Manil Suri - The City of Devi

The idea proved to be a marketing coup. “City of Devi” tours, combining locales from the film with religious destinations, became so popular that even temples with only a stray idol or two of Devi dusted them off to vie for inclusion. Some managed to install video screens in their prayer halls, even THX stereo, from the inflow of tourist rupees (not to mention dollars, pounds, euros). Literary festivals, dance events, school essay contests, and the Taj Hotel’s “Best Avatar Costume” competition all bore the City of Devi logo: seven dabs of pigment (representing the seven original islands of Bombay) arranged into an artistically rendered image of Mumbadevi. The Mumbai Mirror published special pullout sections every Sunday on Mumbadevi myths—the demon giant vanquished by her, the devout Koli woman whose fisherman husband she saved, the time she brought fresh cotton to the city’s embargoed mills (this last one newly invented, like several others—Mumbadevi never having enjoyed top-tier goddess status, like Laxmi or Kali, before this). Anxious to regain advertising ground lost to McDonald’s, Pizza Hut came up with a computer mouse pad giveaway featuring the mother goddess smiling down benignly on various city sights. The promotion had to be hurriedly aborted when Muslims took umbrage at the image of Mumbadevi apparently blessing the entire Worli sea face, including the Haji Ali mosque clearly visible at one end.

In fact, several citizens’ groups wanted to scrap the City of Devi designation entirely, on grounds that it violated Mumbai’s secular spirit (my father was positively apoplectic). The organizers dismissed these qualms—the campaign had a cultural, not proselytizing, aim. It promoted commerce, the true religion of the city.

THE INTERIOR OF THE TRAIN compartment is unlike any I have ever seen. The walls are painted pink, with crimson banquettes and sofas lining the perimeter—light sconces bloom rosily from next to the curtained windows. A Kashmiri carpet stretches across the floor, all the way to a closed door leading to the rest of the compartment. Dressing tables flank this door, one on either side, with pink dupattas draped over their mirrors. I feel I have clambered into the boudoir of a traveling courtesan, the parlor of a mobile house of ill repute.

However, the three women inside are dressed as brides, not ladies of the night. They shimmer in red saris, dots of decorative white pigment glittering along the borders of their faces, diamond pins in their noses sparkling promises of virginity. “Welcome,” the tallest one says. “I’m Madhu, and these are my fellow sisters, Guddi and Anupam.”

“Madhu did said we’re going to be Devi ma’s new maidens from tonight,” Guddi breathlessly announces. Her face is heart-shaped, her eyes spaced apart wide—she seems the youngest, no more than sixteen.

“Just see what they gave us,” Anupam adds, pointing to her necklace, laughing in excitement as she jiggles her earrings. “And this sari—I know it’s a secret, Madhu didi, but I have to tell her. It glows in the dark, just like Ooper-devi ma’s sari!”

“Yes, just like Ooper-devi ma, in the final scenes,” Guddi chimes in. “We’re the first maidens to get them! Maybe we should show her—turn off all the lights and pull down the shutters. Can we, Madhu didi?”

Madhu tells them no. “Don’t mind them. They’re very naïve—Mura recruited them from their villages only last week. I’ve had barely three days to give them their city training. We had another one, too—Nalini—but she couldn’t make it.”

“Poor Nalini didi.”

“She’d be so disappointed if she knew what she was missing.”

“It was that time of the month for her,” Madhu says. “It seems they don’t keep such good track of these things in the villages, unfortunately. Mura’s wondering what he’s going to do, since he promised to deliver three of them this week. When I saw you walking along the tracks, it came to me that perhaps you could—”

“Oh, that would be so terrific, if she could take Nalini didi’s place,” Anupam exclaims.

“Yes, could she? Could we make her our sister as well? Please, Madhu didi, say yes.” Guddi takes my hand in hers and presses it to her breast.

Madhu examines me closely, and frowns. “You seemed much younger on the tracks.” She speaks in an injured tone, as if I’ve misrepresented myself. “It’s hardly going to work if you look like their aunt instead of their sister—you must be already past thirty.”

“But we could make her up, Didi,” Anupam says. “All those powders and lipsticks you showed us. We could make her look young again by rubbing that magic cream into her skin—the one you said foreign memsahibs use when they’re aging.”

“And teach her to dance. Mura chacha wouldn’t be able to turn her down, then, would he?” Guddi raises her joined hands above her head and starts sashaying on the carpet, alternating between classical Kathakali poses and moves from popular films. “We can perform together for Devi ma, all four of us.”

Madhu is still dubious. “I suppose we might as well give it a try. At least she’s not wearing a mangalsutra—if Mura saw she was married, that would be it.” Before I can correct her, she hustles me towards the dressing table. “We better hurry—the train will be at Santa Cruz before we know it.”

My ears prick up—Santa Cruz is only a couple of stations after my destination. “Actually, if you could have the train stop at Bandra, I could get off there—”

“Oh, but that won’t be possible. The train driver’s in the engine—the only way to get word to him is by pulling the emergency chain.” Madhu says this with a regretful look, but can’t quite conceal the trace of glee that brightens her face.

“Besides, we have to prepare you for Mura chacha, Didi,” Guddi says. “This is not a chance you want to miss. He’s resting back there, behind that door—he’ll be getting up any minute.” She sits me down while Anupam starts shaking a vial of white liquid. “It’s good we still have Nalini didi’s outfit—we can dress you in it.”

Anupam starts to paint a series of white bridal dots along my brow, but I push her hand away. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what you’re doing. Forgive me, but I don’t want to be dressed up for your Mura chacha—I just need to get to Bandra.”

Both Guddi and Anupam look at me in alarm. “Do you know what you’re saying?” Madhu exclaims. “It’s Devi ma we’re dressing you up for, not just Mura. The real Devi ma, the one who’s appeared at Juhu in person—not all these fakes people keep conjuring. That’s why we’re headed to Santa Cruz—haven’t you heard anything? You’re lucky to get this opportunity—only because Nalini can’t join us. Devi ma herself, you understand?—to serve as her personal maiden. Though in your case, not to be impolite, it would be more matron than maiden.”

“Please, Didi, you must agree,” Guddi says. “Devi ma can be very quick to flare up if you show her any disrespect. There was a girl in our village who made a joke about the idol at the temple—said she was much fairer, that Devi ma had too black a complexion. Within a week she was dead—not only her skin but even her eyeballs turned black. We watched as the jackals ate her body—even her parents weren’t brave enough to go near her after that.”

My skepticism must show, because Anupam starts nodding and insisting it’s all true. “Bhim kaka. Tell her about Bhim kaka,” she says to Madhu, her voice squeaky with urgency.

“You probably haven’t heard about Bhim, either, then? After all, he’s only the most important man in the city.” Madhu arches her eyebrows and stares at me until I nod—yes, I have heard of the leader of the HRM, almost mythically renowned for his bloodthirsty ways. “Think of this, then—Bhim himself, no less, has become a disciple of Devi ma. He challenged her at first, called her a pretender, but now falls at her feet at least once a week to beg her blessing. He’s dedicated every last man in his army to her, declared that without her will, even a leaf won’t drop in the city. In fact, who do you think arranges for this train, these maidens every week? It’s Bhim—Mura just works for him. So forget about trying to get off at Bandra—if you don’t fear Devi ma, at least worry about getting on the wrong side of Bhim.”