by Vasudhendra
As they walked down the road pushing the bicycle along, Mohanaswamy thought, not just riding a bicycle, even if I learnt to fly an aeroplane, I will still want to make love to a man and not to a woman. Surely someone somewhere would be there, waiting for me.
KASHIVEERA
Kashiveera was five years older than Mohanaswamy. He was dull in studies but very good at sports. There was a story behind the weird name ‘Kashiveera’, which his mother Vimalakka once narrated to Mohanaswamy.
That day when Mohanaswamy went to their house, Vimalakka was sorting and cleaning rice, sitting in the front yard. Her husband Bhujang, whom Mohanaswamy addressed as Bhujang uncle, had gone to office. Kashiveera was at the playground. His two sisters had gone to their friend’s house. Vimalakka was very fond of Mohanaswamy, he was the apple of her eye. Not just because he was her friend’s son, but more importantly, unlike her son Kashiveera, he studied and always got good marks in school. Kashiveera, though older than Mohanaswamy, failed in his exams several times and now he had regressed to Mohanaswamy’s class. Her own son’s dismal performance notwithstanding, Viamalakka was never envious of Mohanaswamy. She lavished a mother’s love on this dimple-chinned, obedient boy.
When Mohanaswamy went to their house, Vimalakka welcomed him and gave him allittu – a delicacy made from cornflour mixed with sugar, ghee and milk. The light of the noonday sun flooded the entire yard, lending plenty of visibility to Vimalakka who was separating out small pebbles from the rice grains. Munching on the allittu balls, Mohanaswamy was trying to swat houseflies that had stormed into the yard. Vimalakka then began narrating the story behind the name ‘Kashiveera’.
Vimalakka had two daughters and when she became pregnant for the third time, she was under tremendous pressure. Her husband had threatened that if the third one also turned out to be female, he would drown the baby in a lake.
‘Don’t worry, this time it will be a boy. Just keep praying to god,’ Mohanaswamy’s mother would try to console her, but Vimalakka’s worries wouldn’t go away.
‘Last time also I prayed desperately to all the gods, but none of them came to my rescue!’ she wailed. Her worries intensified as her pregnancy advanced.
Then came the festival of town deity, Kumaraswamy. The temple was situated atop a hillock. A big fair was held during the month of Shravana every leap year. Since he was the most favoured deity of political leaders, the fair used to be held with much pomp and show. Sadhus from far off places visited the town and stayed there for about two months in anticipation of a handful of alms. During the festival, food was served in the temple and on other days, they went from house to house, seeking alms.
One such sadhu who came to Vimalakka’s house one day sensed her anxiety. ‘Why, mother, why are you so worried? Pregnant women should not stress so much, it affects the baby inside,’ he said.
Moved by the softness in his voice, a depressed Vimalakka collapsed on the threshold, holding the plate of rice in her hand. The sadhu helped her sit up and lent a sympathetic ear to her story.
He came up with a solution to her woes. He said that she should worship the grave of Kashimpeera at the dargah in the town and by doing so she would certainly be blessed with a baby boy.
His words cast a spell on her. She started going to the dargah every day. Once a week, she ate the jaggery served there and poured her heart out to the maulvis who reassured her of the power of prayers.
Well, Kashimpeera did not disappoint her. She was blessed with a son. Bhujang’s joy knew no bounds.
But there was ruckus at home on the day of the naming ceremony. When the priest, who was performing the rituals asked Bhujang what name had been decided for the child, Vimalakka instantly said, ‘Kashimpeera.’
The priest was stunned. And so was Bhujang.
‘Have you gone mad?’ he shouted.
But Vimalakka was in no mood to listen to anybody. ‘I have already decided this and I will not compromise with any other name,’ she said firmly.
Had it been any other day, Bhujang would have slapped her across the face for raising her voice and being adamant. But that day he couldn’t as she was a new mother – a mother who had borne him a male child.
Feeling defeated, he requested the priest to name the child as per her suggestion.
‘What nonsense?’ Now it was the priest’s turn to yell. ‘Can Brahmins ever give a Muslim name to their children? No, never! At least I cannot be party to such sin,’ he said furiously.
The auspicious hour was running out as the tug-of-war over the name continued. Finally, a Kannada scholar present among the guests came up with a solution. Instead of ‘Kashimpeera’ the name should be ‘Kashiveera,’ he said, because in Kannada, the syllables ‘pa’ and ‘va’ did not make much difference to meaning. This was convincing enough. Everyone agreed to it. Thus, the child was named ‘Kashiveera’.
However, Vimalakka continued calling her son ‘Kashimpeera’.
Kashiveera was not good in studies. While his sisters passed their exams with flying colours, he flunked every alternative year. He was also a bully and complaints against him reached his parents quite often. But he was good at sports. He had grown up to be a six feet tall, brawny young man by the time he reached class ten. He practised volleyball, day in and day out. Gauging his aptitude, his father decided to put him into sports. Accordingly, Kashiveera underwent training and earned himself several state-level prizes and a solid reputation.
Had it been only this, it would have been a happy story. But it was not to be. Kashiveera picked up many vices as he went from city to city playing volleyball. People at home came to know that he had begun smoking and drinking. His winsome looks earned him many girlfriends by the time he completed his first year in college. He would often roam around with idlers and loafers on his bicycle. His parents tried counselling him, but he refused to listen. ‘My own son has gone out of my control. What can I do?’ Vimalakka would express her helplessness to Mohanaswamy’s mother.
As days passed, Kashiveera’s well-built masculine body began to draw Mohanaswamy’s attention. By then, Mohanaswamy had found himself a well-paid job in Bengaluru. Whenever he visited his hometown, he would be dying to meet Kashiveera. He would invariably get him some gifts. If anyone mentioned his vices and misdeeds, Mohanaswamy would rush to his defence. ‘Don’t scold him unnecessarily, Aunty. It is only such bold boys who come up in life, you will see,’ he would try to reason with Vimalakka.
Kashiveera sensed Mohanaswamy’s adulation for him and began trading with his good nature. He would pester him for money every now and then.
‘Don’t plunder me to buy cigarettes and alcohol,’ Mohanaswamy would admonish Kashiveera affectionately, gently stroking his bulging biceps.
‘No … I won’t. I have to buy some college books,’ Kashiveera would say, flicking back the strands of hair on his forehead and grinning impishly.
Mohanaswamy knew very well that Kashiveera would never complete his graduation. Even then, he continued giving him money for his college books.
In the evenings, he would often go to the playground to see Kashiveera play volleyball. Kashiveera looked handsome in a small vest and a netted baniyan. His strong muscles, robust thighs, hairy armpits, the way he roared while scoring a point during the match, the way he drank water – pouring it into his mouth from above and spilling some on to his chest, the way he put water on his head and shook it from side to side – all this held Mohanaswamy in awe. Kashiveera began appearing in his dreams, naked. He would fantasize about him in different positions.
One day, Mohanaswamy got a chance to touch his body. When he went to Vimalakka’s house, none of her children were around. Vimalakka offered him some coffee. ‘I have heard that in Bengaluru, vendors sell even dry shit of humans. Is that true?’ she started chatting. Bhujang uncle had gone to the weekly shandy and Kashiveera had gone to the saloon for a haircut. The girls were away at a Hanuman temple in the outskirts of the town. As Mohanaswamy prattled away with Vimalakka, Kashiv
eera came home.
‘Amma … will you pour some water on me?’ he shouted from the front yard and walked towards the bathroom.
‘These children won’t even let me cook in peace! Mohana, can you please go and pour some water on him?’ she requested Mohanaswamy.
Mohanaswamy was thrilled at the golden opportunity that landed on his lap. Like a child eager to grab a piece of candy, he scampered to the bathroom. ‘Mohana, be careful. See to it that the water from his body doesn’t touch you, he has just come back from a saloon. Our Peera is a boor, he has grown like a donkey and has no maturity,’ Vimalakka shouted from inside the kitchen.
When Mohanaswamy entered the bathroom, Kashiveera had already removed all his clothes except his briefs and was sitting on his haunches in the bathing yard. Water was boiling in a huge vessel on the hearth in the corner of the bathroom. Kashiveera’s body glittered like gold, reflecting the fire in the hearth. A gold chain around his neck glinted in the same light. This was the body that appeared in Mohanaswamy’s dreams night after night. Now it was there, right in front of his eyes. Mohanaswamy was mad with happiness and anxiety. With trembling hands, he began lifting the boiling water with a mug from the large vessel, looking at Kashiveera from the corner of his eyes. A clean-shaven Kashiveera looked as handsome as Manmatha – the god of desire. When he yawned and stretched his arms, Mohanaswamy noticed that he had shaved his underarms too. He felt horny as he pictured a shiny shaving blade sliding down Kashiveera’s armpits.
Mohanaswamy helped Kashiveera soak his clothes in cold water. Then he began pouring hot water all over his body. ‘You went to the saloon, so you should wash yourself properly, each and every part of your body,’ he instructed. ‘Rub yourself here, rub there,’ he went on.
‘Enough, Mohana, enough!’ Kashiveera interrupted, but Mohanaswamy did not stop. He went on pouring water. Finally, unable to quell his desire, he snatched the soap from Kashiveera’s hand and stepped into the bathing yard.
‘You don’t know how to rub your back, I will do it for you,’ he said and began rubbing his back with the soap.
‘Why do you want to do it, Mohana? Leave it,’ said Kashiveera, sensing something amiss.
The sight of Kashiveera’s almost naked body burst Mohanaswamy’s dam of restraint and filled him with an overwhelming desire. From his back, Mohanaswamy’s fingers moved towards Kashiveera’s chest, stomach, feet, legs and thighs. Kashiveera stood still, without reacting. Mohanaswamy had completely lost self-control, as if possessed by some devil. Unmindful of Vimalakka’s presence in the kitchen, he then tightly hugged Kashiveera from behind. A fit of hysteria overtook Mohanaswamy and he slowly slid his hand into Kashiveera’s underwear.
Mohanaswamy reeled under a strange mix of joy and trepidation. It was a first experience. The feeling was akin to entering the sanctum-sanctorum of the temple and touching the idol inside. Mohanaswamy felt giddy and breathless as he clasped Kashiveera’s member in his hand, resting his head against his back. Kashiveera still did not react, quietly sensing Mohanaswamy dominating his body and moaning. But when Mohanaswamy brought his face closer to Kashiveera’s face from behind on the pretext of applying soap, Kashiveera couldn’t take it any longer.
He turned round and hit Mohanaswamy’s face so hard that he fell over on the floor with a loud thud.
‘What’s that noise?’ Vimalakka shouted from the kitchen.
‘It’s a cat burglar!’ Kashiveera shouted back.
Mohanaswamy’s clothes had become completely wet. He felt bitter realizing that Kashiveera had no interest in his body. He had fallen in the eyes of Kashiveera. He felt ashamed. He did not dare touch Kashiveera again. Bedraggled and teary-eyed, Mohanaswamy walked out of the bathroom and went home.
The entire day he wallowed in guilt and remorse. Kashiveera is like my elder brother. He calls me ‘Mohana’ affectionately. I laid my hands on such a righteous person, shame on me. God should punish me for this. I am bad, a petty insect. I am a poisonous snake that bites its caretaker. There is no place for a venomous creature like me on this earth. Why did I desire a man who is five years older than me? I remember Vimalakka telling me that when I was a baby, Kashiveera used to take me on his lap and play with me. How could I forget that? My sinful body that craves men should be cut into pieces and the flesh cast to vultures. I am a pervert. My mind is full of filth. I deserve no respect. I am useless, I am sick!
Bogged down by self-criticism, Mohanaswamy cried for a long time, sitting in front of the idol of Krishna. Unable to show his face to anyone, he walked with his head lowered in shame. He languished in silence.
After a while, his grief subsided, but fear took its place. What if Kashiveera tells my parents? What if he reveals this to Vimalakka and Bhujang uncle? What if people in the town get wind of it? Will they not chase me away and pelt me with stones? They all have known me as an obedient boy and today’s episode will lay bare my true persona. No, no, this shouldn’t happen. I should go and apologize to Kashiveera. I should assure him that this sinner will never touch him again. ‘Kashiveera, please … please forgive me, just this once,’ I must say. The moment he says he has forgiven me, I must pack my bags and leave for Bengaluru. Then I should not see him again. I should be careful that he does not even appear in my dreams.
By evening, Mohanaswamy penned a letter to Kashiveera. In the letter, he berated himself for his vulgarity and coarseness and begged his pardon. ‘I don’t deserve to be treated like your younger brother,’ he wrote. Then he went to the playground and waited for him. As usual, Kashiveera came, jovially chatting with his friends, and played volleyball till darkness fell. Mohanaswamy sat there all the while but did not dare to lift his head and look at him.
After the game was over, Mohanaswamy went and stood in front of Kashiveera with his head bowed. He couldn’t look him in the eye. ‘I want to speak to you, Kashiveera,’ he said hesitatingly.
‘What is it?’ Kashiveera snapped while putting on his t-shirt.
Mohanaswamy could not utter a response as his heart was thumping in his chest. He quickly handed over the letter to Kashiveera, said sorry, and hurriedly walked out of the playground.
That night he couldn’t sleep a wink. He got up from his bed several times, went to the puja room and prayed: ‘Lord, please make Kashiveera forgive me, I beg you.’
Next day, he was on his way to a grocery store when Kashiveera came speedily from behind on his bicycle. Mohanaswamy turned around as he heard the screech of tyres. ‘Meet me behind the Durgamma temple this afternoon. I want to speak to you,’ he said in one breath and whizzed past. Has he forgiven me or not? Mohanaswamy was perplexed. Whatever the case may be, he had to meet him.
He went near the Durgamma temple in the afternoon as instructed. The temple was in the outskirts of the town, situated amidst a tamarind grove. The area was always deserted, especially in the afternoons. People usually went to the temple on Tuesdays and Fridays, mostly in the evenings. When Mohanaswamy went there, Kashiveera had not yet arrived. Mohanaswamy suddenly grew weary. Is this a plot by Kashiveera to get me caught? Whatever I have done, is it wrong in the eyes of the law? Will the newspapers publish stories about my heinous act? I have heard that this is not illegal in America and Europe, but here in India, the police will kick your ass and put you in jail if they get wind of it. If something goes wrong, what will happen to my life? What will my parents do? If my employers come to know that I am such a person, will they not throw me out? What if I don’t get any other job? Mohanaswamy began feeling dizzy as he was overcome by countless fears.
Kashiveera came half an hour later. Mohanaswamy stood up, feeling guilty. ‘Sit down, sit down,’ Kashiveera said and forced him to sit.
Since there was no one around, Mohanaswamy mustered all his courage and said, ‘I am sorry, Kashiveera. I made a blunder.’
‘Hey, no issues!’ Kashiveera cut him short, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He put one cigarette between his lips and offered one to Mohanaswamy.
‘Do you smoke?’
Mohanaswamy declined the offer.
‘Yeah … I know you don’t smoke, you are a good boy. Not a spoiled brat like me. That is why everyone tells me that I should be like you,’ he said, grinning mockingly. ‘Okay, if you don’t smoke, leave it. You can at least light this for me,’ he said, holding out the matchbox to him. Mohanaswamy had to strike the match several times as his hands were shaking.
Kashiveera took a deep breath, blew out the smoke and said, yet again with a sarcastic smile, ‘I read your letter. Your handwriting is so good, maraaya, not like mine which looks as if a spider has crawled across the page.’
Mohanaswamy was in no mood to laugh. ‘Whatever happened that morning, please don’t reveal it to anyone, Kashi,’ he pleaded again.
‘Hey, why are you so scared, maraaya? This is not something uncommon in the world. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,’ Kashiveera said in an assuring tone.
Mohanaswamy finally felt relieved. ‘Thanks Kashiveera, you are big-hearted,’ he said with gratitude, both hands folded before him.
‘Oh that’s okay, no issues at all. Perhaps you were overcome with desire, so you touched me, right? So what? Did I get pregnant?’ he said, holding his arms suggestively around his belly and laughing loudly at his own joke. Mohanaswamy looked at him helplessly. ‘Come on, everyone commits mistakes. So do I. How can I go on and talk about your mistake to your parents or to the people in the town? How can I go and complain to the police? I have even hidden the letter that you gave me so nobody sees it,’ Kashiveera said, a nasty smile still playing on his lips.
Mohanaswamy sensed some impending doom and decided to leave the place right away. ‘I need to go now, Kashiveera. I will never touch you again,’ he said and prepared to go.
Kashiveera stopped him. ‘Hey, wait, maaraya, why are you in a hurry? You have neither a wife nor children waiting at home. Wait, I want to talk to you,’ he said as he finished smoking his cigarette and threw away the butt. Then he sat on a stone platform and beckoned Mohanaswamy to sit next to him.