“The studies need not be real. All they need’s someone willing to fabricate them. A doctor, for example.”
“That’s outrageous and unfair!”
“Then why did you come here? What sort of woman gives up her life in Amrika and comes to a place like this, to help people for no reward? Either you are a saint, or someone with a different purpose. So which are you?”
“I’m no saint, but how can I prove to you or anyone else what my motives are? You’ll believe me or not as you choose.” Elli’s turned bright red, her hands are shaking. “This is not fair, you’ve already decided I am guilty!”
“It is a very unusual person who gives up so much.”
“No more unusual than one who hears music in frogs!”
After blurting this, she gives a guilty glance at me, who’s already turning tail to run.
“I am so sorry,” says Somraj, “this is not in my hands.” Without shifting his head he says, calm as you like, “Animal, kindly tell Shastri we will resume his lesson.”
TAPE TWELVE
I did not dare face Somraj. I left the house while the lizard’s lesson was still going on and stayed away from the Chicken Claw for two weeks. One night I dreamed that I was dragged before Somraj’s friends in his music room. Somraj said, “Now we shall hear raga Animal,” and began to whack my arse with a shoe. The musicians listened enraptured to my cries then exclaimed “Wah! Wah!” Nisha and Zafar were there too, clapping. Nisha said, “Animal, I never knew you could sing so nicely.”
One morning Farouq comes bumping up on his bicycle. “Kyoñ salé, where have you been hiding?”
“Not been hiding.”
“So why have we not been favoured with your presence?”
“Busy been, I’ve.”
“Zafar wants to see you.”
“Can’t go right now.” My one regret about staying away from the Claw is that Zafar has not been getting his pills, but the thought of meeting Pandit Somraj fills me with dread. “I’m busy.”
“Oh I can see that,” he says with full sarcasm. “What are you doing? Sitting here playing with your lund? Found a girl? Been shagging her arse off, have you?”
“Might have.”
He gives a nasty laugh. “You’ve never fucked a woman in your life.”
“I have!” It’s the old lie.
“I don’t believe you. Go to Laxmi Talkies, get yourself laid. Thirty bucks, no problem.”
“Is that what they charge you?”
“Don’t be cheeky.” Farouq gets off his bike, leans it against our wall and deliberately stands in front of me so I have to twist my neck upwards to see his face. For a moment I wonder, is he going to strike me or kick me?
Says Farouq looking down at me, “Muharram is coming, brother Animal, have you forgotten your boast? Are you going to walk on the coals? Will you have the guts?”
Well, if one thing I learned on the streets, it’s that you never back down. “Listen, you Yar-yilaqi heap. I’ll walk over your fire not just once, but twice.”
“That I would like to see,” says he.
“You shall.” I’m monitoring his shoes in case I have to leap backwards.
“I’ll hold you to this promise.”
“You can.”
“I will,” says he from above. “Come on, Zafar is waiting.”
“What does he want me for?”
“Your friend the doctress. Well, you’ll see for yourself.”
Farouq has to lift me onto the carrier, then we’re bumping over the rough track of Paradise Alley, the stony sludge of Seven Tailors, with Jara’s running along behind. “Seems the shopkeepers all love you,” says Farouq, hearing first Baju then I’m Alive yell as we rattle past.
“I am their favourite customer.”
Outside Somraj’s house, there’s a crowd gathered. On the clinic side of the street, in the shade of the mango are three tables set, sitting behind them are Dayanand, Suresh and Elli. On each table is something different.
I drop from Farouq’s bike and stand gaping.
On the first table is propped a huge drawing of a human body. On it are marked all the places where the Kampani’s that-night-poisons have damaged people, such as eyes, lungs, joints, womb, brain. These are marked in red. In blue are marked the places which have been harmed by drinking the poisoned water, breasts, again womb, stomach, skin. Blue and red spirals are coming from the head, which is also being banged by a hammer, above all hangs a dark grey cloud with lightning.
“For each harm,” Dayanand is saying, “we have a good treatment, which is free. So stop suffering. Come and get help for your pains. Don’t listen to false rumours.”
People round the table are pointing to the things from which they suffer. Hammer is for headache. Must be. I get them badly myself, often just before I’ll go mad. “Giddiness, fainting fits,” says Dayanand to a woman who’s looking at the spinning spirals.
“I thought so,” she says. “Is this treatment truly free?”
“Fully,” replies Dayanand. “It is excellent modern treatment. It will help you. Go, register with the lady inside, today itself the doctor will see you.”
So this woman has gone into the clinic, as she vanishes inside, so other people are coming out. I wonder what will Zafar and Co. be making of this? I guess we are all learning that Elli doctress does not easily give up.
“Hurry up,” says Farouq, who has parked his bike and come to find me.
“Wait. What’s the cloud?” I ask Dayanand, who looks none too pleased to see me.
“It is depression. Lightning is anxiety.”
“Oh yes? Who drew them, you, was it?”
“Don’t take the piss,” he says. “Piss off.”
“Okay,” says I, and’ve gone into Somraj’s house to meet my fate.
First thing inside is Nisha greets me with a lund-throbbing hug. “Animal, where have you been? You stopped coming for lunch. Is my cooking so bad?”
“Not at all, is your dad around?”
“No. Do you need to see him?”
“Not important,” says I. Hoo, relief.
Zafar is sitting in the garden, peeling a fruit with his knife, like the first time I met him. “Animal, good you’re here. We have this problem. You’ve seen outside, the sideshow?”
“Seen.”
“Well that’s just today’s fun. Yesterday Elli doctress was seen coming out of the office of Zahreel Khan.”
“Who very much admires her bloblos,” says I, myself recalling them.
“Leaving aside the bloblos,” he says wearily, “that was yesterday’s fun. Since you vanished we have also had the music wars.”
“Music wars?”
Says Nisha, “Every evening. Whenever my dad plays any music, or if he’s giving a lesson, there comes this loud music from across the road.”
“Elli doctress has a thing called piano,” says I. “I have seen it. She learned it because her mother was ill.”
“Well it’s making my father ill,” says Nisha. “I have never seen him in such a state. Walking up and down he’s, like a fishguts, holding his head.”
“Oh that’s terrible!” says I, certain now of an arsewhacking by the angry pandit and his mates.
“Papa says that his brain is being chewed by this Elli doctress.”
Says Zafar, “I think that not until the moon starts spinning backwards will we understand what’s going on in Elli doctress’s head. Until then, Animal, there’s you.”
“Me? What can I do? I know, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
“Namispond,” says he.