… I was tired from the long trip. I stumbled as I walked. Under a tree, on a leopard-skin, with his glorious long locks of hair twisted up together, his eyes closed, his breath controlled, he sat there like an old banyan tree with its branches intertwined in the midst of the forest. Before him stood Nandi the Bull, and in his twisted hair a dove had built a nest and was sitting on her eggs; she flew up with a whir of wings when she saw the raja coming. He lifted his radiant eyelashes and looked at the raja, and asked, “Oh raja, will you take or will you give?”
“I’ll fight. If I can take I’ll take, if I’m forced to give I’ll give.”
“How will you fight?”
“As heroes always fight. I’ll put an arrow in my bow, and fall upon the enemy.”
“What bow and what arrows?”
“The bow of intelligence and the arrows of questions.”
“Then raise your bow, and shoot an arrow.”
“Speak: what never has its fill of what?”
“Oh raja! Eight things never have their fill of eight things.”
“What eight things never have their fill of what eight things?”
“The ocean, of water from the rivers; the fire, of fuel; the woman, of sexual pleasure; the raja, of dominion; the rich man, of wealth; the learned man, of knowledge; the foolish man, of folly; the tyrant, of oppression.”
Having heard this, the raja touched his feet. “Blessings upon you, great sage, I bestow upon you one hundred cows.”
“I accept the gift. Ask something more.”
“Oh great sage, how shall I walk?”
“Walk by the light of the sun.”
“And when the sun goes down?”
“Then walk by the light of the moon.”
“And when the moon goes down?”
“Then light a lamp, and walk by its light.”
“And when the lamp goes out?”
“Then light the lamp of the inner self, and walk by its light.”
The raja again touched his feet. “Blessings upon you, great sage, I bestow upon you one hundred cows more.”
The raja again raised his bow. He had begun to shoot arrows, when the sage said, “Raja, stop now.”
“Why should I stop?”
“Because in this world cows are few, and questions many.”
… I looked at him, he looked at me: “What do you want?”
“Peace.”
“Peace?” He looked at me in surprise. “In this ocean of existence, peace?” I went on staring. The dove’s nest was empty. He jerked his head, so that the eggs fell and broke. Siren — then the dogs will wake up—
DECEMBER 13
“Is it news, or a rumor?”
“Sir! It’s confirmed news. The Seventh Fleet has set out.”
“Really?”
“Really. It’s about to enter the Bay of Bengal. Now the tide of the war is going to turn.”
In the Shiraz, at Nazira’s shop, in our house where Khvajah Sahib brings the news moment by moment to Abba Jan, everywhere people are discussing America’s Seventh Fleet. It’s as though dried-up shoots of rice are feeling the rain. I remember that I saw a poster somewhere on this theme. Where? On what wall? I call to mind the various walls of the city. Which wall was it? I wander around, looking at wall after wall — so it was this wall!
… The wall of the Jama Masjid, there’s a biggish poster on it with a picture of a sword and shield. It gives the news that the Persian Army has set out, and has almost reached Jahanabad. The people are gathered, as though the whole of Jahanabad has congregated there.
“Friend, what kind of newspaper is that? What news does it give?”
“Well, sir, the news is clear — the Persian Army is coming at full speed. You can consider them as already here; the days of the English are numbered.”
“No, really?”
“Well, sir, you can read it for yourself.”
“Really? Then there’ll be a lot of fighting.”
“Indeed, sir, there certainly will.”
“But my dear friend! The English aren’t just an easy morsel. The Ganges flows under their feet!”
“True, sir! But then, Persia doesn’t piss a thin stream either! The English will be ready to cry for their mothers’ milk!”
A wave of happiness ran through Jahanabad, rain fell on the dried-up fields. People can hardly contain their joy, they strut when they walk.
“Well, you clod, you’ve dressed up like a soldier today! Bastard, you think so much of yourself, have you got a girl?”
“You babbler, you don’t know enough to come in out of the rain!”
“If I don’t know, then tell me. Have you cooked up some tall tale again?”
“Why you dolt, the Persians are coming!”
“No!”
“If you don’t believe me then go to the Jama Masjid, there’s a bulletin posted there.”
“What would the Persians come here for, man?”
“Man, you must have dropped something on your head! Why, they’re coming to have a bout with the English!”
“Swear by my head.”
“I swear by your head. Now those bastard English will get what’s coming to them!”
“Then we’re in luck.”
“We’re in luck and more luck.”
“Hey, Otter! Will you have a chance to use your binot?
“If the chance comes — you just keep a cube of copper ready for me! I’ll dislocate those bastard Britishers’ wrists for them!”
•
But I couldn’t linger too long here. It was almost curfew time. I stopped a scooter-cab driver.
He said, “Sir, I’ll have to come back in the blackout.”
“Yar, I’ll give you more than the meter says.”
“All right, get in.”
The moment he started the scooter-cab, he began. “Sir, what news of the war?”
“No fresh news.”
“Then I’ll tell it to you! The Chinese Army has come.”
“Who says?”
“A gentleman was riding in my scooter-cab, he told me. It’s certain news, sir. The Chinese Army fights all the night-battles.”
“What’s so special about the night ones?”
“In the day, they’d be recognized. At night, they fight in disguise.”
•
… “Friend, who is this Lady in Green?”
“A Lady in Green. I’ve heard of her. ‘This is a new flower blooming!’”*
“Friend, you say you’ve heard of her. There are people who have seen her. She falls on the enemy like a bombshell from the Unseen. She dices the Khakis up like carrots and radishes! When the field is won, she vanishes. After that, not even the hem of her garment can be seen.”
“Indeed, sir! It’s a strange affair.”
“Oh sir! You’re speaking of the Green Lady. Let me tell you about it. Your humble servant has seen her with his own eyes.”
“Really, my friend?”
“Sir, anyone who tells lies is an infidel. When the fighting was going on at the Kabuli Gate post, then, sir, I too prepared for death and leaped into the battle. I swear by Ali the Chosen One, the Lion of God, I reduced the bastard Khakis to wrecks! As we’re fighting, what do I see but a lady dressed from head to foot in green, with a veil over her face, a sword in her hand, mounted on a horse, falling upon the Khakis’ ranks! I was amazed: who can this lady be! Sir, she did wonders. She cut such a swath with her sword, that heads flew like ripe grain! She sliced the bastards in pieces like bread. The Khakis fled with their tails between their legs When the battle was over, and I turned to look — well, sir, she had vanished. I searched with my eyes here and there, but there wasn’t the slightest trace of her.”