by Indra Sinha
Says I, “It’s poetic justice of a fully rhyming kind.”
But Zafar says that poetic justice, rhyming or not is not the same as real justice, but being the only kind available to the Khaufpuris was at least better than nothing. So that person must have thought, who had entered the hotel and carefully emptied a bottle of stink bomb juice into the air conditioner.
“Was this your doing?” I ask Zafar.
“It was not,” he says. “We knew nothing of it until afterwards. We were busy searching for you.”
What made the whole thing fully grand was that someone had tipped off the press, they were waiting with their cameras when these goons stumbled out into the lobby. Once the secret was out, the deal was dead. The Kampani was saying that it was the victim of terrorism, the culprit should be prosecuted and locked up for years, but the jarnaliss took a different view. They said that one stink bomb, however disgusting, could not compare to the terror the Kampani had brought on the people of Khaufpur, plus how could the Kampani bosses demand that anyone should be prosecuted while they were themselves refusing to appear before the Khaufpur court?
Not a soul knew who had done it. At last police remembered the woman in the burqa. The hotel staff were questioned, but none of them knew who she was. One or two had seen her with her broom. She spoke to no one. Soon after the start of the meeting this same woman left the place and went away down the hill. Nobody paid her any attention, all that witnesses could say of her was that she was tall, plus carried herself like one who knew what she was about.
This mystery woman who had killed off the Kampani’s deal, this heroine, for so she was in the kingdom of the poor, how did she so completely vanish? All the city wanted to know, plus many beyond in Amrika. Intelligence wallahs were crawling all over the bastis.
“Never will they find her,” I cry. “See the Nutcracker, how the houses lean together, open in and out of one another, where better to hide something than in a labyrinth with no doors? Cops enter here, she’s gone that way, secret police arrive there, she’s back here, and which police-wallah, secret, or dead secret, will dare to twitch aside the veil of a respectable Hindu lady or ask a Muslim woman to remove her burqa? Never are they going to find her, not if they search a thousand years.” I’ve begun laughing. “In just this way did Ma escape from Père Bernard.”
“It was not Ma,” says Zafar sharply. “Animal, whatever other name may come to your mind, don’t say it.”
Farouq says, “Animal, there’s another thing you must not mention. Police are asking how the fire in the factory started. Don’t ever say you were in there.” From his pocket he gets something and hands it to me. “We found this inside the factory.”
It’s my old Zippo, charred black, twisted by fire.
I’m staring at my Zippo, wondering how it could have dropped inside the factory, then it dawns. “But are you thinking that I started the fire? I could not have, I had lost my Zippo, I did not have it with me, I swear. I know this for sure, because when I was in the forest, when I burned the Khã…” And that’s when doubt struck, plus horror, for I could recall the datura playing tricks, laughing at me.
“We’ve told no one. If you have any sense, neither will you.”
“You thought that’s why I ran away.” I’m remembering that little silence, after they’d asked me this.
“We don’t think anything,” says Zafar. “You lost it, it wasn’t you, that’s that.”
As the auto approaches the edge of the city there is a way off to the right which leads to the Nutcracker. This is where I’ve assumed we will go first, but when we reach the place the auto carries on past.
“Why this way? Are you not taking me back to my place? I have to see Ma.”
“Tonight at least,” says Zafar, “you will stay with me.”
“But why? Ma will be worrying.”
“I’ll explain everything when we get back. You need a bath, sleep, when you wake up tomorrow, then we’ll talk.”
Then it strikes me that whenever I mention Ma there’s this little pause, and they change the subject.
“Zafar! Please tell me! Where is Ma? What’s happened to her?”
So at last comes out the tale which I myself could have supplied had I not willed myself to blindness.
“Animal, Ma did not leave the basti. She was in there till the end, helping other people get out, cover up their eyes. She did not protect herself against the gas, plus people who saw her said she was singing, she took the gas deep in her lungs.”
“But she is okay?” I cry in a voice to my own ears like a child’s.
Farouq shakes his head. “Sorry, mate.”
Zafar says, “People are saying she and Huriya Bi were heroines, saints, some are talking of erecting a statue to them. Where did they find such courage, I’ll never know.”
“So Huriya makes two,” says I, with tears arriving. “Who’s the third?”
But already I know what they are going to tell me. When Ma went into the basti she headed straight to the house of Huriya to warn them that if they stayed they would die. Already the air smelt of burning chillies, people were coughing. Huriya refused to let Ma go alone, she took a loving leave of her husband Hanif and their little Aliya, then she went with Ma. Many people witnessed this, dozens told how Ma and Huriya moved ahead of the cloud, warning people to get out. They were last seen heading towards the factory. Those who heard reported that Ma was calling out in loud, clear and perfect Khaufpuri.
“The third is old Hanif, isn’t it? He stayed with Aliya, he would not have left her.” Then’s left only to wonder how all the grief and pity in the world can force their way out of two eyes.
“Farouq,” I say at last, “you asked why I went to the jungle and I would not tell you, but I will now though it’ll enable you to tease me forever.”
Then between the double disgrace of sobs and snot out it all comes, how I had tried to comfort Nisha and made that clumsy offer of marriage, which she scorned, how I had said it was because I was an animal, how she got angry with me. “Better it would have been, friends, had you not found me, for I don’t think I can bear to go on being an animal in a world of human beings.”
Whatever reply I might have expected, it wasn’t what I got, which was two pairs of arms about me, while Farouq’s in one ear whispered, “Animal, I swear I will never be rotten to you again,” and in the other Zafar’s saying, “Animal, my brother, you are a human being. A full and true human being.”
“Why are you saying this?” I’ve snivelled.
Says Zafar, “Fool.” With that he’s pressed his lips to my head and all three of us are in tears.
It’s now we arrive at the level crossing near the start of the Nutcracker, the one where the railway line runs past the factory, where I carried Aliya on my back. Our auto’s waiting at the closed barrier. We are on the left side of the road. On our right a big truck comes and blocks the other side. The long train goes through, 2652, Sampark Kranti Express. When it has passed we see that behind the further barrier a crush of autos, bhutt-bhutt-pigs, buses etcetera is also fully blocking the road. The two barriers lift, both sides stare at each other, then all rush forward at once until we are firmly stuck in a muddle of horns and curses.
Says Zafar, “Welcome home.”
So I got it back, my familiar life, I have it back. Everything the same, yet everything changed. After staying three days with Zafar I returned to the tower where I’d lived with Ma. Time passed, the travellers returned from Amrika, in due course I danced at their weddings. All live together now in Pandit-ji’s house, I still have my lunch there every day.
Eyes, what else can I tell you? Life goes on. It will take time, so we’re told, to appoint a new judge in the case, the hearing’s again been postponed, the Kampani’s still trying to find ways to avoid appearing, but Zafar is confident we’ll get them in the end. There is still sickness all over Khaufpur, hundreds come daily to Elli doctress’s clinic. Abdul Saliq stands at the Pir Gate telling the low-so
uled to fuck off and die, Farouq’s still a pain in the arse, Chunaram has various new scams, Faqri’s doing good business, the factory is still there, blackened by fire it’s, but the grass is growing again, and the charred jungle is pushing out green shoots. Moons play hide and seek in the pipework of the poison-khana, still the foreign jarnaliss come.
Three weeks ago, a fat package arrived, covered in blue and red Amrikan stamps it was, and addressed to Animal, Esquire c/o Elli at the clinic. Inside were many forms, plus a letter with good news for me, money has been found, my operation is booked. Elli was delighted, a huge hug she gave me and said that soon I won’t know myself. Zafar says he’ll help me to get a passport, in a couple of months I’ll leave for Amrika. Elli and Nisha will accompany me. All I have to do is sign a paper.
Long have I sat with this paper under the old tamarind tree that was Ma’s parlour. Thought and thought I’ve, asked aloud for advice, my voices had none to offer, but began their crazy hissing, khekhe fishguts noises. It’s then I’ve remembered the tape mashin in the wall. I will tell this story, I thought, and that way I’ll find out what the end should be. I’ll know what to do. When I started speaking, when I heard dead Aliya’s voice calling, it was like she and the others who are no more came back to be with me. My dear ones, heroes of my heart. Eyes, I can’t tell you how I miss them, until I die this wound will never heal. They’ve been here through every minute of this telling. Ma’s here with me now, sitting smiling she’s, calling me son. Let me clear my eyes of dust and rainbows. Yes, I can see her. “We’ll meet in paradise,” she says. I know that one day I will meet her there.
Eyes, here’s what I’m thinking, and this I’m speaking to the mashin, I’ve told to no one but you. Of the cash I earned from Zafar and Co., which was four hundred bucks a month, each day I spent only four. In a tin inside the scorpion wall is more than ten thousand rupees. Eyes, it was for my operation, but now that cash, plus a little persuasion from Farouq’s friends, will go to buy Anjali free and she will come to live with me. See, Eyes, I reckon that if I have this operation, I will be upright, true, but to walk I will need the help of sticks. I might have a wheelchair, but how far will that get me in the gullis of Khaufpur? Right now I can run and hop and carry kids on my back, I can climb hard trees, I’ve gone up mountains, roamed in jungles. Is life so bad? If I’m an upright human, I would be one of millions, not even a healthy one at that. Stay four-foot, I’m the one and only Animal. What reply would you give, Elli?
I am Animal fierce and free
in all the world is none like me
Eyes, I’m done. Khuda hafez. Go well. Remember me. All things pass, but the poor remain. We are the people of the Apokalis. Tomorrow there will be more of us.
KHAUFPURI GLOSSARY
(Some common Hindi words listed here have a specifically Khaufpuri twist, and have different meanings in other parts of India; ñ signifies a nasal twang, as in French non.)
aaj kahaañ chalogé?—Where are you off to today?
Aawaaz-e-Khaufpur—the Voice of Khaufpur
abba—father
achchha—okay
aghori—ascetic devotee of Siva, typically naked, whose meditation is death
alaap—slow opening exploration of a raga’s scale
Ambassador—Morris Oxford car, made in India under licence
Amrika—America
anaar—pomegranate
arré—an exclamation, like “hey!”
Ashara Mubarak—the eve of the 10th of Muharram
asteen ka saamp—literally the snake up your sleeve, traitor
baar sau chees—Animal’s nonsense inversion of chaar sau bees (q.v.)
bada batola—a braggart, big mouth
badmaash—rascal
baingan—aubergine
baingan bharta—aubergine baked on coals, peeled, mashed and spiced
bakra banaana—to scapegoat
bakwaas—nonsense
barfi—milky sweets, of a fudge-like texture
basti—literally village, but in Khaufpur means a poor community
battameez kutté, main tumhe nasht kar doonga—Shameless dog, I’ll destroy you.
beedi—leaf-rolled cigarette
behanchod—sisterfucker
bhai, bhaiya—brother, often used as a term of affection as in Zafar bhai
bhang—intoxicating drink made from cannabis leaves
bhatt-bhatt sooar—bhutt-bhutt-pig. A large three-wheel vehicle, it can carry thirty people and gets its name from the noise it makes and its ugly upturned snout above the front wheel.
bhayaanak rasa—the emotion of dread, terror
bhel-puri—a popular street snack
Bhimpalashri—afternoon raga,
bhonsdi-ka—fart-born
Bilaval—raga whose scale is almost identical with western C major scale
biryani—a dish of meat in rice
Brahma—in Hinduism the Creator god
burqa—the black head-to-toe robe with eyegrill of some Muslim women
chaar sau bees—420, refers to section 420 of the Indian Penal Code which deals with cheating
cha-hussain—a gullible fool, someone who’s taken for a ride
chai—tea
chai chappa chai—a song from the film HuTu Tu, 1998
chakra—circle
channa—chickpeas
chapaat-zapaat—nonsense phrase made up by Animal to signify excitement
chappati—flat bread, roti
chataka—a kind of swallow, said to drink only raindrops
chuna lagaana—to deceive someone, to make an idiot of them
daal—lentils
dada—godfather, criminal ganglord
dadi—grandmother
daru—crudely distilled liquor
datura—Datura strammonium (Jimson weed), a highly poisonous plant
Deshkar—raga of scale
dhaap—as the sound suggests, a heavy slap
dhaivat—sixth note of the Indian scale, equivalent of “la”
dha pa ga—notes of the Indian system, sa re ga ma pa dha ni sa
dholak—double-ended drum slung round the drummer’s neck
dikhlot—good looking
elaichi—betel nut, see supari
enteena ko strain karo—strain your antenna, i.e., think harder
fataak—bang! crack!
fillum khatam—lit. film over; you’ve missed it
frangipani—Plumeria rubra (indica), fragrant white or pink whorled flowers
galla mandi—vegetable market
gandhara—third note of the Indian scale, equivalent of “mi”
garooli—Animal’s nonsense word for a cigarette
gaya zamaana—past age
ghurr-ghurr—to stare
ghusspuss—usually whispering, but here means the beast with two backs
goonda—thug, heavy, muscle
government-waali—of the government
guftagoo—conversation
gulli—narrow alley
gup, gupshup—shooting the breeze
gutka—perfumed and sweetened chewing tobacco, a speciality of Khaufpur
guttu ghumana—to charm, or cast a spell on someone
guzz—one of Elli’s rare mistakes, she meant ghuss, or squeeze
haathi—elephant
hashish—cannabis resin
hindi mein samjhaun?—Should I tell you in Hindi? i.e., Do I have to spell it out?
holi—Spring festival of colours
imli—tamarind
Inglis—English
Isa—Jesus
Isayi—Christian
ishtoo—stew
itraana—to be a bit too clever, protest too much
jaan—life
jaanvar—animal
jahã jaan hai, jahaan hai—While we have life, we have the world.
jahaan—the world
jarnail—corruption of English “general”
jhadoo—household broom, made of a bundle of long grass stems
jugaad—a great idea; a jugaadu, a genius of good ideas
juloos—demonstration march
jungli—wild
kaané—cross-eyed
kabbadi—a rough game, involving wrestling opponents to the ground
kachambar—cucumber chunks with pepper and lime juice
Kali—Hindu mother goddess, dark goddess of death and destruction
kameez—long loose shirt, usually worn over
shalwar (q.v.)
kankana—ever youthful, full of energy
karnail—corruption of English “colonel”
khã—Khaufpuri term of familiarity like “mate.” See yaar.
khaañsi—a cough
kheer—a milky pudding
khuda hafez—lit. God protect you, in Farsi. Used as a farewell.
kismiss—what English sounds like to non-English speakers
KLPD, khade lund pe dhoka—betrayal of the erect dick, used of disappointments
kulcha—flat breads, thicker than a chappati, not as thick as a naan
kurta—fine embroidered muslin shirt worn by men and women
kushti—wrestling
kutiya ki aulad—son of a bitch
kya main Hindi mein samjhaun—See hindi mein samjhaun?
kyõ khã?—So, friend?
laal imli ka gatagat—tamarind pieces in salt and spices, sold as a chew
laat sahib—a big shot, corruption of English “Lord sahib”
langur—long-tailed monkey