Indra Sinha - Animal's People

“Bhoora, quick, we must go to Ma, then you must take us back to Nisha.”

“Come,” he says, “Ma is alone, let’s go.”

I tell Elli ten minutes, we will be back, then it’s the alley narrowing to a dirt track, the crossing over the rails, Bhoora knows the way well, so many times has he dropped me, finally we are bumping across rough ground with weeds glaring white in the auto’s beam. There’s light flickering inside the tower, outlining its opening. So she is there. The strange cries are still echoing over Khaufpur, drifting up into the night, where clouds are lit by a half moon. Like a tear, they said the moon was on that night, and is again on this night of tears. Poor Aliya, nobody shall miss her like I shall.

The dog comes running to meet me. She’s jumped and licked my face. This alone, which has happened a thousand times before, makes me want to weep. Animals keep faith. Inside, I find Ma sitting by the oil lamp, in her hand is Sanjo’s book, but she is not looking at the pages. By heart she knows this book. You could tear it to pieces, or burn it, and still she will remember every line, each word. She looks at me and says, “It has come, Animal my dear, this is the night of Qayamat, the end of all things.”

“Ma, don’t go out tonight. Tonight, you stay here, stay put. Keep the dog with you. Don’t set foot outside tonight.”

She laughs at me, it’s a horrible old woman’s laugh that sucks and gurgles from lack of teeth, like a witch she looks, a haadal, a wild-eyed spirit of the night, her hair is tangled like the roots of a tree, incredibly old is her face, the lamp making shadows of its every line, of each wrinkle, as if indeed she’s been hanging around since the dawn of time. “Shouldn’t I go out tonight? This is my night, it’s the night for which I’ve waited so many years. Tonight Animal, it’s me who’s dangerous. Let the world beware.”

Well, I have no idea what she means by this, but I don’t like the sound of it. “Ma, Zafar bhai has died, the whole place will go mad. It’s not safe for you outside.” I’m thinking that maybe in their fury people may turn on foreigners. Ma is well known in the Nutcracker, but who knows where her madness might take her?

“I don’t want to be safe,” says she with that mad cackle. “What do I care if I die? On this night of all nights, to die will be a blessing. Animal, the angels are here, thousands and thousands of them, they’ve come to make an end of this sinning, sorrowful world, tonight it will go up in flames, it will burn and shrivel into ashes and become dust. Who will mourn it? Will you? Tonight to this city, do you know who has come?”

“I don’t know.” In my misery I am thinking that maybe some big politician has come from Delhi, or some fillum star. It couldn’t be a nobody, could it?

“Tell me Ma, who has come? Is it the President of India?”

She lets out peals of laughter like the carillons rung by Jacotin of the nàs superbe. “You are so silly, Animal. Guess again.”

“Jacotin, avec son nas superbe,” I say, who feels like howling.

“Right you are to speak the language of the angels on this night, Animal, they’re coming for souls, mine maybe, and also yours.” It makes me shudder the way she has started saying this night, in the same way we always say that night.

“Isa has come,” says she, “and Sanjo. I reckon they’re here already. Long have I waited to see their faces, I must surely go to meet them. And do you know why they’re here, mon pauvre petit? Because on this night the dead are going to come up out of the earth, like big mushrooms their skulls will push up out of the soil. Their bones will come up too, with a clickety noise like a train on the level crossing, and then all the bones will join together and they will walk again. Tonight, mark my words, this city will be full of the dead.”

“What of those who were burned?”

“Rain will fall, their ashes will get glued together and then the people they came from will gradually reappear. God made Adam of dust, ashes will be no problem for Him. Animal, why do you think this is happening here in Khaufpur? It’s because there are thousands upon thousands of dead here ready and waiting. God wants the Resurrection to get off to a good start.”

From outside Bhoora calls, “Hurry Animal, I too must get home.”

“Ma,” I tell her. “Ma, I love you dearly. Do not go out without me. Stay here, I will be back soon.”

“Where are you off to?” she says, her manner suddenly normal again. “Such a child you are, nothing you’ve had to eat, already you’re off again. Look at you, covered in bruises. And that black eye, you’ve been playing kabbadi again. Come, son, eat. There’s a little rice, a little daal.”

“Stay here, Jara,” I command the dog, I swear if she could have nodded she would have done. Then I am back into Bhoora’s auto and we are gone.

Elli looks exhausted, full of the despair of this terrible day. She climbs in beside me, closes her eyes and does not speak as we jolt out of the Nutcracker and back to Kali Parade. Another surprise. The streets are empty, the crowds of earlier have vanished, but still the weird howls are still going up over Khaufpur, on this night something deep and dangerous is rumbling, the sound of people behind closed doors plotting revenge. Twice in four hundred yards, on the road past the factory, we’re stopped by nervous soldiers with guns. Elli they eye with suspicion but Bhoora tells them she’s a doctor out on a mission of mercy. So then they warn us there’s a curfew, we must get off the streets right away. The rumbling grows louder, and for the first time in my life I see a tank, a huge gun sticks out of its head like the horn on a rhino beetle. When we get to the Claw, Elli’s gone without a word into her clinic. Almost before I can dismount, Bhoora’s turned his auto, headed for home. Me, I’ve headed into Somraj’s house for Nisha surely needs me.

Nisha does not cry, but neither does she say a word. She sits in the small garden where the pond is now dry, the Nautapa has sucked up its water and the fish are living in a plastic tub. On nothing her gaze is fixed. She knows, of course. Must. She has heard the keening.

“Nisha, could I bring you something? Tea?”

“No thank you.”

“May I sit with you?”

“If you want,” she says.

“I would like.”

“Then come and sit.” So we sit, neither speaking, I don’t know how she is staying so calm. Maybe it is that screaming, praying, crying out for help, these are things that people do when there’s some hope left, but let go of hope and nothing is left but wind in the grass.

Our long silence is broken at last by the sound of singing. The words I do not understand, but the meaning I catch is of such deep sadness, maybe it is better not to understand.

Nisha stirs. “Well,” she says, “there’s supper to prepare.”

“I will help you.”

In a small voice she says, “It’s just you and me now.” Then giving me such a pitiful look, she cries, “Oh Animal, why did Zafar leave me?”

“He was a hero,” I say, meaning it. “He was too good for this horrible world.”

She shakes her head. “They are wailing for Zafar, but I was the closest to him, and I cannot cry. Nearly, I was his bride. Look.” She shows me her wrists which are scratched and bruised.

“I broke my bangles like a wife should. I went to see him. I went with my father, but the tent was empty. Zafar and Farouq were gone. People said police and an ambulance had come, their bodies were taken to the hospital.”

“Did you go to the hospital?”

“Yes, but they were not there. The hospital denied they had come. So then we thought they’ve been taken to a military hospital, or maybe to prison, we began hoping they were still alive.”