The Storyteller (23 page)

Jhunjhun Wallah clapped his hands. His eyelids sprang open.
This
, he declared proudly,
is the land of the future. Although it belongs to me, we shall live together in prosperity. A new life! Poverty and ugliness are banished
!

A truck pulled up, close to where I was standing. Several workers emerged with a large white disc and carried it to the priest. The holy man blessed it.

Behold!
Jhunjhun Wallah cried.
One of the eyes of a new God we shall worship. It is our way to salvation!

The noise increased as the other vehicles approached.

Poles, cables and more eyes.

I moved quietly towards Baji. She looked startled when I jumped up and snatched the torch from her hand…

Was that a scream?

The crowing of the solitary rooster in the
bustee.

But…another noise. A repetitive shout that multiplied and grew louder. Again, one word—haunted, fearful.

‘Fire! Fire!’

The tip of an orange tongue leapt upwards and licked the dawn sky. People ran with pots and pans. Buckets.

I watched the stain of contrasting colours spreading against the skyline.

I am not interested in talking.

My neighbour’s name is Sher Mohammad. A fruit-seller—drug-peddler and thief—but he is in prison for assault and rape. An unsettled man, afraid of the dark.

‘A mistake. A deliberate mistake,’ he mumbles as he walks around in the confined space of his cell. ‘A frame-up to throw me in jail. Otherwise they could never have trapped me. I am too clever!’ He launches into a spirited self-defence, as though I am the judge responsible for his future. ‘The girl winked at me!’ Sher Mohammad whines. ‘She stood at the door and unbuttoned her blouse.’

This I want to hear. There is a tantalising silence. I stir in my corner. ‘And? What was she like?’

There is a whistling noise as he sucks in his breath. ‘
Tauba
!
Tauba
!’ He is shocked by my lack of inhibition. ‘What kind of man are you to ask so shameful a question? I only went to see if she needed help.’

The girl screamed. Her relatives rushed to assist her and found Sher Mohammad in the room.

‘But what happened before they came? Did you rip off her clothes?’

‘A set-up!’ he insists. ‘All because I am a Muslim living in a Hindu locality. They have put me here—’

‘Don’t lie about why you are here!’ I snap irritably. ‘These two cells are for the worst prisoners. The ones considered to be exceptionally dangerous.’

‘I was in a fight,’ Sher Mohammad confesses. ‘I was praying in a corner of the overcrowded cell when other prisoners began to make fun of my faith. And you? Why are you in solitary confinement?’

‘Assault,’ I reply solemnly. ‘Without too much provocation I bit a new prisoner. Tore some flesh from his shoulder.’

I can hear Sher Mohammad retreating from the bars.

‘May I ask…why you did that?’ A tone of awed respect creeps into his voice.

‘I wanted to be in charge.’ That doesn’t sound authoritative enough. ‘He made too much noise. Asked too many questions. I silenced him.’

‘I don’t know how long I’ve been here,’ Sher Mohammad says dejectedly. ‘It is dark all the time. That high window is useless.’

‘Pay too much attention to time and it becomes an enemy. Learn to swim in your dreams and you will find it bearable here.’

‘I fear the darkness,’ he blurts unashamedly.

‘Retreat into your mind. You will find a candle burning there.’

‘Did they…’ He hesitates. ‘I know you don’t like questions, but did they take you to a mind doctor before bringing you to prison?’

His question amuses me. ‘Are you saying I am mad?’

My stifled giggle disturbs him. He is quick to apologise. ‘Allah strike me with pestilence if I entertain such a thought! May I burn in the flames of
Jahannum
! I beg forgiveness!’

‘I wasn’t taken to a mind doctor before coming here.’ I am careful not to give him any further information.

‘I do not know your name.’

‘Nor my face or size or shape. From my voice, can you tell how I look?’

‘Tall…’

‘Yes?’

‘Well-built and strong.’

‘Your mind sees well in the dark.’

‘Your name…’

‘I have many. Do you think I am a man?’

‘Well, yes! Aren’t you?’ A fearful wonderment creeps into his voice.

‘I could be.’

‘You are not a…a…
djinn
?’

My voice deepens. ‘Maybe.’

‘I beg double forgiveness if I have offended!’

‘What did you do to the girl?’

He tells me and then adds, ‘I haven’t had a woman for several years. Not since my wife died.’

‘How do you think it feels not to have had a woman at all?’

‘Never?’ he gasps incredulously. ‘Is that possible? It would be like living alone in a desert. The body would waste slowly. The mind would be unhinged.’

‘But would such a mind see more?’

‘See more?’ He is bewildered.

‘Yes. Would it provide what the world doesn’t offer?’

‘I…I don’t understand!’

‘What can you see in the dark, Sher Mohammad?’

‘No…nothing.’

‘Close your eyes. Call that girl. Undress her slowly. Can you see her? Smell her skin? Feel her softness? Gently! Can you taste the saltiness of her sweat? Can you imagine all that?’

‘I…yes. Yes!’

‘And can you see what might have happened if you hadn’t been apprehended. If she wasn’t afraid of you…if you had been her lover…’

‘Yes!’ he groans.

‘Does that mean that you are mad? If you are able to find fulfilment in your life by some means that may be strange to others, is that madness?’

‘Is that what you do?’

‘I create what is denied to me.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘The inside.’

‘I don’t understand. The inside?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who are you?’ The fear has left him. Curiosity brings him back to the bars. ‘What are you?’

I allow myself a chuckle. No more. I must remain elusive. A riddle that inspires awe. I retreat into silence.

‘I don’t even know if all this is happening!’ Sher Mohammad shouts. ‘Is my mind playing tricks?’

Footfalls. Sher Mohammad continues to rant, indifferent to the approaching footsteps. Tonight he will be without
roti
and water. A faint light moves in the dark. Like an idea crossing the mind. The usual abuses. A threat to cut out Sher Mohammad’s tongue. He will bleed to death, slowly and in unbearable pain, if there is any further noise.

‘You are unusually quiet. For a change!’ the gaoler barks in my direction.

Something scrapes the floor. A tin plate and a mug. I have learned to wait until he leaves. Previously I have been tricked. One night he waited until eager hands reached under the door for the bread and water. A cane came crashing down on my fingers. He laughed and shuffled off. He waits. I can hear him breathing.

‘The dwarf has become clever!’ he sneers. ‘Did you know that the carpenter has finished building the scaffold?’

All is quiet again. I drag the plate inside. The bread snaps easily. I call Sher Mohammad and offer him half of the
roti.
Briefly our hands touch.

‘He said, “The dwarf…”’

‘Water?’ I drink most of it first.

Noisily he empties the mug. He thinks he is looking straight at me. If there were lights, his eyes would see the jagged bricks on the wall.

‘You haven’t told me your name.’

Who are you? What are you?
The words reverberate around me. A movement. I think Sher Mohammad has stuck his hand between the bars. I am not there.

I recall what Baji once said.
Beyond my name, I do not know who I am. Shadows have shapes only.
Does she ever think of me? Or have I been relegated to a past that she never allows to surface?
I have no time for memories. There is now and whatever pleasures can be extracted from it.
She should be in this hellhole with the insects. She would soon learn to live off the past.

‘Why are you in prison?’

If nothing else, Sher Mohammad is persistent.

‘Various reasons. I set fire to a rich man’s house.’

‘Why? How?’

Quietly, I savour the memory of Jhunjhun Wallah’s anguish. At the time I regretted deceiving the
hijras.
It had been necessary…

Baji possessed a remarkable capacity for forgiveness. That was, I think, a characteristic she developed by her understanding of the ways and intensity of people’s anguish. Much against the stated preference of the other
hijras
, she allowed me to
continue performing with her group. She was tolerant of my disruptive behaviour that consistently violated the promises I made to stick to my task of telling stories. She slapped me and abused me, but I was not discarded.

Baji scowled whenever it was pointed out that I had deliberately defied her by abandoning my designated role in favour of dancing. The younger
hijras
complained bitterly about my participation. I had no rhythm and lacked coordination. My size upset the harmony of the movements. The audience laughed as though it were a comedy show, and I the clown performer. A serious art form was denigrated and transformed into farce by my antics. Besides, I was guilty of talking, making faces and running into the audience to kiss and touch both men and women, much to their disgust.

Baji listened patiently, letting the communal anger exhaust itself into a state of sullen silence. ‘There are forces inside Vamana. It is impossible for him to be obedient,’ she explained one day. ‘His mind and body are not for him to control. We must be tolerant and forgiving of the faults in him.’

I was unable to explain, even to myself, the urge that gripped me whenever I saw the
hijras
dancing. Every sinew in my body conspired to drag me into the midst of their movements. The singing did not hold the same attraction. That was merely the stimulus to enable me to enter an arbour of freedom where the self left the body to fulfil its desires. Although the eunuchs scorned my clumsiness, I experienced the exhilaration of a nimble-footed creature, whirling and speaking a language to make the gods aware of my will to fight the adversity they had imposed on me. Dancing was an act of creative defiance. As I moved, I felt elegant and handsome. Noble and special. I never intended it to be a cheap and meaningless activity merely to raise laughter. Perhaps Baji understood that dancing was like storytelling, a journey
undertaken to peel off the layers of darkness in one’s soul to discover the tiny beam of redemptive light that signalled my place in humanity.

The day the
bustee
was set alight, we were to perform at the house of a wealthy man.

‘He is famous and
very
rich. He has connections with politicians and the police.’ Baji’s gaze was on me as she announced our other engagements for the forthcoming weeks. ‘But this one is special. We are honoured that we have been chosen to entertain the distinguished guests and offer our blessings to a newly born child. We must be at our best.’ I was told to help with the dresses and the make-up. ‘Come as early as you can, Vamana,’ Baji encouraged me. ‘And don’t insult your real talent at the gathering. There will be children…’ She trailed off into despairing silence.

I spent the morning helping the homeless move into other hovels. Later, when the confusion had subsided, I gathered the bewildered children and led them to the field on the other side of the wall. We sat on the ground among stray animals and the acrid smell of smoke. I felt obliged to make them forget the waking horror of dawn. Lies of redemption. Tales of adventurers and heroes. Reluctant creations to erase the terror from their minds. Life had to be reduced to a set of simple moral laws that could not be overcome. There were predictable outcomes for transgression. There was light and darkness. Gods and devils. Good was enshrined in physical beauty and always triumphed. The evil and the ugly were punished or destroyed. Their faces softened and their eyes glazed. Their minds found shelter. Order banished chaos.

‘Will those who set the fire be punished?’ a little boy asked.

‘Of course!’ I replied confidently. ‘What did I tell you about evil?’

‘More!’ they demanded. ‘Tell us more!’

I had no choice but to prolong my misery.

It is never like that, children. Let the shadows remain and learn from the demons that lurk in the darkness. They often win and have a great deal to tell us about ourselves. They say much more than God ever will.

I restrained myself and eventually managed to escape.

The news of the fire had not reached Baji. Her stare of admonishment, because of my late arrival, turned to an expression of genuine concern when I told her about the mishap. I assured her that Chaman was safe. She wanted to know about the people who had been affected.

‘Barey?’

‘He wasn’t there.’

‘He is never to be found anywhere! I hardly see him these days! And you think the fire was deliberately lit?’

‘Two men were seen running away. An empty canister, smelling of kerosene, was found.’

‘What is the name of this man who has bought the land?’

‘Jhunjhun Wallah.’

The mirror lowered slightly. ‘What?’

I repeated the name. I also told her about Barey Bhai’s involvement.

Her face darkened. ‘You have no doubt that Barey knows him?’

‘Barey Bhai knows him well enough to ride in his car.’

She mumbled indistinct words and leaned forward to whisper to Gulbadan who was removing dried henna leaves from Baji’s feet. They spoke for some time, muttering and gesticulating. Suddenly Baji straightened up and clapped her hands. The others gathered around her, preoccupied with their make-up and in various stages of dressing.

‘Today’s performance,’ Baji declared imperiously, ‘is cancelled.’ There was a stunned silence, and then a gasp of
disappointment. She turned sharply. ‘Yes, Nargis?’ Baji’s tone did not invite any opposition. ‘Have you something to say?’

‘May we know why?’

‘
Baathazeeb
!’ Baji screamed. ‘Ungrateful wretch!’ The hand mirror sailed past Nargis’s head and smashed into a tin trunk. ‘How dare you?’

‘I only—’

‘Baji,’ Gulbadan intervened. ‘He offered us a fortune!’

‘
Chup
! Am I your leader or what? Is my authority no longer recognised here? Do you wish for a new guru? Someone wiser than I am? You are free to leave this house and seek a refuge somewhere else!
Jah
!
Jah
! No one will stop you!’ She pointed her index finger at each
hijra.
‘All of you can go!’

The prospect of an uncertain life outside the
haveli
beat them into submission.

‘We will not perform for such a brute! And at his age why is he having more children? He married a young girl last year. Has the wrinkled cock no shame?’ Baji suddenly found Jhunjhun Wallah’s standards of personal morality unacceptable.

‘Baji…’ I thought it prudent to step back several paces. ‘I think we should go. I have a plan to scare him. It would be a form of revenge.’

She motioned me to come forward. ‘The devil is active in you again. Don’t deny it! I can see him dancing in your eyes. Closer!’ She held a handkerchief to her nose. ‘Tell me.’

She winced as I brushed her right ear with my lips and revealed what I had in mind.