will cremate Bombay so that Mumbai can be born.”

  There is silence amongst the men.

  “We will leave the Muslim areas alone tonight until we have more men,” warns Anand Bhai. “For now, there will be no attacks near Dongri, Madanpura, Agripada, J.J. Hospital, Bhendi Bazaar. Tonight, we shall start with one family. And before we go, I want to introduce someone.”

  Anand Bhai shines the flashlight on Chamdi’s face, directly into his eyes. Chamdi raises his hand to prevent the glare from hurting him.

  “This is Chamdi,” says Anand Bhai. “He’s my boy. He’ll be joining us tonight. It’s his initiation in our gang.”

  “This chintu?” asks someone.

  “He may be small, but he has guts,” says Anand Bhai. “His friend Sumdi was killed in the blast that killed Namdeo Girhe. Now Chamdi wants to avenge his friend’s death. He wants Muslim blood.”

  Munna looks shocked when he hears this. Chamdi wonders if it is because Munna was not aware of Sumdi’s death, or if it is because Anand Bhai has asked Chamdi to be part of the gang. Either way, it does not matter.

  “There’s a Muslim family in Shaan Gulley. You know Abdul who owns Café Arabia, the Mughlai restaurant round the corner?”

  “Spicy chicken Abdul,” says the man with the iron rod.

  “Yes, that Abdul. His nephew lives in Shaan Gulley.”

  “Hanif—the taxiwala?”

  “Hah, Hanif the taxiwala. He lives with his wife and newborn child. Tonight, we will cremate the three of them at home. Without prayers.”

  Chamdi’s heart stops when he hears this.

  Then a thought strikes: What if this is also a trick, like when Anand Bhai made a cut on Chamdi’s tongue to teach him a lesson? Anand Bhai might let me go if I tell him I have learned my lesson, thinks Chamdi. Anand Bhai cannot expect me to watch something so terrible.

  The man with the iron rod speaks: “I don’t see any petrol here.”

  “It will be made available on site,” says Anand Bhai.

  “Shaan Gulley is a Hindu area. Why are we so heavily armed to burn down one family?”

  “If any of our Hindu brothers have sympathy for Hanif, then our weapons will remind them that duty comes before friendship. The family is well liked in the mohalla—Hanif’s wife teaches children how to read and write, and whenever there’s an emergency, Hanif lets his neighbours use his taxi free of charge.”

  The door of Darzi’s room opens and the old woman staggers out and stares at the assembled group. Some of the men greet her respectfully, but from afar. No one goes towards her. Chamdi looks at the old woman and wishes with all his heart that she will call him in. He knows that if he runs to her, Anand Bhai will be livid. So he closes his eyes and thinks of the small wooden box that contains the old woman’s gods. He begs all the gods to help him.

  He cannot believe it when the old woman responds: “Anand, send the boy back in.”

  Anand Bhai does not answer her. He turns to his men and says, “Let’s go.”

  “How are we going there?” someone asks.

  “Luxury bus,” says Anand Bhai.

  The men laugh as they stride in the direction of the cucumbers and tomatoes.

  “Anand,” the old woman says again. “Let the boy in. Please.”

  “Old woman, go back in,” he fires.

  Darzi emerges from the darkness of the room behind the old woman and places his hands on her shoulders. He leads her back in.

  “Anand Bhai,” says Chamdi softly, careful to ensure that his words do not reach the ears of any of Anand Bhai’s men. “I have learned my lesson. I will never lie again. Please forgive me.”

  “I forgave long back. This is business. One day, you will be feared and respected just like I am. I see the future in you. You are brave and your heart is good. Don’t worry, even I felt like this the first time I did something daring. But the sick feeling from the heart goes away, you become free. You kill someone, you eat
a hot meal, you take a hot woman, and you go to sleep.”

  “But Anand Bhai …”

  “It’s your duty,” says Anand Bhai. “If you don’t do your duty, something might happen to Guddi. You don’t want Guddi to be harmed, do you?”

  It is quiet in the narrow lane that is Shaan Gulley, except for a faint song that crackles on a radio somewhere. The lights are off in each small shack. Big barrels sit outside most of the shacks, and Chamdi can see that these barrels contain water. Some of the rooms are made from wooden planks and bamboo poles, and they have thatched floors, while others look more solid. Some of the kholis are painted green, and clothes and towels hang from small windowsills.

  Anand Bhai’s men take swift steps and carry swords, knives, and cricket bats. None of the men seem to care that they might be spotted. Anand Bhai has his hand on Chamdi’s shoulder. Munna’s fierce stare is upon Chamdi again. Chamdi tucks his T-shirt deep into his shorts.

  The moon shines on the tin roofs of the homes and catches the blades of the knives and swords. Chamdi wonders if he should run and warn Hanif’s family that they are going to be attacked. He is a fast runner, and of what use are his feet if he does not use them well? But he does not know where Hanif lives, and even if he did and were to run to Hanif and warn him, Anand Bhai would harm Guddi.

  The gang soon arrives at a dead end. They stop, facing a larger shack, painted blue, which stands apart from the rest of the shacks. Small plants grow from clay pots placed next to the door. A plastic Bisleri bottle sprouts a withered creeper. The closed door looks heavy, unlike the doors of most of the shacks. There is a window, its wooden shutters closed. A black cycle rests against the wall, both its tires flat. Beside the blue shack is a black-and-yellow taxi with a silver carrier on top. Chamdi wishes that Hanif the taxiwala would wake up and drive away from this place.

  Anand Bhai raises his right hand and his men stop.

  He goes to the shack on his right and taps lightly on the door. A bare-chested man in a white lungi opens the door and hands Anand Bhai a large plastic can. It is three-quarters full of liquid. Chamdi assumes it contains petrol. Anand Bhai motions to one of his men to collect it. The man in the lungi hands out one more plastic can. Finally, he gives Anand Bhai a brown bottle. A white rag droops over the mouth of the bottle. There is liquid in this bottle too. The man in the lungi slips back into his shack and quietly shuts the door. Chamdi is confused. How can this man harm his own neighbour?

  “Two of you go to the back,” whispers Anand Bhai. “There’s no door, but there is a small window. No one should escape.”

  Two men scamper to the back of the blue shack.

  Anand Bhai issues orders to two other men. “Pour petrol on the walls, but be careful. We don’t want to burn the whole mohalla.”

  The two men take one can each and start pouring petrol on the side walls. Some of the petrol falls on their jeans and chappals.

  “Munna,” says Anand Bhai. “Lock up.”

  Munna stealthily makes his way to the door. He slides the latch closed and then hooks the iron padlock in. He does not bind the lock yet. Perhaps it will make noise and wake Hanif.

  “Do you know why I chose this house?” whispers Anand Bhai to Chamdi.

  “It’s a Muslim house … that’s why,” answers Chamdi, feebly.

  “That’s the main reason,” says Anand Bhai. “But remember this: To truly enjoy your work, there has to be more than one reason. A bonus. You see, my childhood sweetheart lives here. Her name is Farhana. She was in love with me and I was in love with her. But she’s Muslim. Even though she was mine, she married Hanif. Tonight I get my revenge on the man who stole her. It makes our work extra special.”

  As Chamdi looks at the small army that surrounds him, he thinks of Mrs. Sadiq, who was not his mother, but who at least was a good human being. He thinks of Pushpa, and how they could have been friends once she grew up. Even Chamdi’s father, who ran from Chamdi, seems so much better than Anand Bhai.

  Suddenly, an old woman opens the door from one of the small rooms to their left and peers into the darkness.

  “Who’s there?” she asks.

  “Go back in,” says Anand Bhai.

  The old woman does not listen. She notices the shadows of men as they pour petrol over the blue shack. Perhaps she sees knife blades. She screams for help at the top her voice.

  “Bolt the doors!” shouts Anand Bhai.

  His voice cracks the night open.

  The man with the iron rod runs, along with four other men, to the door of the blue shack. Munna locks up.

  A light comes on in the blue shack.

  Shaan Gulley is awake, but none of Anand Bhai’s men panic. Anand Bhai uses his flashlight again. He shines it on the old woman’s face. Then he moves it along to scan the rest of the residents of Shaan Gulley. Men, some in trousers, some in khaki shorts, others in checkered lungis, wipe sleep from their eyes, only to be greeted by Anand Bhai’s words: “If anyone interferes, they will be killed.”

  Hanif and his family have realized they are locked in. They bang desperately on the door. Some of the residents step off their thatched floors and onto the lane, only to face swords.

  “Go back in,” says Anand Bhai.

  “What the hell is going on?” asks one of the residents.

  Anand Bhai shines the flashlight on his own face. He lights his face from below, and his black beard acquires sparks of gold. The dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than ever.

  “Most of you know who I am,” he says. “So you will know my intentions are good. Two nights ago, a Hindu family was burned down in Radhabai Chawl in Jogeshwari. We are here to provide justice. Now a Muslim family will burn too. If anyone interferes, they will be killed. So you decide what your own life is worth. In the coming days, the whole city will burn, and this area will need my protection.”

  “But our homes will also catch fire,” says someone.

  “The blue house is isolated. We have chosen carefully. Now go back in!”

  Anand Bhai’s men stand on either side of him. Even though most of them are small and thin, the weapons give them ferocity. The residents retreat to their thatched floors and tin roofs. Anand Bhai lets his flashlight fall to the ground.

  The man with the iron rod suddenly steps towards the window of the blue shack, as though he has just heard something.

  The window of the blue shack opens.

  Without warning, the man rams the iron rod into the face that peers through the window. There is a sickening crunch and the face disappears. That must be Hanif the taxiwala, thinks Chamdi. The man stands guard outside the window, the iron rod by his side. He looks ready to repeat his actions should the need arise.

  In the darkness of the lane, Chamdi can hear a woman scream from inside the blue shack: “Save us, somebody save us!”

  He can also hear the wail of a child. It must be Hanif’s newborn. Chamdi imagines Hanif lying on the ground, his teeth smashed with an iron rod, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, while his wife bangs on the bolted door with her fists.

  Chamdi is unable to move. None of the neighbours come to the family’s rescue. Most of the men and women return to their shacks, and the few that remain outside look just as terrified as Chamdi.

  Brown bottle in hand, Anand Bhai towers above Chamdi. “Do you know what this is?” he asks. “This is a petrol bomb. You see this white thing—that’s the fuse. Once I light the fuse, I want you to throw the bottle in through the window.”

  Chamdi cannot believe his ears. He just stares at Anand Bhai.

  Anand Bhai bends down towards Chamdi: “I want you to throw the bomb. That’s the only way to make a name for yourself.”

  “Please …” says Chamdi.

  “Now burn this family. Or I’ll burn you with them.”

  “Please … I can’t hurt anyone …”

  Anand Bhai places his hand around Chamdi’s neck and looks straight into his eyes. Even though Chamdi wants to, he is unable to look anywher
e else. He gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, as though something wants to come out. Anand Bhai’s thumb presses against Chamdi’s throat.

  “What about Guddi?” asks Anand Bhai. “Think of Guddi.”

  “You can kill both Guddi and me …” says Chamdi. “I can’t do this …”

  “I’ll kill you, but not Guddi,” says Anand Bhai. “Hanif and his family are going to die anyway, whether you throw this bomb or not. But Guddi’s fate is in your hands. Because if you don’t throw this bomb, I will sell her. I will sell Guddi to older men.”

  The words nail into Chamdi. The sick feeling in his stomach gets stronger.

  Anand Bhai grips Chamdi’s shoulder and pushes him towards the window. The bottle is still in Anand Bhai’s other hand.

  “Walk to the window,” he says. “You are about to become a man.”

  But Chamdi can barely move.

  He hears the scream of a woman. Even though no one is at the window, Chamdi sees her: Hanif’s wife with her large black eyes, the same eyes that Chamdi dreamt his mother had.

  Anand Bhai thrusts the brown bottle into Chamdi’s hands. Anand Bhai keeps his hand around the bottle.

  “Please …” says Chamdi. “I can’t do this …”

  “Night after night Guddi will cry, she will beg for her life to end and it will be your fault. It’s better to throw the bottle. These people are going to die anyway. Think of Guddi. She will be like Khilowna. Do you remember Khilowna?”

  Chamdi remembers Khilowna. He remembers the blood.

  Anand Bhai takes his hand off the bottle.

  He flicks open his gold lighter. The flame flickers.

  “I beg you …” says Chamdi. “I beg you …”

  “Do it now, Chamdi. Otherwise I will make one of my men take her tonight. Guddi will be sold tonight.”

  Chamdi’s grip around the bottle tightens.

  Anand Bhai lights the fuse. “Throw it!” he commands.