The Song of Kahunsha (19 page)

“Dabba is dead. I did not lie about him being dead.”

“The jeweller.”

Chamdi does not know what to say. It is best to stay silent. He does not have the guts to look Anand Bhai in the face. He stares at the grey, stony floor.

“I see,” says Anand Bhai.

The telephone rings in Anand Bhai’s room, but he does not move. Chamdi still has his head down and he shivers, fully expecting a massive blow to the head. The ring of the telephone becomes uncomfortable because Anand Bhai remains still. The moment the phone stops ringing, Anand Bhai speaks.

“Do you see that drawer?” asks Anand Bhai.

Chamdi still does not look up. Anand Bhai lightly places his finger under Chamdi’s chin and forces him to look up. Chamdi looks at Anand Bhai’s beard. The two grains of rice are still entangled in the hair. Anand Bhai turns
Chamdi’s head to the right, in the direction of an old wooden chest of drawers.

“Go open the top drawer,” says Anand Bhai.

Chamdi tries to get up but his legs let him down.

“Don’t make me say it again,” says Anand Bhai.

Chamdi wants to tell Anand Bhai that he does not have the strength to get up, but instead he places his palms on the ground and boosts himself. He walks past the blank TV screen to the drawer.

“Open it,” says Anand Bhai.

Chamdi holds the rusted brass handle and pulls.

“You’ll find a map in the drawer,” says Anand Bhai.

The map is the only thing in the drawer. Chamdi looks at it closely. It is large and folded and there are brown marks on it—like chai stains. The word BOMBAY is printed on it.

“There’s something beneath the map,” says Anand Bhai.

Chamdi places his hand on the map. He can feel something beneath it. Something hard. He holds one end of the map and lifts it.

A knife. It resembles the butcher’s knife Munna stole.

He looks back at Anand Bhai.

“Bring it here.”

Chamdi holds the knife by the handle and he does not like the feel of it in his hand. The black handle does not look new—it is smooth with use. He holds it very lightly and makes sure that the tip of the blade faces the ground. He is now only a foot away from Anand Bhai.

“Now cut your tongue off,” says Anand Bhai.

Chamdi is sure he has not heard Anand Bhai’s words correctly.

“You lied to me,” says Anand Bhai. “So hold your tongue out and slice it off.”

Anand Bhai’s tone is casual. There is no hatred in it. He stands with his arms folded across his hairy chest.

“I’m waiting,” says Anand Bhai. “Either you do it, or I’ll do it. The problem with me is that I’m a perfectionist. That means I will work slow and steady and make sure that the cut is in one straight line. If not, I’ll start again.”

“Please, Anand Bhai,” begs Chamdi. “I’m sorry. I lied to save Guddi.”

“And she has been saved. But you have to pay. Like Munna. Remember Munna? I caught him with the very knife that you are holding, but I did not harm him until he disrespected me by talking back, when he said that he does not care about the
police. Only I abuse the police, no one else. So Munna had to be punished. Same for you because you disrespected me by lying.”

“Please …”

“Okay,” says Anand Bhai. “I’ll do it. Give me the knife.” He takes the knife from Chamdi’s hand. He holds it in his right hand and places his left hand on Chamdi’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll still be able to hear. It’s more important to
listen
than speak.”

Chamdi tries to move away but Anand Bhai stares him down. Chamdi knows it is foolish to run. By the time he reaches the green curtain, Anand Bhai’s knife will have carved part of Chamdi’s back.

“Stick your tongue out,” says Anand Bhai.

“Please …” says Chamdi as he folds his hands and begs.

“Stick your tongue out!”

The snarl in Anand Bhai’s voice jolts Chamdi and his tongue slips out of his mouth. Anand Bhai digs his nails into the tip of Chamdi’s tongue.

“No wonder you lie so much,” he says. “You have a long tongue. Don’t move. If you move even one inch, this knife will enter your eye. Now I will cut your tongue in one stroke, not to worry, hah?
On the count of three I’ll do it. Take a deep breath. One-two …”

Chamdi makes strange desperate sounds. With his tongue out it is hard for him to speak.

“Stop making sounds. You’re not dumb yet,” says Anand Bhai.

He makes a small cut on the edge of Chamdi’s tongue. The blood trickles down the blade of the knife.

“Can you feel it?” he asks. “I’ve started.”

Tears form in Chamdi’s eyes. Anand Bhai lets go.

“I’m sorry,” says Chamdi. “Let me go, I’ll …”

“You’ll what?” asks Anand Bhai. “Talk while you still have a tongue left.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” says Chamdi.

“I asked you to cut your tongue off. Such a simple task, but you can’t perform.”

“Anything else. I’ll beg for you my whole life.”

“Beg? Who cares about begging?”

“Whatever you want. I’ll steal.”

“What else?”

“I’ll steal, I’ll … do whatever you ask.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise,” says Chamdi.

Anand Bhai runs his index finger along the blade of the knife. He sniffs hard a couple of
times, as though there is something irritating his nostrils. He hands Chamdi the knife.

“Put the knife back in the drawer,” says Anand Bhai.

Chamdi walks to the drawer. The cut on his tongue burns. The telephone rings again. Rani enters through the green curtain with a white plastic bag in her hand. The thought of eating makes Chamdi ill. In any case, the cut on his tongue will make eating difficult and painful. Rani sees that Anand Bhai is silent. She places the plastic bag on the TV and answers the phone. She begins talking in a hushed tone as though she senses what has just happened in the room.

“I like you,” Anand Bhai tells Chamdi. “You risked your life to save your friend. I need men like that.”

Chamdi is confused.

“You are sharp also,” continues Anand Bhai. “I believed you about Dabba. But I would have taken that out of you in one second if I wanted. It’s just that I have to keep the old woman happy. In her old age she worries too much about me. I saved Guddi for her peace of mind. In the days to come I will be forced to take many lives and God
is my witness—I have saved a little girl’s life. So that’s why I did it. Anyway, I like you.”

Chamdi does not understand why Anand Bhai likes him now. Only moments ago, he was about to slice off Chamdi’s tongue.

“Let’s eat,” says Anand Bhai. “Get off the phone, Rani.”

Rani nods her head and whispers goodbye into the phone. She places the black receiver back into its cradle.

“Do you like chicken?” Anand Bhai asks Chamdi. “It’s Mughlai food. Best in the world. But it’s spicy. No matter how much we tell Abdul, he does not listen. Sorry about the cut. It will burn, but you’re a tough boy.”

Suddenly, Chamdi is afraid again. Anand Bhai seems even more dangerous when he is friendly.

“What are you going to do to me?” asks Chamdi.

“For now, nothing,” says Anand Bhai. “For now, we eat.”

Chamdi sleeps on the floor of Anand Bhai’s room, his knees tucked into his chest. His mouth is slightly open. Each time the cut on his tongue burns, he opens his eyes a little, but he quickly
closes them and tries to sleep. He has been floating in and out of sleep for hours now.

“Get up,” says Anand Bhai. “Time to go.”

Dazed, Chamdi looks around the room. The tube light is on and Anand Bhai’s bed is made. Rani is nowhere to be seen. Chamdi glances out the window—it is night.

“Go wash yourself,” says Anand Bhai. “I’ve cleaned the car. Don’t want you to stain the seat.”

Mutely, Chamdi gets up and walks to the bathroom. He shuts the door and steps over a small parapet that separates the toilet from the bathing area. As he removes his shorts, a bougainvillea petal slips out of his pocket. It looks old. He lets it remain on the floor. He does not remove the cloth from around his neck. Let it get wet. It will keep him cool.

He grabs a white plastic mug that floats on water contained in a steel bucket, dips the mug into the water and opens his mouth wide. He grimaces as the water soothes his cut, then takes another mugful and pours it over his head. This will be his first bath since he left the orphanage. He looks around for soap and sees a light blue soapbox. He does not care to ask Anand Bhai’s permission. He scrubs himself
until the dust particles and dirt slowly disappear down the drain.

As he does this, Chamdi thinks about Guddi. Darzi and the old woman are good people—they will take care of her, he reassures himself.

Soon, Chamdi is clean. There is no towel in the bathroom, but Chamdi spots an orange napkin on the window ledge and uses it to dry himself. He lets his hair stay wet. He thinks of Guddi in Darzi’s room and imagines her walking and laughing. I will enter that room and she will be on her feet, he convinces himself. He puts his shorts back on and steps out of the bathroom. He will have to ask Anand Bhai for a shirt since he no longer has his white vest. He tries not to remember the events that led to the removal of that vest.

“What happened to your ribs?” asks Anand Bhai. “They are like knives.”

Chamdi does not respond, though he wants to tell Anand Bhai that they are not ribs, they are tusks, and they will one day be used against the likes of him. Mrs. Sadiq was the only person who did not make him feel conscious of his skinny frame. She always told him that he would gain flesh with age. He is pierced by a sudden longing to be with her.

“Can you please give me a shirt?” asks Chamdi.

“What happened to yours?”

Chamdi remains silent. Anand Bhai goes to the wooden chest of drawers, the one that contains the knife. He opens the bottom drawer, takes out a white T-shirt and throws it at Chamdi.

“I play cricket in that T-shirt,” says Anand Bhai. “I love India. Good team, but ma ki chud you cannot depend on them. Some days they are dynamite, some days they are hollow.”

Chamdi finds it strange that even though he is so different from Anand Bhai, the two of them enjoy the same game. Chamdi has not seen a single game of street cricket in Bombay like he imagined he would. He has not even seen a red rubber ball.

He puts on the T-shirt. It is so big for him that the sleeves come down almost to his wrists. He tucks it into his shorts and it balloons over the top, but he does not care. He wishes he could get fresh shorts too.

“I want to see Guddi,” says Chamdi.

“Now now. She’s sleeping.”

“But …”

“Darzi and the old woman are also resting. We cannot disturb.”

Why does Anand Bhai not call Darzi and the old woman Father and Mother? Here is someone who has not one parent but two whole parents, and he never refers to them as Father and Mother.

Anand Bhai waits for Chamdi at the door. The green curtain has been parted to one side. Chamdi wonders how late it is. He can see that most of the doors of the other rooms in the adda are shut. An oil lamp has been placed at the foot of Darzi’s door, which is also closed. The small flame of the oil lamp flickers.

As they near the car, Chamdi feels ill. He does not want to sit in the car. Anand Bhai opens the passenger door for him, but Chamdi stalls, looks around the darkness of the adda. At the orphanage, Chamdi had the bougainvilleas to comfort him. Even at night he could use his mind to light them up and any fear or illness he felt was reduced. He wishes he could do the same at the adda, but all he can see are the tomatoes and cucumbers that grow behind Darzi’s room. They fail to soothe him.

Anand Bhai taps the inside of the car window. Chamdi gets in but does not look at the back seat. He looks straight ahead and does not say a word. The car starts and the headlights shine on the
tomatoes and cucumbers. They look horrified by the light, thinks Chamdi. The redness of the tomatoes reminds him of blood. Why did God make blood and flowers and vegetables the same colour?

The alley behind the adda has no streetlights so only the headlights of the car light the way. There are holes in the road, a few plastic bags are floating along the street, and a man has placed a cot on the footpath. This man uses his shirt as a pillow. Chamdi’s eyes shut as the car hits a stretch of road that he does not recognize. He has no interest in his surroundings, and he wants to shut his ears as well because now he can hear Sumdi breathing onto his neck from the back seat. Chamdi turns his head and looks at the back seat—he is imagining things.

“Your friend’s in the trunk,” says Anand Bhai.

Chamdi shuts his eyes again as the car speeds up. He opens his eyes only when the car slows down and enters a short lane lined by trees on either side. The lane opens out into a large clearing. The car comes to a halt.

Chamdi and Anand Bhai step out of the car, and Chamdi looks up at the night sky. He wonders if Sumdi is already up there or if he is still in his body. But Sumdi was so eager to run
that he would not wait in his body if he did not have to.

Anand Bhai opens the trunk of the car. He looks at Chamdi, who understands that he must help Anand Bhai lift the body. Chamdi does not want to see his friend’s face. He knows that he will forever hold a picture of Sumdi’s face in his brain: teeth slipping out of his mouth and falling onto the cement road.

He is relieved to see that Sumdi’s body is covered in a white cloth. Anand Bhai holds one end of the body, and Chamdi the other. With one hand, Anand Bhai quickly slams the trunk shut.

Chamdi sees a number of sheds with tin roofs in the clearing. Below each roof is a cement slab and on the slab are logs for the dead body. There are at least seven to eight fires roaring at the same time. At a tap near the sheds, an old man washes his hands under streaming water. He then uses the bottom of his kurta to wipe his hands and face. Men, dressed mainly in white, gather near the bodies of the dead. The women sit on benches away from the funeral pyre. A young woman’s wails pierce the dusty air. An older woman dressed in a cream salwar kameez rubs the younger woman’s back to soothe her, but it seems
to make no difference. The young woman’s cries mix with the sound of crackling wood. A group of men walk past Chamdi carrying a body on a stretcher. They do not utter a word and simply take in the sobs that come from some of the sheds. The sobs make Chamdi think of just one thing: how to tell Guddi that her brother is dead. He knows that she is a brave girl, but how she will bear the news? What he fears most is that there will be no crying. What if she simply closes her eyes and never wakes up again?