“THAT’S ALL I HAVE TO SAY. GO BACK TO YOUR HOMES.”
Taking his own advice, the CM vanishes. Immediately the police charge forward, there are screams from the crowd, the thud of heavy staves on thin backs, but people are in a bitter mood. They retreat to open a space and the cops are soon being pelted with stones. I see one clutch his eye and collapse.
BANG! FATAAK! BANG! It’s the sound of firing.
Amazing how quickly thousands of people just vanish. The grass beneath the tree is empty, but the fireflies are still twinkling, lamps left by the crowd have been kicked over in the confusion, they lie burning here and there on the grass. A breeze blowing up from the lake catches these flames and makes them dance. A small group of protesters surrounded by cops is moving away from the CM’s house. Among them I make out Zafar and Nisha. There’s a scuffle. The police have got hold of Zafar and are laying into him with their sticks.
“Nisha!” I’m shouting, galloping that way, because she’s in there, clawing at the cops, trying to pull them off Zafar. A motorbike roars into the melee. Our friends drag Zafar free of the cops, he’s mounting the bike, with Nisha behind him.
“Nisha!”
“Animal,” yells Zafar, “fuck off back to your job, stay there till I call you.”
No Bhoora at Jehannum gate, half an hour it’s before he chugs in with news that there’s big trouble in the city, rioting in Jyotinagar and the Nutcracker. I’m filled with fear for Ma. Often people bring her home and report that she had been found wandering. Who or what might she encounter in those dark alleys, if she gets lost with a head full of visions and cauchemars on such a night? I tell Bhoora, “Brother, go, make sure Ma is okay. See that she has the dog with her and ask the neighbours to watch. I have to stay here.”
With Bhoora gone there’s no auto to curl up in. I can’t stay at the gate, so I decide I will creep into the hotel garden and look for a spideyhole. Must be careful, things are quietening down but there are still people about, doormen stay on duty all night plus there’s sure to be a chowkidar prowling.
Rich and delicious scents rise up from Jehannum’s damp earth. What? Has it been raining? The monsoon is still some weeks away, it’s the dryest season of the year. Fool! In the haunts of the rich, rain falls daily via a hosepipe. Darkness, trees. What spirits haunt here, what emotions still charge the air, the rage of those dishonoured by the Chhoté Nawab? After creeping for some time through bushes, admiring the passing scents of roses, jasmines and other flowers whose names I do not know, I find myself in a shrubbery looking at the swimming pool which is lit from under the water, making a blue shining shape in the grass. Beyond are verandahs, which must belong to the suites of the Amrikan lawyers. It’s as good a place as any to hide, I can still see the hotel entrance and will be able to note cars coming and going. I lie in the bushes, thinking about the demo and what’s happening in the city.
Some yards away is a tree with coloured lights looped in its branches, very pretty it’s, underneath it are long tables covered with white cloths and on the cloths are dishes of food. These dishes have not yet been cleared away because further away are still one or two guests in basket chairs, with waiters coming and going bringing drinks. The aroma is very distracting. I swear I can smell kebabs. The demo and all of that fades into the background. So hungry I’m, my mouth is watering. Try to think of something else. From inside the hotel’s coming the sound of a piano like Elli’s. Oh baba, it’s kebabs, plus chicken from a tandoor. Well there are not that many people about, plus plenty of shadows, too the brightness of the pool makes everything around it look dark. I’ll have to make a dash for the food. Must be done. No other choice, there’s. I wait my moment then creep out, low to the ground. My dark bare skin is blended into the Jehannum night, my kakadu shorts are dark because filthy. No one sees. People see what they are looking for, no one is looking for me, but what I’m looking for is there in abundance, crisp samosas with spicy sauce, bhajias and kebabs of all kinds. I settle under the table, pull down a corner of the cloth till I am pretty well hidden. In no time at all I’m gobbling like a dog.
The piano has stopped. Of a sudden I hear voices near, crouch further under the table. Next moment the hairs on my neck are lifting.
One of those voices is familiar. Carefully, oh so carefully, I lift the corner of the cloth. I peer out and oh god, what I see fills me with fear. A few yards away is the youngest of the Amrikan lawyers, the handsome one. Walking beside him is Elli. They are deeply into a talk, like two people who know each other well. Not just well, very well. The lawyer guy reaches out and touches her arm, it’s a thing you can only do to someone you know intimately. She does not protest or prevent him. It’s horrible. Somraj you poor fucker. This man is a Kampani-wallah, he works for the Kampani, yet she lets him touch her. What does it mean? A sick feeling’s throughout my body. All her stuff about hating the Kampani is lies. She did come from the Kampani. Zafar was right.
I’m crouched under the table as they walk past. Elli’s taken this lawyer’s arm in her two hands and’s looking up at him. They’re talking in Inglis but I recognise the familiar tone of her voice. In reply he’s leant and kissed her cheek. Then he puts his hands on her shoulders and says, “You have done a great job Elli, you can come home now.”
O you foolish people, with your karnails and jarnails and paltaniyas, you naive trusting ignorant twats, deaf you are and blind to your fate, the earth is trembling all right, yes, it’s the abyss opening under your feet. You’ve been betrayed. I have been betrayed. When I hear the lawyer say that thing and see him kiss Elli whom I’d trusted, I start shaking, I’m trembling so hard that I think the cloth must surely slide off the table. It’s not anger I am feeling but terror. I knew the world was evil but never did I realise how fucking evil. Now it shows its true face of horror. I want to howl. She never meant any of it. All that talk of me walking again, all just lies.
I beg a ride from an auto and head for Somraj’s house. No money have I, but the auto-wallah doesn’t argue, without me saying anything he can tell it’s important. My news is so big, I should go there right away, if they’re asleep I should bang on the door and throw stones at the windows. With what grief do I enter the garden gate and the frangipani scent? The house has lights on, so they are awake. But now something weird happens, I find that I cannot go in, I don’t want to and I can’t exactly work out why. There’s a rowing of voices in my head, which seems to have split into two heads, each shouting at the other. Fool! yells the first. If you tell what you’ve seen it’s the end of Elli, she’ll have to leave Khaufpur, what then of two-legged walking? Stop your bakwaas, says the other head, you have lost nothing, she never meant it so it was never there. You can’t keep quiet about this, you cannot side with her. She is a stranger, she’ll soon be gone and your life is here in Khaufpur with the people you know. Wait, screams the first voice, you too have sordid secrets, you should keep hers. Your secrets can no way be compared to hers, retorts the other, spying on naked women is one thing, betraying a whole city is another. Look, says the first head, just say nothing and no one’s hurt. Everyone is happy. Show me the problem with that. The problem, says the second voice, is that you have to live with yourself. Exactly, cries the first, it’s a question of self-interest. Don’t you have troubles enough? If life’s taught you one lesson, it’s look after number one.