Indra Sinha - Animal's People

Towards the end of my first day in paradise the rain clears, a red sun hangs in the west, sending long shadows into the cave. With newly wakened eyes I see what before I’d not noticed, there are scratches on the rocks, and daubs of colour that are not natural marks but like paintings done by a child’s finger. There are animals of every kind, leopards and deer and horses and elephants, there’s a tiger and a rhino, among them are small figures on two legs, except some have horns some have tails they are neither men nor animals, or else they are both, then I know that I have found my kind, plus this place will be my everlasting home, I have found it at last, this is the deep time when there was no difference between anything when separation did not exist when all things were together, one and whole before humans set themselves apart and became clever and made cities and kampanis and factories.

Time in paradise is like in the Nutcracker, it ceases to have meaning, suns and moons migrate into the sky and tumble into the west. Days pass, or maybe it’s just one, or years, or thousands of years, I am immortal. There is nothing of me that will die. The memories of what happened to me in the forest when I was still alive are like pale forms glimmering in darkness and it comes to me what I thought was life was nothing but darkness. The time before the forest is a fading nightmare of a city of stinks and misery, I think of thousands and thousands dead in the last moments of Khaufpur. Our whole lives were lived in the dark. Those who were there with me are now in paradise, where’s no Khaufpur, no India, no trace of flames, hell is not visible from here. These hills, these forests go on forever. Such thoughts are like dreams that attach themselves to this or that, to a bird flying past, or a grass stalk bent under water drops. All things speak to me. From a tiny place inside the curl of a fern comes a voice, that old voice I love, “Now Animal, you are safe, you and all the people of the Apokalis, because he will shelter them, no more shall they suffer hunger or thirst, nor have to do heavy work, never again will they be tormented by the sun nor by burning winds, for he will care for them and lead them to the sources of living water, he will heal their sores and their coughs and fevers and he will wipe the tears from their eyes.”

Thud. Something’s fallen near my head. High above in the arch of this jungle temple, with swallows darting round it, a beehive is hanging. On the ground is a lump of waxy bee-comb. I’ve grabbed it, bitten into it, honey’s running between my lips down my chin, never has anything tasted so good.

Much comforted by this food and by Ma’s words I sleep, in my dreams blind bearded men weep over I don’t know what. Next thing sun’s streaming into the cavern. I’ve eaten more of the honeycomb, then crawled to drink from a pool that has filled among the rocks. In this pool for the first time I see my heavenly self. My new face is skin stretched around a skull, huge and dark are my eyes, my strong chest is a rack of ribs, plus here’s a great disappointment, in paradise I thought I would be upright, didn’t Ma promise it? but stretch as I might I’m still bent. Plus I soon learn that in heaven just as in the earthly world is no escape from crapping, my bowels are weak and watery.

I get to wondering what has happened to all the others who died, not one of them have I seen. Somewhere in these endless jungles must be the city of god and there the poor will be gathered. Singing with joy they’ll be, like it says in Sanjo’s book. I eat more honey, drink water and try to sing, but although in my head I can hear music from my mouth comes nothing but croaking, like one of Somraj’s frogs.

At some point I’ve heard leaves rustling, may be a boar, or a deer. Then such joy. It’s Jara. Thrilled I’m to see her, I give a great shout, which stumbles out croaking. So she did die in that cloud of poison, surely Ma’s with her, they’ve come to join me in heaven. Jara comes whining to the foot of the rocks. She’s a loud ghost of a dog, because then she’s barking, attracting other ghosts. Soon they too appear before me. Climbing up the hillside through the trees is the shade of Farouq and behind him comes a ghostly Zafar, thin and slow on his spirit feet. Of course, these two were the first to die. I am outside my rock fastness at the top of the slope, they’ve not yet seen me, but Jara raises her head and sniffs. Then she’s leaping forward, up the hill.

With all my strength I call, “Farouq, you were wrong! There are bees in paradise!”

“Zafar,” comes the distant voice of Farouq. “We have found him.”

Both of them begin to run. Behind them, other figures are appearing out of the trees. Looks like Chunaram, so he too’s dead, plus Bhoora, following after these come Ali Faqri plus some lads from the Nutcracker. So Ma was right, the whole city must have perished.

Then Jara’s on me, licking and whining, tail’s a blur. “Welcome to paradise,” says I as the dog jumps at me, licking my face, whining, placing her paws on my shoulders. “What took you so long?”

Zafar’s ghost comes up and stands smiling down at me and Jara. He kneels and puts his arms around me. “By god in whom I refuse to believe, we have found you.”

“Welcome to Paradise,” says I, “there’s honey and water for all. The Apokalis and the bad times are over.”

“Fucker,” says the ghost of Farouq, all grin he’s. “So you are alive.”

I have to be honest, at the sound of his rough tongue, great gladness fills my heart. “This is heaven,” I say happily, “and we are all dead.”

“Cobbler’s arse, do I look dead to you?” He’s given me a tight hug till my bones are cracking.

“Who are you calling cobbler’s arse? Bordel de merde!”

“Heap! Dungpile!”

“Type of a fart!”

Ha ha ha, we’re rolling on the grass with our arms round one another, then he looks at me and says, “In the name of god in whom Zafar refuses to believe, get dressed, or we’ll all die of fright.” He holds out something, it’s my kakadus. “Found in a ditch. The truck driver who dropped you, he showed us the place. Eight days we’ve been combing these jungles.” He lifts me up and says, with a tenderness I’ve never before heard, “You fucking cunt.”

“You who’re the cunt,” I says. “Don’t need kakadus here. We are in paradise, where there’s clean water and honey, delicious to eat, every and all things in the forest talk to you, just listen, you too will hear.”

By now they’ve all come up, this speech of mine they’ve heard in silence, then one after the other my friends kneel down and embrace me and whisper their fond greetings in my ear.

“Why Bhoora,” says Zafar, as the good auto-wallah with arms around my neck’s kissed me with tears rolling, “I am thinking this too is a chicken day.”

“What chicken?” It’s Chunaram. “Today is a kebab day. At my place. All are invited.” He takes a great breath. “Today, kebabs are free!”

Says Farouq to me with a wink, “See how he loves you?”

Ali Faqri says, “Praise god you are alive. Abdul Saliq sends wishes plus safe return to Khaufpur.”

“Don’t you understand?” I say to them. “Khaufpur’s gone. No more of that misery, here we are all free in paradise.”

“Animal, you just take it easy,” says one of my Nutcracker chums. “We’ll soon have you down from here.” To Zafar he remarks, “He must have a fever.”

“Pity Elli doctress has left,” says another.

“We’ll take him to my place,” says Zafar. “He shall stay with me.”

“What? Where are you taking me? I don’t want to go anywhere.”

But already they are lifting me up. “So light he’s. Hardly weighs at all.” Then we’re all moving down to the trees. I weep, I struggle, I say, “Do not take me away from here, not unless it’s to the city of god.”