The Himalayan Arc

by Namita Gokhale

  Tei shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t want Mama Lang to bring up the KSU days. The days when Mama Lang and the others fought and rallied and lived as outlaws. He’d heard it all before. Over and over again. From friends and relatives and neighbours. He’d come here to think about Josephine and her brown eyes and her full pink lips that he’d never kiss again. He watched his companion struggle to light a match, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth like an embarrassing dribble. The murmur in the room was louder now, the air sticky and warm, the number of figures seemed to have grown silently like a damp patch on the wall.

  ‘What brings you here?’ asked Mama Lang again. Maybe he remembered Tei hadn’t answered the first time, maybe he forgot he’d already asked the question. With the alcohol snug in his throat, Tei began, ‘There’s this girl…’

  ‘The most beautiful girl in the world,’ finished Mama Lang. ‘And she left? Dumped you like a used condom?’

  Tei felt a spray of spittle on his face. He wiped it off and nodded.

  ‘Was her name Angela?’ Mama Lang had managed to light the cigarette by now and dragged on it deeply.

  Tei shook his head. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to tell his story. But what was there to tell? He loved her, and she’d said she loved him. But she didn’t really. And how could he compete with Ashley, with his slick Yamaha bike, his trendy haircut, the shiniest leather jacket in town, and a multitude of talents he was sure extended beyond playing the guitar like a rock star. Tei finished his drink and poured out another.

  ‘My girl’s name was Angela, you know. She was…’ Mama Lang struggled to find the words.

  ‘Like an angel,’ finished a small, supremely intoxicated man from the next table.

  ‘Or the devil in disguise,’ added his equally inebriated companion.

  ‘Don’t make fun of her, Rit.’ Mama Lang lurched forward. His hands slammed the table. Tei steadied the whisky bottle before it toppled over.

  ‘Let me pour you a drink,’ he said hurriedly. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘Kai khlaw,’ Mama Lang muttered as he settled back into his chair.

  After he was suitably appeased, he began – it happened, he said, in the mid-’80s.

  Those days, Mama Lang was in the KSU, running from the CRPF, the central government police force that was sent by the droves to this hill-station town in the middle of nowhere. He and his ‘brothers’ hid in the jungles (plenty at that time, not like now), ate wild animals, and camped wherever they could find a dry patch in the undergrowth. But he went to see her every day.

  Mama Lang shook a finger at nothing in particular. ‘Every day,’ he repeated.

  She lived in Malki and he’d tramp through the adjoining Risa Colony forest just for a glimpse of her long, black hair and her smooth, amber skin.

  Just like my Josephine, thought Tei.

  Angela was beautiful but poor. Her father, a modestly successful tailor, had died of tuberculosis when she was nine, and her mother was wilting under the same disease. She had five siblings to look after and bring up on her own.

  ‘I couldn’t help,’ said Mama Lang, clutching his glass so tight Tei thought it might break. ‘Running for my life, living in the wild. I didn’t have any money to call my own. How could I help?’

  Angela tried to make ends meet by working as a tea lady in a bank and in as many households as she could manage after work hours. But it wasn’t enough. What with her mother’s medicines and her siblings’ school fees and food to feed so many hungry mouths. In desperation, she approached the manager of the bank for a loan.

  ‘He’ll give it to me,’ she told Mama Lang, her eyes shining like the fireflies he watched in the jungle at night. ‘He said he’ll give me the money.’

  Try as he might, Mama Lang couldn’t believe a dkhar – ‘and that too a lazy, filthy Akhomia’ – would be willing to help. But she was happy and relieved and he kept his reservations to himself. Weeks passed, and every time he asked about the money, she’d clam up … he knew she was hiding something from him.

  ‘What? What was she hiding?’ asked Tei.

  Mama Lang held up his little finger, said he needed to piss, and shuffled out to the loo.

  ‘Ei, ei.’ Rit was leaning back on his chair and miraculously not falling over. ‘Ask him if he’s sure she wasn’t a puri. Lots of them in Risa forest.’

  ‘They were so stoned most of the time they wouldn’t know a real woman from a ghost,’ added his companion.

  Rit laughed and choked on his drink. His friend thumped him on the back.

  ‘They say if you sleep with a water spirit, you’re done for,’ he continued. ‘And look what’s happened to Lang – lost all the screws in his head, and taken to drink.’

  Tei was tempted to ask if that was the reason why they’d hit the bottle as well, but decided against it. Who knew how far their alcohol-induced good humour would stretch.

  ‘But they say there was some girl…’ said Rit’s companion.

  ‘Bah,’ his friend spat, ‘there’s always some girl. There’s always some girl and there’s always some money, and there’s always love that wasn’t enough or true.’

  At that moment, a waiter brought a bottle of whisky to Tei’s table.

  ‘Bah Lang ordered,’ he said.

  ‘To Angela,’ chanted the two drunks behind him, lifting their glasses.

  ‘Or whatever he’s calling her today,’ Rit added.

  When Mama Lang returned he asked, ‘What happened?’ Tei hesitated. ‘Nothing. The waiter brought another bottle of whisky. Why don’t you continue your story?’

  One afternoon, Mama Lang began, he and his friend Bantei (killed in a police shoot-out during that year’s monsoon) went to the Risa stream to bathe and wash clothes. It was a pretty spot where lovers usually lingered, but with all the trouble in town, nobody visited any more. When they reached, they noticed that two people were sitting by the stream just before it tumbled and vanished deep into the forest.

  ‘Can you imagine my surprise when I saw Angela? Sitting there in her best Sunday dress with a ribbon and all in her hair. And next to her, this dkhar man with a thick moustache and lecherous eyes. My mother is unwell, Angela was trying to say, we really need the money … please…

  ‘I will give you the money,’ he said, ‘but what can you give me? The bank calls it collateral…’ He laughed and put his hand on her knee. Then he tried to force himself on her, his black moustache scratching her skin.

  ‘What did you do?’ asked Tei.

  ‘I–I was paralysed.’ Mama Lang’s head drooped, the grip on his glass loosened.

  Only when the man took out a pair of scissors to threaten Angela did something snap inside him and Mama Lang charged at them … but it was too late.

  ‘Too late for what?’ Tei leaned forward. The whisky buzzed in his head, he clenched his fists.

  She jumped.

  Mama Lang tipped his glass over. The liquor flowed over the table and splashed to the floor.

  ‘Like nohkalikai. She became a waterfall.’

  When Tei left the table later that evening, Mama Lang lay slumped on his side. Maybe he was asleep. Tei didn’t try to find out. He staggered out between the empty chairs and tables as though on a boat at sea. When he reached the counter, he fished into his pocket for money and, with some difficulty, counted out the notes. Bisesh, who was tallying figures on a long sheet of paper, glanced up at him; his eyes were sharp and shrewd like a bird.

  ‘You been sitting with Lang over there?’

  Tei nodded. Bisesh crossed his arms and rested them on the counter.

  ‘What’s he been telling you? About his girl. What was her name? Mabel. Or Angel.’

  ‘Angela … yes, how did you know…?’

  Bisesh laughed. ‘He tells that story to any dumb fuck who’ll listen.’

  ‘But it’s true…’ Tei protested.

  ‘Oh, it’s true alright. Lang was part of the KSU and all, but there’s another version of
the story. Where the girl fell in love and ran away with an Akhomia bloke. Hurt Lang’s pride, it did. And his…’ Bisesh tapped his temple, and laughed again.

  When Tei emerged onto the empty street, he realized it had been raining. In Embassy, things like seasons, and Christmas, and changes in weather passed by unnoticed. It was bitterly cold. Tei stamped his feet and blew into his hands, his breath turning white as though he were exhaling ghosts. As he walked, scanning the road for a taxi he was sure wouldn’t pass, rainwater gushed around his ankles. It was dark and murky, it could be blood for all he knew. Wounds ran deep in this hill-station town in the middle of nowhere.

  THE OTHER SIDE OF THE LOOKING GLASS

  A Retelling of Mizo Folk Tales

  Jacqueline Zote

  Mawii gazed at the burning candle in front of her, carefully observing the movements of the flame. There was a power cut again and they had to make do with candlelight. Power cuts were frequent in her mountainside town. Normally, Mawii would hate it when there was no electricity because she couldn’t watch the TV or read her comic books.

  But tonight, she felt, would be different though she didn’t know why. She was sitting on a mat on the living room floor. The night was warm but there was a cool breeze blowing from the open window, making the white chiffon curtains flutter.

  Her father was sitting on the couch next to her, strumming his guitar, and singing to the tune of his favourite country songs. To Mawii, he looked as if he’d fit right in if you threw a cowboy hat on his head and placed him inside a Western movie. Her little brother was curled up next to her on the mat, gradually falling off to sleep. He was 4 years old and the day had been long for him.

  On another couch, her teenaged cousin Pari sat reading a novel under the light of a torch. Pari was staying with them for a few weeks while her parents travelled to Kolkata for health treatment. She read a lot and would be lost in a book every chance she got. A simple power cut wasn’t going to stop her from following the adventures of a little boy in Hogwarts.

  Mawii had always been fascinated by Pari, although the latter didn’t pay her much attention. The teenager’s quiet demeanour and intelligent eyes impressed the little girl immensely. Mawii believed her cousin knew everything about everything and would often bombard her with random (and sometimes absurd) questions. This was annoying to the introverted 16-year-old, who often tried to avoid any kind of social interaction.

  Mawii’s attention shifted to the figure entering the room. Her mother had been washing the dishes from dinner. ‘Finally, Nu! I’ve been waiting since forever,’ Mawii whined.

  ‘I have to finish my work first, you know that.’

  ‘I hate that you have to work so much.’

  ‘I know, honey. But sometimes it’s necessary. Who’s going to do all the work if I don’t, huh?’ Sensing her mother’s agitation, Mawii thought it better not to respond.

  Mawii’s mother went by the name of Sangi. She was a petite, middle-aged woman with kind eyes and an even kinder voice. Even if Mawii tried with all her might to remember a time when her mother shouted at her or lost her patience, she wouldn’t succeed.

  But today, Sangi had had a particularly tiring day as she had to get ready for a small feast they were hosting the next day. It was to celebrate her husband’s promotion. She immediately regretted snapping at her daughter.

  ‘And what exactly have you been waiting for?’ Sangi said teasingly as she made herself comfortable beside her daughter and rested her back against her husband’s leg. She was trying to lighten the mood.

  Mawii replied enthusiastically, ‘I want a story. Please please, Nu! I’m so bored. There’s nothing to do.’

  Sangi smiled as she pulled her daughter close and held her head against her chest. Evenings like these set the mood for storytelling but she sometimes wondered if she wanted her daughter to be brought up with the same stories she heard as a girl. Would it be wrong to change things around a bit?

  She glanced at her husband who had begun to nod off. Sangi couldn’t help but feel a slight resentment, an irritation. Men have it so much easier here, she thought. That settled it. It was time for a story – the story of Sichangneii.

  ‘Sichangneii was a woman of the skies,’ Sangi began. ‘Women of the skies are popular in the stories our ancestors told. They might be similar to angels and are often described as beautiful young women with majestic bird-like wings.

  ‘The story begins with a young man who built a small pond from a natural spring. Every morning, he would go to check on the pond. But to his dismay, the pond would always be murky and dirty. The man found this puzzling and was unable to figure out who could be behind it.

  ‘So he decided to ask around the village to see if anyone knew anything about how his pond got so murky every morning. He went from house to house, only to discover that no one could point their fingers at the culprit. Just as the man began losing hope, he met an old woman who claimed to have seen the people who dirtied his pond.

  ‘“It was Sichangneii and her sister,” she said confidently, “they fly down from the skies every morning to bathe in the pond. That’s why it gets so dirty when you get there.”

  ‘“But beware,” the old woman added, “if you’re planning to catch them, make sure you approach them from behind. Else you’ll be blinded by their beauty and you won’t be able to catch them.”

  ‘The next day, the man waited behind the bushes near the pond for Sichangneii and her sister to appear. As dawn approached, he saw two magnificent creatures flying down from the skies. They looked like women but they also looked otherworldly. He was awestruck by their bright glow that lit up the pond and its surroundings as they bathed in it.

  ‘By this time, the man had forgotten all about the old woman’s advice. He rushed in to catch them but as he looked at them, he was blinded by their light. This gave the sisters enough time to escape to the skies.

  ‘Having seen the sky women, the man could barely sleep that night. He was enthralled by their beauty and couldn’t think of anything else but them. Finally, he decided that he would catch one of them and make her his wife.

  ‘The next morning, he hid near the pond again and waited for the creatures to appear. This time he would follow the old woman’s advice. Soon, the skies started to open and he saw the same two women floating down.

  ‘He waited for them to be at ease so he could catch them unawares. After a while, the maidens started splashing the water playfully at each other, their laughter ringing melodiously in the man’s ears. He took this chance to slowly creep up behind Sichangneii and jump on her, grabbing her tight to make sure she wouldn’t escape, even as her sister flew back to the skies.

  ‘The man then took Sichangneii home to make her his wife. To prevent her from flying back home, he clipped her wings and tail feathers and then hid them from her. So she was trapped with no option but to marry her kidnapper.’

  ‘That’s so sad, Nu,’ Mawii said.

  ‘Yes,’ Sangi responded.

  ‘What happens next?’

  ‘The two of them get married and have seven sons.’

  ‘Seven? That’s a lot!’

  ‘Yes, believe it or not it was the norm back in those days. It wasn’t until recently that it became acceptable for women to have fewer children. Even your grandmother had six siblings.’

  ‘Oh! I didn’t know that. And then what happens?’

  ‘While Sichangneii wasn’t home, the man would entertain his sons by taking out his wife’s wings and tail feathers from hiding. But he warned his sons to never tell their mother about it because then she would leave them.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he want her to know?’ asked Mawii.

  ‘Even after so many years of being together, perhaps Sichangneii had a hard time with the man. If you remember, he had caught her and married her by force.’

  Sangi wistfully looked at her daughter and wondered if it was too soon to tell her all of this. But she soon snapped out of it when she heard Mawii ask, ‘What happe
ns next, Nu?’

  ‘One day, Sichangneii had to take care of the kids while her husband was away from home. But unlike the times when her husband looked after them, the kids were cranky and uncontrollable. Exasperated, she asked them, “Why is it that you’re so well-behaved and quiet when your father is at home but not with me? Why do you want to stay inside with him but when I am around, all you want is to run around the fields?”

  ‘“There’s a reason why,” was the youngest son’s reply, which was quickly followed by his brothers shushing him.

  ‘This stirred Sichangneii’s curiosity. “Please tell me, son, what is that?” she nudged him. “Well, father takes out a beautiful pair of wings and some tail feathers. So we wear them and dance around the house pretending to be birds. It’s really fun!” the kid answered.

  ‘Sichangneii felt a wave of relief rushing through her as she heard this. Could this be true? Would she finally find her feathers?

  ‘“Do you know where he keeps these things, son?” she asked. The youngest son pointed towards the bamboo basket in which he’d seen his father putting their feathery toys back before his mother got home.

  ‘Despite her other sons’ attempts to stop her, Sichangneii rushed towards the basket, took out the plumage that once adorned her, and immediately put them on. She ran out to the porch but halted to take one final look at her seven sons. She then called out to them and said, “Goodbye, my sons. You’re all grown up now and you can look after yourselves. Take care of your little brother.”

  ‘Before she could change her mind, she spread her wings and flew back home towards the skies. What a relief, don’t you think?’

  ‘But she has children … seven of them! Why would she want to leave them behind?’

  ‘As much as she loved her children, she was still in entrapment. It’s possible that she dreamt of being free and going back to the skies.’