Rohinton Mistry - Such A Long Journey

Using paper and a pencil from Gustad’s desk, she bent back the legs, one by one. Some sprang closed again, and had to be held down. Many broke off at the thorax or a midway joint. The cocoon, soft and slightly sticky, though not as clingy as a web, was disengaged after a little poking with the pencil.

She put the pan on the stove. The mixture warmed and became a dark-brown homogeneous compound. Even the obdurate mouse droppings co-operated to blend with the rest. Finally, the carefully preserved alum shape was crumbled and added.

Dilnavaz was ready for the dogwalla idiot.

On Saturdays, Mr. Rabadi always took Dimple for a midday stroll through the compound, supplementing the morning and evening walks. Aware of this extra airing, Dilnavaz had rehearsed her strategy. She reheated the thick mixture and added a spoonful of milk. Yes, that was the right consistency.

Shortly after one o’clock, Dimple’s shrill bark was heard, faintly, from the far end of the compound. Dilnavaz tensed. Now if only her luck held and the stairs were clear. Timing was important. She waited till Mr. Rabadi got closer to the bushes, then nipped out the back and up the stairs.

Her calculations were perfect. She peeked over the balcony. Dimple had called a temporary halt to sniff, searching for the right spot, and Mr. Rabadi looked on approvingly. Dilnavaz extended her arm and turned over the pan.

Mr. Rabadi’s roar resounded through the compound. She primly descended the stairs and returned home by her back door, cautious about claiming success. There was no evidence that his scalp had been anointed; Mr. Rabadi would shout no matter where it landed — even if it fell harmlessly on the ground beside him. She longed to look but had to be content with listening.

‘ Junglees !’ he yelled. ‘Living like animals!’ Hearing her master hold forth, Dimple added her voice to his. ‘Thousands are starving! And shameless people throw curry in the compound!’ Dilnavaz grew optimistic; it must have fallen close enough for him to at least smell it.

Then shrieks of pain entered the angry litany of complaints, as traces of marcha ni bhhuki, andoo, lassun, garam masalo and other fiery spices trickled down Mr. Rabadi’s hair and forehead, into his eyes. ‘Aaaaa! It’s killing me! Aaaaaa! Dying, bas, I’m dying!’ Now Dilnavaz was certain she had been on target.

‘Ohhhh! Mari chaalyo ! Blinded! Blinded completely! Look, you shameless animal! Whoever you are! Look at me! Eyeless in the compound! Blinded by your curry! May the same thing happen to you! And to your children, and your children’s children!’ He made his way to his flat, cursing, howling, calling on the world to witness his cruel fate. Dimple pranced and leaped around him, enjoying his unusually animated state.

Dilnavaz returned to the kitchen. It had gone exactly according to plan. Miss Kutpitia would be proud of her, she felt, as she scrubbed the pan clean of its magical mélange.

‘Was that the dogwalla idiot shouting, Mummy?’ asked Roshan.

Dilnavaz started, she had not heard her coming. ‘Yes, but you shouldn’t say such things. And why are you out of bed?’

‘I’m tired of sleeping all day. Can I do something else?’

‘OK, sit on the sofa and read your book.’ She rinsed the raakh-bhoosa off the pan. It emerged shining from water. Was it possible? So soon? It was no less than a miracle! Or coincidence. But what did it matter, the result was the same. Besides, was there a person alive who, at one time or another, did not find it difficult to disbelieve completely in things supernatural?

Before Miss Kutpitia could fully savour the victory, Dilnavaz moved on to the next item of business. ‘I know I have to be patient,’ she said. ‘But you must help. I cannot go on like this, my head is so full of worries all the time.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Sohrab. My head is spinning and spinning because of the worries. You had said there was another remedy. A final remedy. We must do it now, please!’

‘Must-bust nothing!’ said Miss Kutpitia, miffed. ‘How much do you know about these things? Don’t tell me what to do!’

Dilnavaz retreated meekly: ‘Never would I think of telling you what to do. But this is the only chance, it seems to me.’

‘You don’t know what you are asking. Terrible things could happen.’ Miss Kutpitia’s eyes narrowed, her voice dire, full of unspeakable events. ‘And not all your sorrow or regret later on will do any good, or change one single thing.’

‘Then my son is lost for ever?’

Miss Kutpitia was familiar with the sorrow for a lost son. ‘That is not what I am saying. If you insist, we will do it. But on your head will be the parinaam, on your head the weight of all the consequences.’

Dilnavaz shuddered. ‘For my son’s sake I take the risk.’

‘Then it is settled. Wait.’ She became businesslike. From a pile of cardboard boxes, tins, newspapers and torn clothes, she fished out an old shoe-box. ‘This will do. Now we need a lizard. Can you manage?’ Dilnavaz’s face radiated no confidence.

‘Never mind. I will get one, wait.’ Miss Kutpitia opened one of the two locked doors and shut it behind her. There were sounds of scampering before she emerged triumphantly, panting a bit, and handed over the box. ‘Be careful with the lid, or it will run away. Wait, better tie some string.’ From the heap where she found the shoe-box, she extracted a length. ‘Good. Now leave it till sunrise under the bed where Sohrab used to sleep. Below the head. And bring it back tomorrow.’

‘Then what happens?’

‘One step at a time. Do this much first.’

She knew Miss Kutpitia would not satisfy her curiosity. ‘Is ten o’clock all right?’ No later than that: Gustad could return any time after noon, depending on the train.

‘Ten, eleven, anything. Bring the box, and bring Tehmul, that’s all.’

‘Tehmul?’

‘Of course.’ Miss Kutpitia was annoyed at the silly question. ‘Without him the lizard is useless.’

Imagining bizarre possibilities around the Tehmul-and-lizard combination, Dilnavaz passed Dimple and Mr. Rabadi in the compound, and thought she caught a whiff of garlic as he scratched his scalp. She was relieved he had not suffered permanent damage. His eyes were fine, glaring fiercely at her.

She placed the shoe-box below Sohrab’s dholni. How long it has been, she thought, since he rolled it out from under Darius’s bed. The ache in my heart will not leave. Not till I hear again, each night, the rumbling of the castors.

Jimmy was still in the grip of the injection when Gustad returned from the canteen. He soundlessly drew the chair close and waited. Again, the hand was first to stir. ‘Gustad?’

‘Yes, Jimmy.’ He stroked the hand. ‘I am still here.’

‘Makes me thirsty…injection.’ He reached for the water. ‘Till where…did I tell you?’

‘Prime Minister called you again to her office. You said she had made plans to protect herself.’

‘Protect herself…yes…trap me.’ Once he located the place, he proceeded as though he had not stopped. ‘She said, I arranged for money…because Mukti Bahini must be helped…but. Having second thoughts. She said, I have enemies…everywhere. If they find out about this money, they will use the information against me. No difference to them that money is for a good cause…our country will suffer if government destabilized. Very dangerous border situation…CIA, Pakistani agents…

‘It made sense. Shall I bring the money back, I asked. She said no, Mukti Bahini must not suffer…should be another way.

‘She said, only problem is my telephone call to chief cashier…he might talk. Must correct that. How, I asked, he had heard her voice. She said, yes, but he did not see me speaking…we can always say someone imitated my voice.