His words didn’t have any effect on Mozelle. She smiled, her lips smeared with stale and spotty lipstick, and then she said, ‘They make me uncomfortable. This way’s better.’
The memory flashed through his mind of how that first day he had run into her and the strange mix-up that had followed. He smiled and drew her to his chest. ‘Let’s get married tomorrow.’
‘Of course,’ Mozelle said, rubbing the back of her hand over his soft chin.
It was decided that the wedding would be in Pune. Because it was a civil marriage, they had to give ten to fifteen days’ notice. This was a legality. Pune was the best place for the marriage as it was close to Bombay and Trilochan had some friends there. They decided to leave for Pune the very next day.
Mozelle was a salesgirl in a store in the Fort. There was a taxi stand near her store where she asked him to wait. Trilochan arrived at the agreed upon hour and waited for an hour and a half, but Mozelle didn’t show up. The next day he learned that she had left for Deolali with an old friend who had just bought a brand-new car and that she was going to stay there for a while.
What happened then to Trilochan? That is a very long story. The short version is that he drew up his courage and resolved to forget her. Soon after that, he met Kirpal Kaur and fell in love with her. Then he realized that Mozelle was nothing more than a wild girl with a cold heart who jumped from here to there like a bird. At least, he consoled himself, he hadn’t made the mistake of marrying her.
Despite this he would think about Mozelle from time to time. These were bittersweet moments: she didn’t care about anyone’s feelings, but Trilochan still liked her, and so he couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing in Deolali—whether she was still with the guy with the new car or if she had left him and was with someone else. Regardless, it was painful for Trilochan to think that she was living with someone other than him, but at the same time such behaviour was nothing but in character.
He had spent not just hundreds but thousands of rupees on her. But he had done so willingly, and furthermore Mozelle’s tastes weren’t expensive. She liked cheap things. Once Trilochan took her to get some earrings he had picked out for her, but when they got to the store, Mozelle became fascinated with a pair of gaudy, cheap imitation ones, and rejecting Trilochan’s favourites, begged him to buy the others instead.
Trilochan really couldn’t understand Mozelle. They would spend hours kissing, and he would run his hands all over her body. But she never let him go further. To irritate him, she would say, ‘You’re a Sikh. I hate you.’
It was obvious that Mozelle didn’t hate him. If she had, she would never have agreed to spend time with him. She didn’t put up with things she didn’t like, and so the thought of her spending two years hanging out with him and hating every minute of it was ridiculous. Mozelle made up her own mind about things. For example, she didn’t like underwear because they felt tight. On many occasions Trilochan had stressed their absolute necessity and even tried to shame her into wearing them, but she never reformed her ways.
When Trilochan raised the subject, she would get irritated and say, ‘This shame-blame stuff is nonsense. If you get offended, close your eyes. Tell me, you’re naked underneath your clothes, and so where are the clothes to cover that up? Where are the clothes that can prevent you from imagining what’s underneath? Don’t give me that crap. You’re a Sikh. I know you wear those silly baggy underpants. They’re a part of your religion—just like your beard and your hair. You should be ashamed. You’re an adult but still think your religion is hidden in your underpants.’
When they had first met and Mozelle said things like this, Trilochan would get angry, but as time passed he started to consider what she was saying, and sometimes his prejudices gave way. Then, after getting his hair cut, he was overcome by the feeling of how much time he had wasted carrying around his heavy mess of hair.
Trilochan stopped near the water tanks. He cursed Mozelle and forced himself to stop thinking about her. Kirpal Kaur, pure and innocent Kirpal Kaur, whom he loved, was in danger. She lived in a neighbourhood full of the most violent sort of Muslims and already two or three incidents had taken place. The problem was that there was a forty-eight-hour curfew in effect. And yet who really cared about that? Muslims living in her building could very easily kill her and her parents at any time.
Concentrating on this, Trilochan sat down on a large water pipe. His hair had grown out, and he was sure that in under a year it would look as though he had never cut it. His beard had grown fast as well. Nonetheless, he didn’t keep it as long as he used to, and there was a barber in the Fort who trimmed it so neatly that it looked as though it was untouched.
He stroked his long, soft hair and sighed deeply. He was about to get up when he heard the hard slap of wooden sandals. He wondered who it might be, as there were many Jewish women in the building and they all wore the same wooden sandals when at home. The noise grew closer. Then he glimpsed Mozelle near the next water tank—she was wearing the special loose gown of Jewish women and, with both arms raised above her head, was stretching in such a sexy way that Trilochan felt as though the air itself would shatter.
Trilochan got up from the water pipe and asked himself, ‘Where in the hell did she come from? What’s she up to now?’
Mozelle stretched again, and Trilochan’s bones throbbed with desire.
Mozelle’s large breasts heaved beneath her loose gown, and suddenly the thought of their delicate veins flashed through Trilochan’s mind. He coughed loudly. Mozelle turned and looked in his direction but didn’t seem surprised at all. She approached him, and her sandals clapped against the ground. Once she reached him, she looked at his dwarfish beard and asked, ‘You’ve become a Sikh again, Trilochan?’
His face began to burn.
Mozelle came forward and rubbed the back of her hand against his chin. Then she smiled. ‘Now this brush could clean my navy blue skirt! But I left that in Deolali.’
Trilochan didn’t respond.
Mozelle pinched his arm. ‘Why don’t you say something, Sardar Sahib?’
Trilochan didn’t want to be made foolish again, but he couldn’t help but look searchingly at her. No special change had taken place, other than how she looked a little weaker. ‘Have you been sick?’
‘No,’ Mozelle said and gave her bobbed hair a light shake.
‘You look weaker than before.’
‘I’m on a diet.’ Mozelle sat down on the water pipe and began to rap her sandals against the ground. ‘So you’re trying to be a Sikh again?’
‘Yes,’ Trilochan said nonchalantly.
‘Congratulations!’ Mozelle took off one of her sandals and beat it against the water pipe. ‘Have you fallen in love with some other girl?’
‘Yes,’ Trilochan said flatly.
‘Congratulations. Is it someone in this building?’
‘No.’
‘That’s really wrong.’ Fixing her sandal, Mozelle got up. ‘You should always give first consideration to your neighbours.’
Trilochan remained silent. Mozelle got up and tickled his beard with all five fingers. ‘Did she tell you to grow it out?’
‘No.’
Trilochan felt uneasy, as though he were unsnarling his beard with a comb, and when he said ‘no’, there was a curt edge to it.
Mozelle’s red lipstick made her lips look like old meat. When she smiled, Trilochan felt as though he had entered a village butcher shop where the butcher had just cut a thick-veined piece of meat in two.
Then she laughed. ‘Now if you shave your beard, I swear I’ll marry you.’
Trilochan wanted to tell Mozelle how much he loved Kirpal Kaur and how he was going to marry her, and how in comparison to her, Mozelle was wanton, ugly, faithless, and unkind. But he wasn’t spiteful. ‘Mozelle, I’ve already decided to get married to a simple girl from my village who upholds our religion. For her sake I’ve decided to grow out my hair.’
Mozelle usually didn’t spend any time
thinking about details, but she reflected for a moment and after pivoting on one of her sandals, she asked, ‘If she obeys your religion, then how can she accept you? Doesn’t she know you’ve already cut your hair?’
‘She doesn’t know yet,’ Trilochan admitted. ‘Right after you left for Deolali, I started to grow out my beard, just to spite you. Then I met Kirpal Kaur. I do up my turban in a way so that even one man in a hundred has a hard time telling I cut my hair. Anyway, it’s going to grow back very soon.’ Trilochan ran his fingers through his hair.
Mozelle lifted her long gown and scratched her pale voluptuous thigh. ‘That’s good. But look at this stupid mosquito! See how hard it bit me!’
Trilochan turned his gaze away from her. With her finger, Mozelle applied saliva to where the mosquito had bitten her and then let go of her gown and stood up. ‘When’s the wedding?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Trilochan said before suddenly becoming pensive.
For several seconds Mozelle didn’t speak. Then noticing his worried demeanour, she asked in a very serious manner, ‘Trilochan, what are you thinking about?’
At that moment Trilochan needed someone to talk to. Even Mozelle would do. He told her about the danger Kirpal Kaur was in, and then Mozelle laughed and said, ‘You’re a first-class idiot! Go get her! What’s hard about that?’
‘Hard? Mozelle! You would never understand the delicacy of this situation, the delicacy of any situation. You’re so careless. That’s why our relationship didn’t work out, something I’ll be sorry about forever.’
Mozelle banged her sandal against the water pipe. ‘To hell with your regret! Stupid idiot. You should be thinking about how to get your what’s-her-name out of there, but you sat down to cry about the old days. We would never have lasted. You’re a silly coward and I need a fearless man. But enough of that. Come on, let’s go rescue your girl.’
She grabbed Trilochan’s arm. ‘From where?’ he asked in fear.
‘From where she lives. I know that neighbourhood inch by inch. Come on.’
‘But listen! There’s a curfew.’
‘Not for Mozelle. Come on.’
She grabbed Trilochan’s arm and pulled him towards the door leading to the stairs. She was about to open the door and go down the stairs when she stopped and looked at Trilochan’s beard.
‘What?’ Trilochan asked.
‘Your beard. But it’s okay. It’s not that big. If you don’t wear a turban, no one will take you for a Sikh.’
‘Don’t wear a turban?’ Trilochan was taken aback. ‘I won’t go without a turban.’
‘Why?’ Mozelle asked, feigning ignorance.
Trilochan pushed back some stray hairs. ‘You don’t understand. I have to wear it there.’
‘Why?’
‘Why don’t you understand? Up till now she hasn’t seen me without my turban. She doesn’t know I’ve cut my hair, and I don’t want her to know.’
Mozelle rapped her sandal against the door’s threshold. ‘You really are an idiot. Stupid ass! It’s a matter of life and death for your what’s-her-face.’
Trilochan tried to explain, ‘Mozelle, she’s a very religious girl. If she sees me without a turban, she’ll hate me.’
This irritated Mozelle. ‘Ah, screw your love! I wonder if all Sikhs are so stupid. Her life’s in danger and you’re insisting on wearing a turban—and maybe your silly underwear too?’
‘I always wear it.’
‘Good for you! But we’re going to a neighbourhood where it’s Muslim after Muslim and they’re not the type you want to mess with. If you wear a turban, you’ll be slaughtered the moment you get there.’
Trilochan responded curtly, ‘I don’t care. If I go, I’m going to wear a turban. I’m not going to risk losing her love.’
This incensed Mozelle. She writhed in anger, and her breasts twitched and trembled. ‘You ass, what will her love matter if you’re dead? What’s your slut’s name? When she’s dead—and her family’s dead as well—then, well, you really are a Sikh. I swear to God, you’re a Sikh and a real dumb one too!’
Trilochan was furious. ‘Stop talking nonsense!’
Mozelle cackled. She put her arms around Trilochan’s neck and swung lightly from side to side. ‘Okay, darling, as you wish. Go and put on your turban. I’ll be waiting for you outside.’
She began to walk downstairs. Trilochan called out, ‘You’re not going to put on any other clothes?’
Mozelle shook her head. ‘No, I’m okay like this.’
She continued walking down, her sandals slapping against the stairs. Trilochan listened to her reach the last stair, then he smoothed back his long hair and descended towards his apartment. Inside he changed his clothes quickly. His turban was already made up. He fixed it carefully into place, locked the door, and went downstairs.
Outside on the pavement, Mozelle had her sturdy legs spread wide and was smoking just as a man would. When Trilochan approached, she mischievously blew a mouthful of smoke in his face. ‘You’re really awful,’ Trilochan said angrily.
Mozelle smiled. ‘That’s not very original. I’ve heard that before.’ Then she looked at Trilochan’s turban. ‘You’ve really tied it up well. It looks like you still have all your hair.’
The market was completely deserted. The wind blew so slowly that it seemed as though it, too, was afraid of the curfew. Lamps were lit but their light seemed sickly. Usually at that hour the streets would spring to life, as the trams started up and people began to come and go, but now it was so quiet it seemed as though no one had ever used this road and never would.
Mozelle was walking ahead. Her sandals clattered against the pavement and their noise echoed through the silence. Beneath his breath Trilochan was cursing her for not having taken two minutes to change out of her stupid sandals. He wanted to tell her to take them off and walk barefoot, but he knew she wouldn’t listen.
Trilochan was so terrified that when a leaf stirred, his heart lurched, and yet Mozelle walked ahead fearlessly, puffing on her cigarette as though she were enjoying a thoughtless stroll.
They reached an intersection and a police officer’s voice burst upon them, ‘Hey, where’re you going?’
Trilochan flinched. Mozelle approached the policeman, and once she reached him she gave her hair a light shake and said, ‘Oh, you—don’t you recognize me? It’s Mozelle.’ Then she pointed down an alley. ‘There, over there. My sister lives there. She’s not feeling well. I’m bringing a doctor.’
The officer was trying to remember Mozelle, when from God knows where she took out a pack of cigarettes and offered him one, ‘Here, have a cigarette.’
The officer accepted. Mozelle took the cigarette from her mouth and extended it towards the officer. ‘Let me give you a light.’
The officer took a drag. Mozelle winked at the officer with one eye and at Trilochan with the other, and rapping her sandals against the ground, she set off for the alley leading to Kirpal Kaur’s neighbourhood.
It seemed to Trilochan that Mozelle got a strange pleasure from defying the curfew, and it was true that she liked to play dangerous games. When they used to go to Juhu Beach, she was a headache. She would dash against the ocean’s enormous waves, swimming out so far that Trilochan feared she would drown. When she came back, her body always had bruises all over it, and yet she didn’t care.
Mozelle forged ahead, and Trilochan followed, surveying from side to side skittishly, fearful that a knife-wielding assailant would spring upon him. Mozelle stopped, and when Trilochan caught up with her, she explained, ‘Triloch, dear. Being scared like this doesn’t help. If you’re scared, something bad will certainly happen. Believe me, I’m talking from experience.’
Trilochan remained silent.
Leaving one alley, they made for one that led directly into Kirpal Kaur’s neighbourhood. Mozelle stopped abruptly. A little way ahead, people were looting a Marwari’s shop. She considered the scene and then said, ‘It’s nothing. Let’s go.’
&n
bsp; They set off. Suddenly a man carrying a large brass basin on his head ran into Trilochan, and the basin fell. The man looked Trilochan up and down and realized Trilochan was a Sikh. Quickly, he reached for something inside his waistband, but Mozelle stumbled forward as if in a drunken stupor and rammed into him. ‘Hey, what’re you doin’?’ she asked in a drunken voice. ‘You wanna hit your own brother? I’m gonna marry him.’ Then she turned to Trilochan. ‘Karim! Pick up the basin and put it on this man’s head.’
The man withdrew his hand from his waistband and leered lasciviously at Mozelle; then he went up to her and nudged her breasts with his elbow. ‘Enjoy yourself, lady. Enjoy yourself.’ Then he picked up the basin and ran off down the road.
‘How rude, the dirty bastard,’ Trilochan muttered.
Mozelle rubbed her breasts. ‘It wasn’t that bad. Shit happens. Come on, let’s go.’
She set off quickly and Trilochan hurried after her.
After passing through this alley, they found themselves in Kirpal Kaur’s neighbourhood. ‘Which alley is it?’ Mozelle asked.
‘Third alley—corner building.’
Mozelle started off in that direction. The road was completely empty. The buildings were crammed full of people, but not even the cry of a baby could be heard.
When they approached the alley, they saw something suspicious ahead: a man rushed from a building to disappear into a building on the opposite side. After a little while, three men emerged from this building. They glanced back and forth over the pavement and then raced into the first building. Mozelle stopped. She motioned to Trilochan to step into the shadows. Then she whispered to him, ‘Triloch, dear, take off your turban.’
‘I’ll never take it off, never.’
Mozelle twitched with anger. ‘Whatever. But don’t you see what’s happening?’
What was happening was easy to see—something fishy was going on. When Mozelle saw two men coming from the building on her right carrying gunnysacks on their backs, she quivered with fear—a thick liquid was dripping from the sacks. Mozelle bit her lips, thinking. When these two men disappeared into the alley’s mouth, she told Trilochan, ‘Okay, this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to run to the corner building. You come after me like you’re chasing me, okay? But we’re going to have to do this fast.’
Bombay Stories Page 19