‘Who? Louder.’
‘Sir, Akhil and Ajay.’
‘Oh, ho ho. Come in, come in. Who sent you?’
No one knew whether Kha-khao was the first name or a surname, but it was clear from the first glance at him that the man needed as much ‘introduction’ as a lion in his lair. There was also an uncanny resemblance between the two species, down to the ruffled mane, that Kha-khao caressed forebodingly from time to time.
‘I asked you a question. And I don’t like repeating myself.’
‘Sir, Laddu sir and Ahirwal sir.’
Sprawled on either side of Kha-khao were two of his chums. Both looked distinctly non-mammalian. One was flipping through Debonair while the other was trying ever so carefully to pry open glued pages of Penthouse. They looked up.
‘Oh-ho-ho-ho. Freshers, haan. Fuchhas.’
Akhil realised he was shaking despite holding himself together. He investigated and discovered that in fact he was being shaken by Ajay standing adjacent and vibrating like a tuning fork. He inched away a little. ‘Y-yes, sir. Fuchhas.’
Kha-khao drew them in. ‘Come, come. Stand over there. Close your eyes, both of you.’
‘Sir?’
‘Are you deaf?’
Ajay was non-committal. ‘No sir...yes sir.’
‘Good. Now tell me—first you…Akhil you said, no? Ya, tell me how many of us are here and where we are from.’
‘Sir?’ interrupted Ajay.
‘Shut up. Did I ask you? What was your name, again? Ajay? Ya, take that chair, put it by the wardrobe, get on it, climb up the wardrobe and go hide yourself on the top shelf.’
‘Sir? But...’
‘Now.’
‘Ye-yes, s-sir.’
Ajay dragged the chair by the wardrobe and paused for a second. He looked at Kha-khao, and, without pausing this time round, leapt on to the topmost shelf like a gazelle. He rolled himself up and pulled the panels shut.
‘There, that’s good. One less bastard for the time being…Oye. Oye, saaley. Can you hear me in there?’
‘Y-yes, sir…just about...’
‘Good. Now you—lover boy. Akhil, haan.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Were your eyes shut all this while?’
Akhil had followed the order to such an extent he was beginning to see a galaxy of round black atoms merge and fritter away, and then merge again. ‘Yes, sir. Can’t see a thing.’
‘So now. Tell me, how many of us are here and where are we from.’
‘Sir, in this room?’
‘No, in the ladies toilet, chutiye.’
‘Y-yes, sir. There are three seniors and two freshers in the room—one is in the wardrobe.’
Kha-khao threw his head back and growled. ‘You enjoying this?’
‘Completely not, sir.’
‘Good. Carry on.’
‘Yes, sir. I think the sir on your left might be from Madras.’
Kha-khao turned to his left and slapped a thigh—not his. ‘Abey kallooo, see. Even the fuchhas can guess where you are from. I told you, Fair & Lovely works only on chicks, man.’
The man from Madras chose his word very carefully. ‘Bastard.’
Akhil, who by now had turned into a brown Rutherford, witnessing as he was bombardments of beta emissions, continued in the same breath. ‘…And sir, I think the person on your right is from Bihar.’
Kha-khao now turned right and punched an upper duodenum—again, not his. ‘Oye Harry. See that? You got to change your appearance, man, if you want to look decent.’
Harry was plain and simple. ‘Bhosdi ke, tu toh gaya.’
Akhil was beginning to enjoy Kha-khao’s sardonic sense of humour. He made his next move. ‘And sir, I think you are from China.’
The silence that descended on the room was of library thickness. It was shortly broken by equally thick, and ill-made, vocal cords. The men who had earlier been pigeon-holed as Madrasi and Bihari now turned apoplectic. ‘Oooh-hooo-hooo-hoo. Saala. Now what do you have to say to that, you chinki bastard?’
Kha-khao snatched the Che cap from his head. ‘China? Did you say China, you bloody bastard? I’ll kill you.’
Akhil, eyes still tightly shut, was shaking like a leaf. ‘S-sor-sorry sir, I may have made an error of judgement, please forgive me...’
‘Saala. Error of judgement. Where did you learn to talk like that, boy? China…Saala. You have had it now ban-cho, you are history. Oye, you still in there? Isn’t your friend history now?’
Ajay hoped the lizard wouldn’t enter his socks as he replied. ‘Y-yes sir. Doesn’t look good for him…’
Kha-khao flexed his muscles and sundry ligaments. Akhil couldn’t see this frightening sight but he could hear it. ‘Bastard. Haven’t you seen anyone from Manipur before, haan? China.’
The pleading in the voice tried to convey what the eyes couldn’t. ‘So sorry, sir. In fact, that’s what I wanted to say—Manipur.’
‘You think Manipur is in China?’
‘No, sir, I...’
The man from Madras intervened, having rearranged his shape after all that hollering. ‘Arey leave it na, yaar, enough KK, man.’
Kha-khao relented. ‘Hmm…so you bastards know who I am?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who?’
‘Kha-khao, sir.’
‘Who told you?’
‘Laddu sir.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said, now we must go to Allnutt South and get Kha-khao’s intro.’
‘And what did you say to that? Didn’t you know Kha-khao gives his intro last?’
‘Yes, sir, we had learned of this. But Laddu sir was adamant.’
Kha-khao asked with all humility: ‘You know of my claim to fame, then.’
Akhil tried hurriedly to remember. And then it struck him he could never forget it even after a botched-up lobotomy. ‘Y-yes, sir. You are the inter-university taekwondo champion. You, er, also punched a dog dead once, who was barking outside your door one night.’
‘Just that?’
‘N-no, sir. Then you ate it, sir. W-with butter naan.’
Harry slapped Kha-khao’s arm playfully. ‘Arey, Kha-khao, leave it yaar. The kid’s peeing in his pants, man—and the one inside the wardrobe must be shitting…Oye saaley, you still in there?’
‘Y-yess, s-sir, very hot here...’
Kha-khao ignored the cry of discomfort. ‘Haan, so Akhil beta, you can open your eyes now.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Perhaps the same sensations that overwhelmed Akhil may also have struck the drifting amoeba the moment God said, ‘Let there be light.’ He would never again look up the word ‘brightness’ in the Concise Oxford, that much was sure. Soon, the imposing figure of Kha-khao came into view, together with two less imposing ones.
It was as if Kha-khao was waiting. ‘Feel better? Arey, where has your lover gone? Arey, he was here only na, a minute ago.’
‘Er, he is in the wardrobe, sir.’
‘Really? Oye. You still in there?’
Ajay could not make out in the near darkness whether the noxious fumes cauterising his nose hair were coming from Kha-khao’s underwear or his boxing gloves. ‘Yes, s-sir; it’s really quite hot in here...’
Kha-khao, as his taekwondo partner would swear, could be a little unforgiving at times. ‘No one asked you for a weather report, ban-cho. Achha Akhil—Akhil what?’
‘Akhil Sukumar, sir.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Zero seven hundred hours, sir.’
‘Zero seven…what?’
‘Sorry, sir, 7 am.’
‘You trying to drop a hint with this zero seven hundred shit? You tough? You acting tough on Kha-khao?’
‘No no, sir, I am sorry. It’s a habit, sir. I am from the Ramakrishna Mission Ashram School, sir. In Bhopal.’
‘I don’t care if you’re from Jhumri Talaiyaa. What has it got to do with your zero seven shit? Your dad’s in the army or what? He is pos
ted there?’
‘No sir, I...’
‘Then? Your mom surely?’
‘S-sir…’
‘Speak up, zero seven hundred.’
‘My parents are no longer with me, sir.’
‘Why? Where have they gone leaving their darling son behind?’
‘They are no more, sir. I am an orphan.’
‘Shit—sorry, man. I didn’t mean...’
‘It’s alright, sir.’
‘And what course are you reading here?’
‘Chemistry, sir.’
‘Marks in twelfth?’
‘Ninety-six percent, sir—physics, chemistry, maths, English, English elective.’
‘SC/ST quota?’
‘No, sir, no quota.’
‘What are you—a brahmin, khatri, bania, what?’
‘I am an SC, sir. From the Chamaar caste.’
Kha-khao was now showing his other side. ‘So let me get this straight. You got ninety-six percent PCME—and without quota.’
‘That’s correct, sir.’
‘You some sort of genius, boy?’
‘No way, sir.’
‘Why chemistry?’
‘I had applied for English, sir. But during my interview, one of the sirs told me his driver’s English was better than mine.’
Kha-khao sent his hip flask flying in the general direction of the wardrobe. Inside, Ajay thought a crude bomb had gone off. ‘Bloody bastard. Who was it?’
‘Don’t know the name, sir.’
‘Saala. Bet he got jealous of you.’
‘No sir, I didn’t mind. My English really isn’t very good. But I want to improve.’
‘You are alright kiddo, you are fine. What time is it, Aks? We’ll call you Aks. Is that alright?’
‘Yes sir, 7.20 am, sir.’
‘Have you slept at all since last night?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you sleepy? I am sure your partner must have slept off in the wardrobe by now…oye. You still in there?’
Ajay had suffocated a long while ago. Now he was dying. ‘Y-yes, sir. Sir, it’s really hot in here now, sir, please...’
‘Okay, okay, you can come out now.’
‘Thank you so much, s-sir…’
Ajay could have discussed fresh air with Sir Edmund Hillary. He sucked in so much of the stuff his lungs started knocking on his ribcage. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Kha-khao appealed for a vote. ‘Arey Harry, what shall we do with these boys now?’
‘Arey leave them, yaar. It’s enough, man—the bastards have earned it, especially this one.’
Kha-khao agreed, a first for him. ‘Haan, so Akhil and Ajay.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How come you two are running around as a pair?’
‘Sir, we are room partners.’
‘Number?’
‘A-101, sir.’
‘And where are you from? Ajay what?’
‘Ajay Biswas, sir. I am from Calcutta, sir.’
‘Why are you from Calcutta?’
‘Sir?’
‘Didn’t you hear me the first time?’
‘Sir, because I was, er, born there.’
‘Ya ya ya…which course?’
‘History, sir.’
‘What does your dad do—does he play the harmonium?’
‘Sir, he is IG, Central Reserve Police.’
‘Currently posted where?’
‘Sir, in Amritsar.’
‘Visiting Jalianwallah Bagh?’
‘No, sir. He was part of Operation Blue Star.’
‘Bloody hell—the one that just got over?’
‘Yes, sir. He was in charge of crowd control.’
‘Did he kill anyone?’
Ajay was not sure where all this was going. The wardrobe looked inviting. ‘No sir, not to my knowledge.’
‘So he tells you every time he kills someone.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then?’
‘Sorry, sir. I meant, I don’t know.’
‘Hmm…why are you reading history here?’
‘Actually sir, my dad also read history here—class of ‘61.’
‘So? Is this like some Bong family tradition—you got to do what your dad did? Don’t get haughty on me, ban-cho.’
‘No sir, I didn’t mean...’
‘Shut up. Will you take the UPSCs?’
‘Er, that is my dad’s plan, sir.’
It had been a full three minutes since Kha-khao had turned red with anger. He consulted his watch. ‘I didn’t ban-cho ask about your dad’s plan, bhosdi ke.’
‘Y-yes, sir, I might take UPSC.’
‘Why. What’s the connection of UPSC with history ban-cho?’
‘No connection, sir.’
The man from Madras had had his fill. ‘Arey, KK, it’s enough for today, man. Leave it yaar. I’m off.’
Kha-khao agreed. The end was near. ‘Ya, alright. Ajay? Shut up. No one’s interested why and where you are from.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Question is, are you interested in getting KK’s intro?’
‘Very much, sir.’
‘And you, Akhil?’
‘Tremendously, sir.’
The three seniors got up and took positions. The man from Madras spoke first. ‘Well, Mr Sukumar, Mr Biswas…’
‘Sir.’
‘It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope the feeling was mutual.’
‘Yes sir, it was.’
‘I am APD, Arun Parinjarekara Devanathan.’
‘Sir.’
The man from Bihar was next. ‘And I am MPB, Mahendra Pratap Singh Bhusrri.’
‘Sir.’
The man from China followed. ‘And gentlemen, I am Kha-khao.’
‘Sir.’
‘Now buzz off, you two. And any problems, come straight to me. You understand?’
‘Yes sir, thank you, sir.’
‘Or better, tell any senior bothering you that you have Kha-khao’s intro in your jhola.’
Akhil could have cried. ‘Fantastic, sir. Feels so good.’
‘Stop auditioning for Cinthol and get lost.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
The boys emerged from Kha-khao’s den like hippies out of Kathmandu, not sure of love, life and the universe any more. Ajay set the debriefing in motion. ‘Shit. Bloody I am exhausted, man—you Akhil?’
‘Can’t even walk. How was it in the wardrobe?’
‘Saala. Bastard, Kha-khao. I’ll put in a written complaint to the princy...’
‘Just leave it, yaar. In fact, I think we got away lightly.’
‘Bastard—you got away lightly. You couldn’t have lasted in that hovel for more than five minutes—all his unwashed clothes, the stink.’
Akhil smiled. ‘I have been stuck in worse places, much worse.’
‘Ya? Like in Kha-khao’s ass?’
‘Arey think of the positives—we managed to get Kha-khao’s intro.’
‘You can stuff his intro where I think, man. I’ll take him on. This is not the end, I am telling you.’
‘Arey, chhod na. This is a tradition—you’ll do the same to fuchhas next year, mark my words.’
‘That much is true. What’s the time, army major?’
‘Zero seven hundred thirty hours, sir.’
‘Hey, I was listening to your conversation with that dog Kha-khao. It’s great to have you as my roomy.’
‘Likewise, yaar.’
‘You are a genius, you bastard. It must have been so tough.’
‘Arey no, man. Can I call you man?’
‘You can call me a bastard, a ban-cho, a dog, a man—anything—but not Biswas. Reminds me of one gora teacher at my school—Mr Biswas this, Mr Biswas that; bloody half the time I thought it wasn’t me but my dad at school.’
‘Which school?’
‘Lawrence School, Sanawar. Anyway, listen, Aks—I like that—Aks. Ya listen, I think it’s too late now to have breakfast. Why don’t we go to the asse
mbly directly, haan?’
‘Sure, can’t be late for the first one.’
‘Come then, the hall’s only a minute from where we are.’
Ajay continued his lament as the two made their way to the assembly. ‘All my life I have been a prisoner of this assembly shit. I don’t know what dad saw in this college, yaar. The place reminds me of my damn school.’
‘I heard what you told Kha-khao. Your father’s a Stephanian, too.’
‘Arey he’s got it all worked out. Sanawar, Stephen’s, history, UPSC, IPS. Maybe a nice Bong girl. Maybe two kids as well…’
‘That’s great.’
‘What shit. What about you? You have always been in Bhopal? Any brothers, sisters…’
‘No. I am on my own.’
The assembly hall came into view.
Ajay stopped in his tracks. ‘Shit—Amin sir, at the entrance.’
The young men found the entrance to the assembly hall guarded by none other than the legendary Professor Amin, a man who had rewritten history. His defence was that the scholars before him were so bad they had left him little choice. ‘Morning, morning. Late on the first day?’ he remarked, pouncing on Akhil and Ajay.
‘Morning, sir. Very sorry, sir. There was a line for the toilets,’ said Akhil.
‘I believe you, I believe you…and your name is...’
‘Akhil, sir. Akhil Sukumar—first year chemistry.’
‘Good. And about you I know, young man. Ajay Biswas. Taught your father. Can’t say he learned much—made for UPSC, he was. Like father, like son, I take it.’
Ajay looked around for the wardrobe. ‘Er…’
‘Chalo, chalo, bhai. You are already five minutes late. Principal saab is about to begin.’
‘Yes, sir. Sir, where do we...’
‘You can’t get to your seats now. Maybe find a seat in the English first year section…there—you see?’
‘Thank you very much, sir.’
The lads began making their way through a sequence of protests and outstretched limbs. Meanwhile, up on the dais, someone bearing a close resemblance to the pope was trying to get his message across through the collar, the hand-held and the podium microphone, thinking mistakenly that only one of the three was functioning. The result would have made Moses proud. ‘And may I now request our principal saab to say a few words of welcome to our first year students? Sir, please.’
Akhil and Ajay found two empty seats in the English section and sat down, pretending at once to be the sombre and interested audience, as first-year students were expected to be.
The Rat Eater Page 15
