by Anosh Irani
“I’ll wait,” promises Chamdi.
“And idiot,” says Sumdi. “Make sure you put the money in your pocket in the temple itself. Only take the notes. No coins. And once you come out, walk easy like you are in a garden. Only if you are seen, then run. Only you know you are a thief, remember that. If your heart is beating fast, no one else will be able to hear it, so just relax. Before you come out of the window, peek through the bars. We’ll be outside. So we’ll give you a sign.”
“What if the temple window is closed?” asks Chamdi.
“On the day of the puja, because of the extra incense, they keep the side window open. They have to let the fragrance out. And the thief in.”
“I’m not a thief,” says Chamdi sharply.
“Okay, okay.”
“And why has no one robbed the temple in all these years?”
“No one has the guts to rob that temple.”
“Why not?”
“First of all, everyone thinks it’s a miraculous temple. So to rob it would be bad luck.”
“What’s the other reason?”
“The temple is under Anand Bhai’s protection.”
“Oh …”
“Namdeo Girhe uses Anand Bhai to beat people up during voting. Anand Bhai’s gang is very powerful. During voting, this temple is used for paying bribes to the police. The policewalas come in to pray and go out rich.”
“During the puja, Anand Bhai will be there?”
“He might. But don’t worry. He’ll be in a daze because he always drinks bhang.”
“What’s that?”
“A drug he puts in a glass of milk and swallows.”
“If he finds out, we’re dead.”
“By the time he finds out, we’ll be on a train. Any more questions?”
What if I am caught and beaten, what if my ribs cause me to get stuck between the bars, what if while I am entering the window the bars move on their own, come in closer, and crush me, what if I cannot find Platform 1?
“No, I don’t have any questions,” says Chamdi.
They enter the lane just behind a shop that sells car and truck tires. Next to it is Pushpak Books, and a group of schoolchildren line up outside it with their parents. Sumdi enters a small building. Its archway entrance is painted bright yellow, but the rest of the building is rundown and peeling. The iron grilles on the windows make the building look even more rusted. Sumdi and Chamdi are now inside a very narrow passageway. Chamdi inhales deeply, takes in the smell of different foods. There is also the pungent odour of waste emanating from a square landing in the centre of the building that is open to the sky. The inhabitants of the building must throw their garbage here—Chamdi spots green plastic bags in that landing, along with lots of eggshells and banana peels.
Sumdi knocks on a door that has a sticker of Shiva on it. He gestures to Chamdi to stay out of view. The cobras that spurt from Shiva’s locks remind Chamdi of Guddi’s wooden box, and of how he longs to do honest work like Guddi.
The door opens. Chamdi cannot see who it is, but from the way the person coughs, Chamdi can tell it is a man.
“I’ve come for some medicine,” says Sumdi.
“Hah?”
“Anand Bhai has sent me.”
“Oh? I’ve not seen you before. What’s your name?”
“Raju. I came here two weeks ago with Munna.”
“So where’s Munna?”
“He’s not well. He got cut above the eye.”
“But how come I still don’t recognize you? With a face like yours …”
“Sahib, you were … drunk last time I came, that’s why maybe.”
“You two-foot swine. You must be right. Because I’m drunk right now! So, what do you want?”
“The rat medicine …”
The man slams the door in Sumdi’s face. Chamdi has no idea why Sumdi is doing all this. The door opens again. The man gives Sumdi a small packet.
“Now give my respects to Anand Bhai. What did you say your name was?”
“Raju,” says Sumdi.
“Raju,” says the man, “may you kill many rats!”
The man shuts the door abruptly. There is the sound of him banging into furniture. Sumdi scurries down the passageway. As they pass the landing, Chamdi notices a tomato fall from one of the apartments above.
“Why did you lie to him about your name?” asks Chamdi.
“Because Anand Bhai did not send me.”
“But that man will recognize you, no?”
“Munna normally comes to collect poison from here for Anand Bhai when he has to do his dirty work. Munna used to make fun of this drunkard. He would joke about how the drunkard would be completely out, early in the morning. That’s how I know. I’ve never come here before. I just tried my luck—I knew he would not charge money if Anand Bhai ordered it. Anyway, let’s hope in his nasha the drunkard forgets that I came here at all.”
Chamdi thinks of Raman at the orphanage, and how he would mumble to himself when he was drunk. But Raman would never bang into furniture. His only problem was that he would pass out.
Back on the street now, Chamdi steps on a wrapper for Liril soap. He holds the wrapper to his nose and takes in the scent. The soap at the orphanage hardly had a scent. It did its job and left instantly.
Soon, Chamdi’s surroundings seem familiar: a post office, a jeweller’s shop, a police station with blue and yellow stripes on its walls. Chamdi wants to run his hands across the striped pillars and walls. They are, after all, the skin of the police-tigers. How their muscles will ripple like waves, he tells himself. They will be the most ferocious beings anyone has ever seen and their roar will be heard all across the city.
Soon, he and Sumdi are back at Dabba’s spot in the passage between the shop and the building with the broken pipes. A metal bowl of coins rests near his head. He looks at Sumdi and smiles. Sumdi does not smile back.
“Did Anand Bhai come?” asks Sumdi.
“Yes.”
“So what happened?”
“I told him that I had the best information for him. I told him about the jeweller’s shop being sold, and I was about to tell him the exact time and date they would be moving the jewellery from his shop to another location, but I didn’t. I told him to let me retire, that if he just gave me enough money to eat every day, I would be satisfied. It’s a small price for all the information I have given him. I said I just wanted to live in peace. I even told him that I could live with you, that you would look after me. I just want to stay in one place and not be moved around like an animal.”
“Did he agree?”
“He laughed. He said, ’I made you and I will tell you when to retire.’ Just as I thought. That madarchod will die a hundred deaths before he leaves earth, you mark my words, or my name is not Dabba.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Did you bring what I asked?”
“Dabba, I …”
“Don’t fail me, Sumdi. I expected Anand Bhai to fail me, but not you. Did you bring it or not?” The manner in which Dabba twitches suggests that he is hungry for what Sumdi has.
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
Sumdi turns to Chamdi and makes a gesture with his head, a signal for Chamdi to leave. Chamdi moves away a bit, but does not take his eyes off Dabba.
“Show me the poison,” says Dabba. Sumdi opens the packet of rat poison and empties the black pills onto his palm.
“Okay,” says Dabba. “No formalities. Put it in my mouth.”
“I can’t,” says Sumdi. “I can’t do it.”
Dabba tries to sit up, sit back—anthing. He tries to reach Sumdi’s palm with his mouth, but his limbless body allows him hardly any movement.
“Sumdi, you are a cripple too. You are also a dog on the road like me and you have a long life to live, be sure of that. Someday you will need help. So don’t deny me. Just put it in my mouth and go,” says Dabba. “Get out of here.”
“I can’t put it in your mouth,” replies
Sumdi. “Please …”
“Turn me around. Flip me over so that I rest on my stomach.”
“But the ground will hurt your face.”
“Just do as I say,” snaps Dabba.
Sumdi rolls Dabba over until he is flat on his stomach. Dabba’s face rests on one side.
“Now put the poison on the ground and get out,” says Dabba.
Sumdi overturns his palm and limps out of the alley. Chamdi stares in horror as Dabba licks the ground.
In the mid-afternoon, Chamdi waits behind the beedi shop. He forces himself to read the advertisement for Happy Tailors that has been pasted onto the back of the beedi shop. A sketch of a man’s shirt occupies most of the ad and the man has a huge smile on his face. There is a rose in the front pocket of the shirt, and at the bottom, a promise from the tailor himself: HAPPY TAILORS MAKE YOU HAPPY. A large nail sticks out of the poster and Chamdi is careful not to let it scrape him.
He has a perfect view of the temple from this position. The place looks nothing like a temple, thinks Chamdi. It is nothing more than a ground-floor apartment that has been converted into a temple. Only the yellow wall makes it stand apart from the rest of the building. Who knows for sure if Ganesha thinks of this apartment as home? What if he is forced to live here but does not want to? What if he is waiting for someone like Chamdi to rescue him? Then Chamdi would not be doing anything wrong. These are his thoughts as he watches the old woman make garlands outside the temple. Chamdi cannot hear her, but he can tell from the manner in which her head bobs that she is humming a song. She inspects the garland that she has just finished, holding it out as though it is a measuring tape. The sun is shining now and it gives the marigolds in the garland extra colour. The woman hangs the garland from the nail on the roof of her small shop, then rubs her eyes and opens them wide before starting a fresh garland. Chamdi wonders why she wears a plain white sari. A flower woman should be as colourful as her flowers.
He grips the bottle of stolen oil in his hand. What if the beediwala sees him? What if the man comes behind his shop to relieve himself? No, he would not leave his shop counter unattended.
From where he waits, Chamdi can keep an eye on Sumdi and Guddi, who stand outside the temple right next to the old woman’s stall. Sumdi is shirtless and Guddi has a couple of gods in her hands, but her wooden box is not visible. Perhaps she did not bring her box because if they need to run, it will be difficult to carry the box.
Chamdi is glad that he has never been inside the temple. If he had stood face to face with Ganesha, stealing would be even more shameful than it is now. Chamdi knows Ganesha through an illustration he saw in Chandamama, accompanying a story about Ganesha’s birth. One of the children had asked if Ganesha was real, and Mrs. Sadiq said that he was probably an invention, but Chamdi said no one could prove that. He went on to explain that Ganesha must be a kind, understanding god, his elephant ears large enough to listen to the problems of people from the farthest corners of India, his extra limbs able to comfort more than two people at a time. Today, Chamdi begs Ganesha to be forgiving. Please place your trunk on my head and bless me. Forgive me for being a thief. I promise I will never do it again.
A white Ambassador car with a red siren on top stops just outside the temple’s lane. A police jeep accompanies the Ambassador. The door of the Ambassador opens and a man dressed in a white kurta steps out. Chamdi assumes that this man is the politician. He can tell from the manner in which the people around the man fawn over him. Chamdi cannot remember the politician’s name, but it does not matter. He is suddenly very scared. He had no idea the police would be here.
Then Chamdi remembers what Sumdi told him. If by chance Chamdi gets caught, he must start crying immediately. He must bring whoever has caught him to where Amma is and he must say that Amma is his mother and all he wanted to do was buy some food and medicine for her and the baby. He must not worry. But Chamdi is still afraid. It is true that a normal citizen might slap him and let him go, but this is the police. He hopes they leave soon. As soon as he thinks this, a police inspector steps out of the jeep. He takes off his cap and places it on the dashboard, then follows the politician towards the temple.
The appearance of the politician was meant to be the sign for Chamdi to start smearing himself with oil. He now opens the cap of the oil bottle and pours some onto his shaking palm. He wishes he had not seen the police jeep. He wonders if Sumdi knew that a police jeep always followed the politician’s car. Perhaps Sumdi chose not to tell Chamdi.
Chamdi’s hands are sticky with oil, but he has forgotten to take off his vest. He removes it anyway and places it on the ground. For a moment he wonders if he should remove the white cloth from around his neck as well, but he decides against it. He made a promise to himself that he would untie the cloth only when he found his father.
He starts with his chest. He spreads the oil evenly, keeping an eye on the windows opposite him, even though he feels no one would care that he is putting oil over his body. He finds it hard to oil his back, but he manages. He is relieved that he has hardly eaten in the past two days-he has become even thinner. The fear rushes back: can he really go through with this? One hard strike of the policeman’s stick on his chest and his ribs will be broken forever.
Chamdi glances up. The police inspector has suddenly disappeared from sight. Chamdi whips around. What if the policeman has smelt him and has crept up behind Chamdi to take him away? He is clearly not cut out for this—he would be willing to trade his fast legs for Sumdi’s defective one.
The politician has now entered the temple. The policeman reappears in Chamdi’s line of sight. He stands outside the temple, only a few feet away from Sumdi. Chamdi feels a flood of relief. Surely, Sumdi will now give up the plan altogether. He will see the policeman, realize it is stupid to attempt such a robbery, and walk away from the temple. They will find another way to make money. It might take them a while, but they have brains. They will figure out a way to save the baby and eventually leave the city.
At least ten men have entered the temple with the politician. Sumdi and Guddi continue to stand outside the temple window. They do not appear concerned about the policeman. Chamdi steps out from behind the beedi shop and walks towards Sumdi and Guddi. Yes, his back and chest are smeared in oil, but it does not matter now. He sees Sumdi spot him as he walks, marks the confusion on Sumdi’s face. Guddi takes a few steps in his direction, while Sumdi stays rooted to the spot with his hands on his hips. Chamdi knows she will call him a coward. He looks down in shame, but then decides to look her straight in the eye. He summons his courage and raises his head—Guddi walks fast towards him.
In that split second, a great force throws Chamdi face down on the ground. Large blocks of cement fall from the sky. He covers his head and stays down. After a few seconds, he lifts his head into a curtain of thick, black smoke. White dust has stuck to his body because of the oil. He looks for Guddi. Chamdi realizes that he is now standing. The temple window is a gaping hole without bars. It is difficult for him to hear, and when he sees a bundle on the ground he screams, but he cannot hear his own cry. It is Sumdi, face down, his back torn open. Chamdi staggers towards Sumdi, but his feet have no strength. He slumps to the ground. He still cannot hear anything. He crawls forward, reaches out and turns Sumdi’s head sideways. Sumdi’s mouth is bleeding. Chamdi drops the head. Now his hearing comes back to him in bits. He hears a few muffled moans, and says softly, “Guddi, Guddi.” He gets up from his knees and looks around. Stepping towards the sound of the moans, he trips over the body of a man and scrambles away in fear, only to be blocked by a slab of cement. A brass temple bell lies on its side, shoes and slippers are strewn across the street, and he still cannot find Guddi. There is an arm lying on the street, with a watch on the wrist. Then he sees a figure in a brown dress, crawling away from him, towards what used to be the temple. He moves towards her and holds her by the waist. She is scared by his sudden touch and she screams. He says, “It’s me, it’s me,” but when
she looks at him, he realizes that this is not Guddi, but a grown woman. He lets go, and the woman crawls away. A man beside him writhes in pain. Large shards of glass are stuck in the man’s neck and stomach. Chamdi coughs and covers his mouth to prevent dust from entering his lungs. He is about to keel over when he sees the wheel of a cycle. A hand rests on the wheel. There are orange bangles around the wrist. He is propelled towards the owner of this hand, even though his legs want to collapse. He gently lifts her head.
Blood flows from her nose, and there is a deep gash on her forehead. He looks around for help, but he is surrounded only by cries. He shakes her and utters her name, but she does not respond. The blood from her nose is now on her lips. He must take her to the doctor’s dispensary. He tries to lift her but she is heavy, so he drags her by her arms. Maybe he should not be pulling her by the arms. What if they are broken? He bends down, summons all the strength he has, and hoists Guddi on his shoulders. He searches for the door to the dispensary. Three men run towards him, but they pass him by as though he does not exist. They run towards the white Ambassador, which is in flames. The police jeep is overturned.
Chamdi reaches the door of the dispensary, but it is closed. He carefully places Guddi on the steps of the dispensary and pounds on the door. He wants to shout for help, but is unable to. Instead, his pounding becomes louder and louder. Why is the doctor not opening the door? He kicks the door hard and finally his voice comes to him, and he screams, but it is not exactly a word, it is a howl, and his fists join the howl, raw and hurt from beating on the door. He looks around him and suddenly knows: no one can help him. He sits. For a while, he sits on the steps of the dispensary as though nothing is wrong at all. He simply stares at the wound in the temple. Two stray dogs stand near him. It is difficult to breathe. He does not look at Guddi. It is easier for him to look at the dogs instead and the dogs are quiet.
Finally, Chamdi moves. He wipes the blood off Guddi’s face with his hands. The air around him is still a chaotic mass of smoke and dust, and through the haze, Chamdi thinks he sees Sumdi, face buried in the ground. He quickly forces himself to look away. He sees another body—the old woman who makes garlands. She lies on the ground covered in marigolds and lilies, and her white sari is red with blood.