Eyes, you must have guessed by now how he got his name.
“It’s your goodness that prolongs your life,” says I, heading out of there.
“Wait,” he cries, “this is two rupees short.”
“I’ll be back. Don’t worry, Zindabhai, you’ll never outlive me.”
“Wretch!”
Not two paces have I taken when I’m brought up short, staring into a blue crotch, right next to them is a pair of stout legs in shalwars.
“So here he is,” says Elli.
“This sisterfuck owes me two rupees,” cries I’m Alive, puffing up behind me and catching me by the ear.
“Let go!” I’ve tried to twist free but surprisingly strong’s that fucker for one camped at death’s door. Next thing he’s thudded a foot on my backside.
“Seems this boy is a real bad character,” says Government-waali, with a voice full of satisfaction.
“And you’re a liar,” I shout. “Elli doctress, what the woman told you about the water, it’s true, everyone here knows it. Government types are lying. Zahreel Khan the minister himself came here to the Nutcracker and in front of a crowd of jarnaliss took a glass of well water and drank it to show it was safe. But Chhoté Ram, son of Mukund the tailor saw him a minute later go behind a house and stick two fingers down his throat.”
“Give me my two rupees,” says I’m Alive, landing another heavy kick.
“Stop!” says Elli. “Here’s two rupees. Let him go.”
Namispond Jamispond, I’ve headed round the corner to Chunaram’s where I find Zafar sitting with Nisha, Farouq and all, there I’ve made my report, leaving out the bit about I’m Alive.
“Some crap spy are you,” said Farouq, “this is old news.”
“We were just discussing it,” Zafar says. “Cavorting with government.”
“Not cavorting.” See Eyes, without meaning to I’m sticking up for Elli. “She was giving what-for to the government-waali doctress, plus you should have heard what she said when I told her about the water and Zahreel Khan.”
“What did she say?” asks Nisha.
“When government had gone Elli doctress said she’d always felt there was something not right about Zahreel Khan, seems the first time she met him he talked only to, Nisha excuse me, her lolos, which is to say her bloblos.”
“So then why is Zahreel Khan opening her clinic?” asks Zafar quickly to protect Nisha from the question of lolos plus bloblos. Adds as an afterthought, “You and she seem to be quite friendly.”
“I keep my eyes and ears open, like we agreed.”
“Your job is to find useful information. Is this useful?”
“Zafar bhai, please tell me what you count as useful? Is it what people are thinking and saying? Or is it only what you want to hear?”
Says Farouq, “Just listen to this street-chaff.”
“It’s a fair question. Let him speak,” Zafar says.
No one will talk straight to Zafar, they daren’t cross him, but I am not afraid. “Zafar bhai, if you really want to know, people don’t want to boycott the clinic. They are all crying out for treatment.”
“Nevertheless,” he replies, “if we ask them to stay away, they will. Sometimes it’s necessary to do a painful thing.”
“Zafar brother, you are always saying that the Kampani has all the money and power and rich friends etc., on our side there’s nothing, you say that it is this very nothing that gives us the power to fight and maybe even win?”
“Not maybe,” he says. “Definitely. The Kampani don’t know what they’re up against, people who have nothing have nothing to lose, we will never give up, out of having nothing comes a power that’s impossible to resist. It may take long, but we will win.”
“So this power of nothing,” I’ve persisted, “what is it? Isn’t it desperation? If so won’t that very power drive crowds to Elli’s clinic?”
“We’ll see,” says he with a frown.
“Elli doctress, she is not from the Kampani. She’s on our side. I’ve read her thoughts, I have felt her feelings, you know I can do this.”
“Animal,” says Zafar sadly, “you are special we all know it, but some things are just too important to trust to feelings.”
Nisha says, “Well I think Zafar is right.” She’s clasped his arm to show that whatever nasty doubting Animal says, as long as she’s around he’ll have the cleanest arsehole in Khaufpur.
“So what’s your plan?” asks Chunaram, who’s hovering on the edge of our group, where we’re sat with our glasses of chai.
“Chuna brother, I guess we’ll hold a democracy. Whatever it decides we’ll do, but we must not allow the Kampani to gather false medical data. Anyone thinks they wouldn’t stoop so low, remember the thighs-of-fate.”
Now the sighing’s of a different kind, as all recall.
Thighs-of-fate, it’s an Inglis name, I do not know what the Hindi might be. On that night when poisons came from the Kampani’s factory, those who weren’t then and there killed found themselves in a bad way with fainting, fits, pain, blood’s coughed up, can’t see, hardly can breathe etc. This thighs-of-fate was a medicine which was helping people get relief. News quickly spread, from all over the city people came to wait in line for injections, but suddenly the treatment was stopped. Some bigwig let slip that the Kampani bosses from Amrika had rung up their best friend the Chief Minister and told him to stop the thighs-of-fate. There was a huge row. Some doctors moved into a shack near the factory and began giving the injections. The police came, wrecked the shack, beat up the doctors. Zafar says that by giving relief this thighs-of-fate somehow also proved that the illnesses could pass to future generations. The Kampani was afraid of this knowledge getting out because it might cost them in a court case, so they had the thighs-of-fate stopped and many were lost who could have been saved.
“Why did that sisterfuck CM obey the Kampani? It had already fled.” This is what someone asks.
“Khã, so naive you’re,” says a second. “Haven’t the politicians been in the Kampani’s pocket from the beginning? Have you forgotten the old days, how those pompous big shots would ride in Kampani limos, never looking to right or left. My missus says Zahreel and the CM are waiting for all us victims to die, only then will their embarrassment end.”
Says Nisha, “The CM does what the Kampani wants.”
“Zafar brother, why do they hate us people so much?” asks someone else.
“Because,” says Zafar, “we raise our voices, we won’t just lie down and die.”
“They’re rich, they have everything. Why do they deny us even health?”
“You know the real reason they can’t forgive us?” chirps up Gaurilal Babu, who by the way, Eyes, is one of the ugliest men you will ever see. So awful is his expression that in the Nutcracker they say his glance can spoil milk.
“Tell us, Gauri,” chorus the assembled chai drinkers.