Ravan and Eddie

by Kiran Nagarkar

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lalee and your father? Because if they are, there’s very likely a case for bigamy there.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd, they are brother and sister.’

  ‘That would make it incest.’

  Most of the families in Chawl No. 17 though had forbidden their children to have anything to do with the Pawar household on the fourth floor. Ravan’s home was invariably referred to as that House of Sin.

  Ravan was used to people saying nasty things behind his back and to his face. But this was different. He was acutely embarrassed by the things they were saying about his aunt and yet he also knew that whoever spoke disparagingly about her, and almost everybody did, also exhibited an obsessive and prurient curiosity about her. He thought this was the first time people were jealous of his father. ‘What’s the bugger got that I haven’t?’ A man, whom he had never spoken to, from Chawl No. 3 asked him, ‘Women must find good-for-nothings far more attractive than simple people who have to work for a living.’

  Aunt Lalee was no longer news. She had been with them for close to ten months now, but he also knew that just the fact of her going down the stairs or standing at the bus-stop created waves. He liked that. Aunt Lalee was a circus. There was always excitement wherever she was. He knew she was unreliable and would disown anyone without a moment’s thought so long as there was something to be gained from the act or simply because she was bored. He thought he had used the word ‘disown’ by chance. Maybe not. It was a word that would never occur to his mother. He had blithely disowned her but that didn’t make any difference to her. She may have been disappointed and hurt but once she had accepted you, there was no going back. She would speak her mind in no uncertain terms but she would stand by you. Look at his father, she should have thrown the man out years ago. In the past few months, Ravan had a difficult time stopping himself from wringing his father’s neck. He was so patently thoughtless, childish and selfish. Ravan could not understand why his mother didn’t poison him. But the answer was always clear: you don’t disown people, come what may. Ravan had a strange insight about himself then. He could be bought, his price was not very high either. Yet he had to be able to live with himself. When Aunt Lalee humiliated his mother, he could not. Besides he was sure he understood his aunt’s game plan now. She was certainly planning to throw his mother and him out of the house. It wouldn’t be long before his father too was evicted and Aunt Lalee took over the place.

  Something big must be in the offing. No omelette and Coke today. The bribe was a full-fledged deluxe biryani with curd and salad. Ravan went at it systematically. No hurry, Ravan, no hurry at all.

  ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, Aunt Lalee,’ Ravan stumbled over his words in a dither of embarrassment and guilt.

  ‘Speak up man. There are no secrets between us. Vomit it all out. Don’t hold back anything. That’s the secret of life. Anything you want to do, might as well do it full-bloodedly. I always say, you want to fart, go ahead and do it loudly. Get pleasure out of it. Why else should you do it.’

  Despite so much encouragement, Ravan was slow and diffident to start. ‘I know black magic.’

  ‘No kidding.’

  Ravan nodded his head to stress and affirm what he had just said. He realized that Aunt Lalee didn’t know whether to believe him or not, more likely not, and she was just indulging him.

  ‘What kind of black magic?’

  ‘You know Eddie, the one who told my friends that Ravan’s Aunt Lalee is a whore? I killed his father.’

  ‘Good for him and bully for you, Ravan. I’m glad nobody can call Lalee names in front of you. Is that all?’

  ‘I killed Prakash’s father, the boy who used to terrorize our school students and teachers, I killed his father.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He asked me to.’

  ‘And why did you kill Eddie’s father?’

  ‘He was making eyes at my mother.’

  ‘And pray when did you kill him? Last week?’ She was getting into the spirit of things now, ribbing him, making an ass of him and enjoying it hugely though something about his face and manner bothered her. He couldn’t seem to see how ridiculous he was, telling such bizarre tales. He had an expressionless face and his voice was deadpan as if not he but someone else was talking through him.

  ‘I killed him when I was eleven months old and Eddie was still in his mother’s womb.’

  ‘What marvellous stories you invent, Ravan. I’m impressed, really I am.’

  ‘You can ask Eddie’s mother.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’ Aunt Lalee looked a trifle disturbed by Ravan’s monotonous persistence.

  ‘Just to make sure that I’m not lying.’

  ‘What difference does it make whether you are or not?’

  Ravan shrugged his shoulders. He would leave it to his aunt to decide. ‘Here are letters from the boys from my school asking me to do black magic on people who had been bothering them. They also talk about payment, how much cash down and how much they would pay on completion of the job.’

  The smile had disappeared from Aunt Lalee’s face. Ravan untied the string of the packet and carefully took out the notes and letters. There were at least fifteen of them. They had aged with the passage of time and had an authentic look to them. Ravan pushed them towards his aunt.

  ‘You read them.’

  Ravan ate his biryani with a spoon and through mouthfuls of fried Basmati rice, mutton cooked just right, crisp, burnt onions sprinkled on top, lightly fried raisins and cashewnuts, he read from the letters without a trace of feeling for the writers, for the payments offered, or their victims.

  Aunt Lalee became progressively more restless. After the seventh letter she asked him to stop. ‘What are you trying to tell me? That you’ll bump your mother off if I pay the right price?’ Ravan shook his head. ‘What’s the right price?’ Aunt Lalee had missed the movement of his head. Ravan stared at the food and again shook his head. ‘You won’t charge me or you won’t kill your mother?’

  ‘Neither,’ Ravan said slowly, almost reluctantly.

  ‘So why the hell are you telling me all this?’

  She was suddenly silent, her eyes narrowed in an effort to sort out the tangle in her mind, then they opened in horror, perhaps even a little bit of fear.

  ‘Why, you little twerp, are you trying to tell me while eating biryani at my expense,’ she flung the stainless steel plate at him, fortunately he had almost finished, ‘that you are going to do black magic on me and kill me?’ Ravan nodded. The plate was on the floor and Aunt Lalee had him by the throat. ‘And to think that I brought you here to break the good news to you first. I’ll kill you, you shit.’ She would have too but the Irani owner and the waiter rushed to separate them.

  ‘How can you do that to a young, defenceless boy?’ the old fat Irani, wearing pyjamas that didn’t reach his ankles, asked Lalee.

  ‘No child this, he is a bloody murderer. He wants to kill me.’

  ‘Talk sense, how can a boy his age do that?’

  ‘Ask him. He says he committed his first murder when he was one year old.’

  ‘And you believe him? I don’t care if he killed someone when he was in your womb.…’

  ‘This shit is not my son.’

  ‘Then what are you doing with him? Have you kidnapped him?’ Before Ravan could say yes, Aunt Lalee paid the bill and got out. She had one last question for Ravan as they headed back home. ‘If you are going to kill me with your black magic, why not do it instead of telling me about it?’

  ‘I thought I owed it to you,’ he echoed his aunt’s words to his mother.

  ‘Listen you jerk, listen carefully. You touch one hair of mine and I’ll make you a cripple but won’t let you die. You follow, you toad, I’m talking to you. Did you hear?’

  Ravan nodded his head and then said gloomily, ‘But you’ll be dead before that.’

  ‘Don’t say it, you evil boy. And to think that I bought you the shirt you ar
e wearing, took you to Apollo Bunder and bought you omelette and biryani with my own money.’

  ‘My mother’s money.’

  When they got to the house, Lalee went inside and changed her sari. If she took pains and painted her face with half the things from her vanity case, she looked like the disgruntled queen of a tiny kingdom who’s fallen out of favour but is a queen nevertheless. All that make-up couldn’t cover the fine lines stretching from her eyes to the temples and the slackness around her mouth but she was wearing one of Parvatibai’s rich Narayanpethi saris in traditional peacock blue with a border and pallu of a vibrant and violent yellow and that seemed to make her look old-world and aristocratic. Ravan saw his father standing at the mirror trying to figure out how to knot his tie. He was wearing his one and only suit. It was a little crumpled and outdated but Shankar-rao hadn’t gained any weight despite his sybaritic lifestyle and it didn’t fit him too badly. He was beaming and followed Lalee everywhere with his eyes. What were they up to? Were they going to Kashmir or leaving India for ever?

  Lalee was in a great mood. She held Shankar-rao’s hand and said, ‘Don’t we look like a picture? Parvatibai you must take out our nazar. Don’t want the evil eye to fall upon us today of all days. Ravan, wear your party clothes. The shirt’s fine but change into those swank white trousers I bought for you. Parvatibai, we need you to look good too. You are, after all, the elder wife. Change and then I’ll touch your feet and ask for your blessings.’

  Ravan marvelled at all this finery and festivity. Were these the same people he had known for years? Look at the jewellery Aunt Lalee was wearing and Shankar-rao’s parrot green suit, white shoes and the red tie that was held in place by the same kind of knot with which he tied his striped underwear.

  ‘What’s the occasion? Where are we going?’

  Lalee’s mood had undergone a transformation. She had forgotten Ravan’s dark threat and her own grip around his neck. She was smiling and the gold of her triple chain flashed in his eyes. ‘Oh, look at us. We were so excited, we forgot to tell you both. We are getting married. Right here. A nice private wedding. The bhatjee should be here any minute. Tomorrow we’ll leave for a honeymoon. Won’t that be nice? Mother and son can have a little quiet time while we are away.’

  Parvati knew when she was beaten. All of the sister’s ploys had one thing in common. She liked to keep everybody off balance. Parvatibai had tried hard to guess her moves in advance but she had missed the most obvious one. She had been outmanoeuvred and all counter-moves were now futile. The game was over.

  ‘How long will you be gone?’ Ravan asked.

  ‘Three weeks, four weeks, who knows? The world’s a big place. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Kashmir though. On that trip it’ll be just you and me, nobody else.’

  The priest knocked and entered. He made preparations for the sacred fire.

  ‘Only four people? Why? A wedding is a celebration, not a secret. Who is the young man?’

  ‘That’s Ravan,’ Lalee told him.

  ‘A trifle young, wouldn’t you say, to be getting married to you even if it’s one of those new-fangled things called a love marriage.’

  ‘Please put on your spectacles instead of making a fool of yourself. This is my groom.’ Lalee was sharp with the priest. ‘Not that silly boy.’

  ‘Ah good, now you look like the right age for a bride and bridegroom.’ He was a friendly, loquacious priest. He didn’t take offence at Lalee’s tone and he was not put out by his own muddling. He worked quickly like someone who enjoyed what he was doing and had had lots of practice.

  ‘And who’s the lady and the boy whom I mistook for someone else?’

  ‘He’s my son.’ Parvati intervened and let her husband’s sister off the hook.

  ‘And where’s his father?’

  ‘He’s out of …’ Lalee started to say but Ravan was pointing to Shankar-rao.

  ‘So that’s your father and you are his son. So you must be a widower,’ the priest said in his bemused way. ‘Very progressive of you Laleebai to marry a widower.’

  Lalee smiled with all her twenty-six teeth. In the synthetic and ersatz genre of smiles, this was certainly one of the most disarming and friendly. ‘Shouldn’t we get down to business?’

  ‘Yes of course, I like a bride who’s in a hurry. They are so much more lively. And how did your first wife die, Shankar-rao? Cancer, TB, a woman’s illness? I hope you didn’t set fire to her because she didn’t bring you enough money and a scooter and fridge.’ He laughed heartily. ‘No offence meant. It’s just that we come across more and more of these cases as the years pass. You still haven’t told me who the beautiful young woman standing shyly next to the boy is?’

  Lalee said, ‘A guest’ and Shankar-rao, ‘My wife.’

  It was a bit confusing for the bhatjee but he was a patient man with a sunny temperament.

  ‘Shouldn’t we hurry or we’ll miss the auspicious time of the muhurat.’

  ‘You leave that to me. Once I unravel these crossed signals, we’ll be sailing along. I’ll explain every word and especially all the major concepts that are so integral to the way our religion looks at marriage in plain Marathi, even if I recite in Sanskrit first.’

  Seven minutes later he had packed his bag. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. And if you are not worried about criminal consequences, what about me? The police would certainly haul me to jail for aiding and abetting a crime. And what’s wrong with your first wife? She is surely far more lovely than this new one. She is certainly far more cultured. And you, madam, why are you being party to this crime instead of speaking up.’

  ‘They are not in a frame of mind to listen to me.’

  ‘You can get the police.’ He thought that over. ‘Maybe not. You still a need a place to stay?’

  ‘Get out. We’ll get another bhatjee who’ll be more sensible.’

  Lalee, as always, had the last word.

  The marriage was postponed. It shouldn’t have been difficult to locate an indigent priest in a city like Bombay who would marry two people in a hurry. Frankly you could get anyone you wanted just so long as you made sure that Parvati and Ravan were not around.

  On Sunday morning Eddie and his family were returning from church when ‘that woman from Ravan’s house’ accosted Violet.

  ‘Madam,’ she said in Marathi, ‘may I have a word with you?’

  Between sewing and house-keeping, Violet did not have time to keep abreast of events or gossip and hence, unlike Eddie, did not know whom she was talking to.

  ‘Please excuse me,’ Violet told Lalee in her uncertain vernacular, ‘but my charity is reserved for my home, and when I can afford it, the church.’

  ‘I have not come for charity.’ Lalee was aggrieved that anyone should think that she lived off charity.

  Violet was thrown off balance. Surely she should have been more observant and realized that a woman who wore lipstick would not be begging.

  ‘Please make it brief. I have to cut and sew an engagement dress for a client by this afternoon.’

  ‘I wanted to make enquiries about a certain Master Ravan who I believe …’

  ‘I do not wish to sully my tongue with that abominable name. Do you know him? Because if you do, I will not have any converse with you.’

  What a question, Eddie thought. Only his mother would not know that Lalee was Ravan’s aunt. He shook his head frantically but Violet was not aware of him.

  ‘No friend of mine, I assure you.’

  ‘Beware of him. He killed my husband. But there are worse things in life than that evil boy. If he doesn’t get you, his mother surely will.’

  A few weeks later, Parvatibai and Ravan were returning from one of their nocturnal walks. Parvatibai had begun to enjoy them. It was the only peaceful time of the day and walking made her feel well and whether anyone would give it credence or not, it gave her a sense of freedom, a time she could call her own. Usually Ravan raced her up the stairs but today one of his classmates f
rom the third floor wanted a carrom partner.

  ‘May I, Ma?’

  ‘Twenty minutes, not more.’

  ‘Thirty.’

  ‘You heard me the first time. You have school tomorrow.’

  She was glad she was alone when she arrived at her house. Shankar-rao and his sister were engaged in a dialogue that seemed to strain the limits of imagination.

  ‘Now get into bed and give me a good time.’ Lalee’s voice was honey and soft fire.

  There was no response from Shankar-rao. ‘Come baby. If you won’t give me a good time, I’ll give you one. Not just a good time, the time of your life. I’ll do things you wouldn’t dream of. Once I do them, you’ll never be able to sleep again.’