Mohanaswamy

by Vasudhendra

  Sumit woke up at this touch. For some time, he was disoriented. There was darkness everywhere. Did I drink excessively last night? It looks like I don’t have any clothes on my body. Who is sleeping and moaning next to me? he thought. Slowly he realized that it was Mohanaswamy. ‘What is he doing … thoo … he is a chakka…’ he muttered, feeling disgusted.

  Sumit felt he had fallen into a filthy sewage canal. He had not expected this turn in their friendship. He used to hug and love Mohanaswamy the way he would his pet dog. He had a great deal of affection for Mohanaswamy, but now the bonhomie vanished into thin air and a sense of betrayal and disgust pervaded. Gently pushing Mohanaswamy aside, he sat up on the bed and put his vest back on. He pulled his bed away from under the fan and placed it closer to the wall. And even though it was very muggy in the room, he covered himself up with a sheet. Sleep eluded him. His mind wallowed in nausea. The experience was akin to mixing urine in holy water. After some time, he heard Mohanaswamy sobbing. For a moment, he felt sorry for him and thought of consoling him. But he decided he did not have anything to do with that coward who was neither a man nor a woman. He firmed up his mind. Mohanaswamy continued sobbing. Sumit pulled his sheet up further.

  After a while, he heard Mohanaswamy getting up from the bed and folding his sheet. He decided to slap him across the face if he came near. But then he heard him walking towards the door and unlocking the bolt. Sumit felt miserable. He realized that Mohanaswamy was going back to his room and he called out, ‘Mohana,’ he said with a heart of stone. Mohanaswamy waited at the door. ‘Mohana, I wish you all the best. Please don’t talk to me ever in life. I don’t like all this,’ he begged. Without uttering a word, Mohanaswamy went away, closing the door behind him.

  The ship floating in the middle of the sea was caught in massive waves. Even if people in the ship cried for help, Sumit, who was lying on the bed under the sheet, could never hear it. It was a cry in the wilderness. It was more helpless than the cry of the sea.

  The next day, Mohanaswamy was absent. It was the first time in his life that he gave an exam a miss.

  The wound inflicted by Sumit Goel took months to heal. Mohanaswamy had no one to share his woes with. He would go the beach alone and sit there, crying. Sometimes he would go to bed without having dinner. Somewhere in his mind, he still hoped that Sumit would have a change of heart and come back. But no such miracle took place. Whenever Sumit encountered him in the campus, he would not even look at him.

  Sumit had long, thick hair. He would not go to saloon to cut it even if it grew till his neck. When he finished cricket practice in the evenings, sweat would be dripping from his hair strands. When Mohanaswamy came near him, he would shake his head like mad so the drops of sweat from his hair would fall on Mohanaswamy. Mohanaswamy would pretend to be angry, but secretly he used to like it. Now Mohanaswamy would go to the cricket ground in the evenings to relive the sweet memories. But Sumit would walk off without even looking at him.

  When it was time for the next set of exams, Mohanaswamy thought Sumit would surely come to him for help. But nothing of the sort happened. In fact, Sumit passed with good marks.

  Mohanaswamy pined for Sumit for a couple of months. He grew weary of life. Reeling under crippling feelings of loneliness and depression, he decided to end his life by drowning in the sea. He walked towards the seashore one night. The beach was deserted. He did not know how to swim. His plan was to walk into the sea and drown. He had thought of leaving a suicide note behind, holding Sumit Goel responsible for his death, but then decided against it. Mohanaswamy could not hate anybody. All he knew was love and friendship. In his mind, he wished all good things for Sumit and walked towards the roaring sea. It was a full moon night. As he stepped into the water, a sudden fear of death gripped him. Still, he kept walking adamantly till the water level reached his chest. It was then that he heard the shrieks of a woman. ‘Who is it walking so deep into the water? Be careful, the strong currents will sweep you away!’ the woman shouted from the shore. Mohanaswamy turned around to see a vague figure of a woman standing there, with a baby on her hip. A small girl was standing next to the woman. The mother and daughter kept waving at him frantically, asking him to come back. They could have been his mother and sister. Then a gigantic wave rose in the sea, sweeping him off his feet and rolling him ashore. He stood up, shaking, and then dragged his feet back towards his hostel.

  As he walked past the woman, she started yelling at him. ‘It’s a full moon night, the sea is in high tide. You people should be more careful!’ she shouted. To avoid her, Mohanaswamy lied to her in his broken Hindi, ‘Mujhe Kannada nahin aati.’

  On his way to the hostel, he made a resolution that he would never behave like a gay thereafter. His gayness was the root cause of all problems. He should do whatever it took to become straight. He would fall in love with a girl and show to the world, especially to Sumit, that he was also capable of making love to a girl. As he came near the Shiva temple, he pronounced that he would never attempt to take his own life again. He also thanked the mother–daughter duo and uttered a prayer for them.

  Since it was the final year of their engineering course, the students went on an industrial tour starting from Pune and then onwards to Mumbai, Delhi and Goa. On their return journey, the plan was to go on a beach tour in Goa. On the day the students arrived in Goa, they indulged in drinking. Mohanaswamy was surprised to see mutton and wine shops everywhere in the city. The two lecturers who accompanied the students also drank to their heart’s content till late night. When they woke up in the morning, it was already past ten. The students got ready to set out on the beach tour. They planned to cover as many beaches as possible and the locals advised them to hire bicycles.

  This put Mohanaswamy in a quandary. He did not know cycling. In the small town where he lived, he had always walked to all his destinations. His father had stopped cycling long ago. His sister also had not learnt cycling. Girls never rode a bicycle in that small town. A couple of boys of his age group lent their bicycles to Mohanaswamy and tried to teach him pedalling. But Mohanaswamy had not succeed then. Frustrated, his friends gave up, saying, ‘A GanSu can never ride a bicycle.’

  The bicycle came to haunt him in Goa that day. All the boys and even the three girls in the group knew cycling. They ridiculed him and laughed at him, who always scored the most in tests. Even the lecturers were upset with him. ‘What? You say you don’t know cycling? What kind of a boy are you! We can’t afford to hire a bus just because you don’t to how to ride a bicycle. We will carry on, you can stay back in the hotel,’ one of the lecturers said in contempt.

  Sitting in the hotel room, Mohanaswamy felt left out. He thought of going out on his own, but then he dropped the idea. It was a low budget hotel situated in the city outskirts. He then thought of going to his hometown, but realized that he did not have enough money. He spent time walking up and down in the hotel corridor and reading periodicals.

  He began cursing himself for not learning how to cycle and in his despair, he suddenly began to believe that had he known cycling, he would not have been gay. What else could be the reason? I too have eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth like them. The blood that flows in my veins is as red as theirs. I too have a thinking brain like them. I dress like them. If at all there is a difference between me and them, it is cycling. May be riding a bicycle is a symbol of masculinity. I made a mistake by not learning it as a child. Had I mustered my courage I would have I would be chasing girls. I should learn cycling as early as possible. I should start hankering after pretty girls. All these years, I was searching for the reason behind my plight. Now I have found it. I know the solution.

  But who would teach him? He did not have the courage to ask his friends. He would once again become the target of their jokes. What if he went to his hometown? But his father was too old to teach him how. Moreover, other people in the town might laugh at him for learning a basic skill this late in life. I have to learn cycling at any cost. Are there cycling schoo
ls on the lines of driving schools? he wondered. But he hadn’t seen such schools anywhere. So what to do?

  Finally, he wrote to his sister Janaki in Hospet, explaining his enthusiasm to learn cycling. But he did not reveal the intention behind it. ‘I feel very tired walking to the college in the sun. So I have to learn cycling,’ he explained. By then his relationship with his sister had improved. Though she was the one who christened him as ‘GanSu’, she had grown up to be more mature. She had developed a love for him over time, having realized that he was a sweet, harmless, studious boy. After he got good ranking in PUC and left for a far-off city for further studies, her affection for him multiplied. She wrote to him every week. When Mohanaswamy was in the fifth semester of his engineering degree, she got married. The groom was from nearby Hospet. When she left for her in-laws house, she hugged her brother and cried. ‘If you have any problem, come to me. I will look after your needs,’ she had said, asking him to forgive her follies. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong, Akka, why are you crying?’ he tried to console her while tears welled up in his eyes. It was also possible that she had got a clue about Mohanaswamy’s sexual orientation. But she had no courage to ask him directly and neither did he dare tell her openly.

  Janaki replied within a week. ‘Come over to Hospet. I have made all arrangements for someone to teach you cycling. Dadapeer, the son of Shekhavali, who works in our agriculture fields, will be perfect for the job. He is a good-natured boy. He studies in ninth standard in the government school. He also helps his parents in the fields. He is not so good in studies. But he rides a bicycle well. Not just a bicycle, he even drives his father’s tractor. He also repairs his bicycle on his own. Don’t feel shy that you will have to learn cycling from a boy much younger to you. I will ask him to take you to scarcely populated places so that you can learn cycling without any hesitation,’ she stated in the letter. Tears shone in Mohanaswamy’s eyes as he read the letter. He thanked his sister in his mind, packed his things and without caring a hoot for his classes and exams, he left for Hospet. The possibility of him becoming straight had rekindled his enthusiasm.

  Dadapeer and Mohanaswamy set out for Hampi, a temple town located within the ruins of Vijayanagara, about eight kilometres away from Hospet. ‘Don’t worry, brother. It is not difficult at all. You will learn it in half a day,’ Dadapeer was assuring him like an older man. The one-rupee tip that Janaki had given to Dadapeer was doing its work.

  They reached Hampi by bus and hired a bicycle. There is a huge ground in front of the Pampapati temple. Dadapeer suggested that it was an ideal place to learn cycling. But Mohanaswamy refused to go there, fearing that people may laugh at him. Then they decided to go to the ground in front of Achyutaraya temple at the base of Matanga hill.

  Lifting the bicycle in their hands, they took the stairs abutting the hill to reach the temple. Dadapeer told Mohanaswamy to fold his hands before the statue of Nandi. ‘If Basavanna is pleased with by your devotion, he will make bicycle learning easy for you,’ he said.

  Mohanaswamy was puzzled. What is the relation between Nandi bull and bicycle? ‘Why do you say so?’ he asked Dadapeer.

  ‘That is because Basavanna is Shiva’s vehicle,’ Dadapeer replied. Without saying anything more, Mohanaswamy folded his hands before the idol.

  Dadapeer wore khaki shorts that reached till his knees and a tight-fitting red shirt over it. It was Mohanaswamy’s. ‘Bring a couple of your old shirts while coming,’ Janaki had mentioned in her letter. Although Dadapeer was seven years younger than Mohanaswamy, he had a broader frame. So Mohanaswamy’s shirt was tight for him. Even then he had worn it happily. That dark-complexioned boy who showed his white teeth while smiling irked Mohanaswamy. But he could not express his irritation because the right now he was his teacher.

  The sprawling ground in front of Achyutaraya temple was deserted. ‘I will go for a test ride just to make sure the cycle is in good condition,’ Dadapeer said, excited. It took about twenty minutes for him to finish two rounds. ‘The cycle is in perfect condition,’ he said, after coming back. ‘First, you must fold your hands and pray to Mother Earth seeking her pardon,’ he ordered Mohanaswamy.

  ‘What sin have I committed to seek her forgiveness?’ Mohanaswamy asked.

  ‘All these days she was carrying our weight. Now she has to carry the weight of the cycle too along with our weights. So we are overburdening her,’ said Dadapeer.

  Since it was no use reasoning out with Dadapeer, Mohanaswamy quietly bowed down, touched the earth and raised the soil to his forehead.

  Dadapeer said, ‘Brother, before you begin your tryst with the bicycle, you must keep one thing in mind. This thing called the bicycle is very mischievous. If you are scared of it, it will lord over you. If you are bold, it will surrender to you. So pluck up your courage, pray to god and take charge.’

  Thus began Mohanaswamy’s training. For the first two rounds, Dadapeer came running behind him. He then taught him how to first run along with the cycle and sit on it while maintaining balance. ‘This is like the moon catching up with the running clouds!’ he explained. His metaphors and similes amused Mohanaswamy and reduced his anxiety. Mohanaswamy fell off the bicycle twice and injured his knees. He applied some dry mud over it. ‘Don’t worry, brother. Don’t feel bad because you are hurt. New skin will grow in its place. It is like putting on new garments while giving up the old and torn ones,’ Dadapeer exhorted him. Within half an hour, Mohanaswamy learnt to mount a running cycle. He went for two rounds in the ground. The third round was a breeze.

  However, the next round was a disaster. As he pedalled on, two foreign tourists, both men, were coming on two bicycles from the opposite direction. From far they looked like red and blue dots coming in full speed. As they approached closer, Mohanaswamy panicked, lost his courage and the bicycle grew insolent. It refused to listen to Mohanaswamy’s commands and prayers and ran into the narrow space between the two riders. As a result all three fell down. ‘What man, you don’t know cycling?’ the men screamed, rising from the ground, dusting off their clothes. They went near Mohanaswamy and asked him, ‘Are you okay?’

  An anxious Dadapeer came running from behind. He shook their hands and tried to explain the situation in his broken English. ‘My brother … cycle … my teaching … he learning.’ From their accented English, Mohanaswamy gathered that they were probably Europeans. They found it interesting to see a small boy teaching bicycle to a grown man. They asked Mohanaswamy and Dadapeer to pose for a photo along with their bicycle in the backdrop of the Achyutaraya temple and the alpine scenery of Gandhamadana and Matanga hills. Dadapeer readily agreed, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and tucking his shirt in. ‘You knicker … my knicker … same same … You red shirt … I red shirt … same same,’ he told the foreigner who was in shorts and a red shirt. He also pinched him saying ‘same pinch’. They liked it. But Mohanaswamy was quite uncomfortable. He was embarrassed that those strangers had now come to know that he was learning how to ride a bicycle this late in life. After the photo session, the two men bid them goodbye and cycled towards the temple, saying that they had to click some more pictures inside.

  Though Mohanaswamy wanted to ride a couple of more rounds, it was getting late. Also, he was exhausted and his throat was parched. Dadapeer went off to get some tender coconuts from the vendors near the Vijaya Vitthala temple. He took five rupees from Mohanaswamy and went on the bicycle.

  Half an hour went by, but Dadapeer did not return. Mohanaswamy began to panic. A bird cried out hoarsely. The air was filled with the chirping of crickets and humming of mosquitoes. There was the fear of encountering snakes and scorpions. The town was also believed to be haunted by the spirits of the dead. The Gandhamadana hill was not visible now. Even the Matanga hill could not be seen. He wondered if the foreigners were still around and went looking for them, for some company. On entering the precincts of the Achyutaraya temple, he saw their parked bicycles and felt relieved. He groped his way
inside, his eyes adapting to the darkness. The moonlight lent him some visibility, but the foreigners were not to be seen around.

  Mohanaswamy grew anxious again. Then he heard screams coming from inside. He walked in that direction and approached another stone structure. Inside the temple, he saw two entwined bodies rolling about on the floor, naked. Their clothes were lying near the pillar. Hiding behind the pillar, Mohanaswamy watched the two men making love. This was the first time that he was seeing two men doing it so openly. So far he had only fantasized about it. But now, right in front of his eyes, two male bodies were rolling on the floor, moaning in pleasure. As he looked on, the two men whispered something into each other’s ears and laughed. There was no trace of hesitation. Mohanaswamy realized that he was not alone. There were others like him in this world. In the precincts of Achyutaraya temple, Mohanaswamy felt enlightened.

  When he stepped out of the temple, he ran into Dadapeer, who had four tender coconuts in his hands. ‘Where were you, brother? I went to Kamalapur to bring tender coconuts.’

  Mohanaswamy gestured with his little finger that he had gone to urinate. ‘Thank you very much, Dadapeer, for teaching me how to ride a bicycle.’

  ‘Not a big deal my brother, it’s not rocket science,’ said Dadapeer, dismissing his praises.

  They sipped the tender coconut water after breaking open the shells with sharp stones. As they prepared to go back to Hospet, Mohanaswamy told Dadapeer, ‘Let’s not go from the side of the temple. We will go in front of the Vijaya Vitthala temple. I know it is a longer route, but we can go chatting on the way, enjoying the cool breeze.’