Manil Suri - The City of Devi

Karun colored immediately. “So that we can be a family of three,” I added to take away any sting.

Despite his unease, Karun agreed to my proposal of working towards it over the next few weeks. Each night, with his eyes closed, he embarked on this new exploratory mission. I tried not to make any movement that would startle him, even stifling the impulse to look down, much less stroke him or guide him. Instead, I mentally transmitted welcoming vibes his way—my encouragement, my appreciation, my empathy.

The barrier I needed to help Karun cross seemed mostly psychological. Sometimes he wilted too quickly, but on most nights he stopped even though physically still primed. Uma told me to try pomegranates. “It’s the desi alternative to the oysters they prescribe in the West. The Kama Sutra says to boil the seeds in oil, but in my experience, a glass of juice right before works just as well.” Karun seemed puzzled by all the freshly squeezed nightcaps I began serving, so I extolled their antioxidant benefits, telling him a bedtime dosage worked best. Hazy on the Kama Sutra instructions, I erred on the safe side by also downing a shot myself.

I shopped for pomegranates at the market near work—red ones rather than gold, because they clearly displayed the ardor I felt befit an aphrodisiac. I learnt to distinguish between the different varieties—the “Mridula” with its voluptuous crimson interior, the “Bhagwa” with its smooth and glossy skin (fruits from Satara were always the juiciest). I became an expert at separating the arils from the bitter white pith, at squeezing out every last drop of succulence. In a pinch, I brought home the bottled variety of juice one evening—it tasted flat and spiritless, nothing like the fresh.

We both got addicted to our bedtime tonic. Perhaps Karun guessed its purpose, even though I didn’t confess. Each night, we tasted pomegranate on our first kiss—a few times, I noticed my nipple was tinged red. I wondered if the scent mixed with my own after Jantar Mantar, if I left telltale traces on Karun as well. Sometimes I saved a few kernels to sprinkle on our cornflakes the next morning, to carry over the spell.

Surely the same lovemaking associations must have evolved in Karun’s mind as well. Perhaps this was the subliminal conditioning the Kama Sutra intended, because I did notice progress. Karun’s explorations grew keen enough for me to cautiously anticipate success. I lay in bed under him every night waiting patiently for the next increment. Images from his past drifted through my mind—the photos and toy planes, the moral instruction citations, the fantastical Lego shapes. Soon the breakthrough would arrive to complete my assimilation of him. The planes taking off, the Lego flying through the air, like so many quarks and electrons, planets and Milky Ways. The two of us enveloped by the sweet smell of pomegranates as our very own supernova blossomed across time and space.

I SMOOTH OVER my sari to make the bulge of the pomegranate at my waist less conspicuous as Madhu leads me into Mura’s section of the compartment. It is surprisingly shabby. Areas of fresh white paint compete with expanses of peeling railway-regulation green, as if someone abandoned a renovation project midway. One entire side still has sleeper berths stacked two high running along its length, and the floor shows gaping holes where walls and dividers have been yanked out. Could this really be the den of someone working for the great and mighty Bhim?

Mura sits in one of the lower berths, cracking open peanuts. He does so with the fingers of only his left hand, extracting the kernels and tossing them into his mouth in a single compulsive arc. He is small but bulbous, with a head larger than his body, as one might expect of someone employing a lot of brainpower—an accountant, perhaps. I notice an unhealthy sheen to him, an oiliness that oozes out of his skin and glistens on his scalp. Perhaps he has too many peanuts in his diet.

Madhu explains my presence and withdraws, closing the door behind her. The makeup must have worked, because Mura does not question me about my age. “Can you dance?” he asks instead.

“A little. Guddi said she could teach me.”

“Ah, Guddi. She’s so innocent, isn’t she? Do you know, when I went to fetch her, she asked if she could bring her five-year-old brother along to meet Devi ma as well? These villagers—they’re all so child-like. One can’t even begin to explain the ways of the world to them.” Mura takes off his thick accountant glasses and wipes his face with a handkerchief, and I wait to find out what he is getting at.

“Of course, you, being from the city, must know things work a little differently. For instance, despite whatever blemishes your layers of makeup might be trying to hide, suppose I choose you for Devi ma. The question then arises, what would be in it for me?” Mura’s eyes bulge a little behind their lenses, like those of a child reminded of a favorite treat.

“I don’t have much money, if that’s what you want.”

“Oh, no—I meant nothing so crass. But you do see my point, don’t you? City people are different from villagers—more willing to be a little guileful if it gives them an advantage. With them—with us —there’s no shame in asking for fair give-and-take.” He pats the seat beside him. “Why don’t you come here and sit with me on the berth? If nothing else, as a small reward in recognition of all I’m doing for our community?” He breaks open a peanut and holds out the kernels in his hand, as if I’m a bird he’s trying to attract.

I ignore his offering. “If you don’t mind, I prefer to stand.” First the hospital Romeo, then Hrithik, now Mura—has my body pumped out some special pheromone today to provoke all these advances? Why am I suddenly so popular?

Mura shakes his head. “Unwilling to even sit by my side. Not even a little generosity of spirit.” He looks at me reproachfully. “Perhaps then Mura will have to stand as well.”

Just then, I hear the screeching sound of the engine brakes being applied. Peanuts sail through the air, Mura slides to the floor and I almost go flying as well, as the train slows, suddenly, violently. We come to a halt, and Mura gets up sputtering. “That driver, he must be mad to make a stop like this. You just wait here, I’ll go investigate.” He exits from the door to the girls’ room, and I hear a bolt being drawn closed on the other side.

This is my chance to escape. I go to the door and call out the girls’ names in a whisper. “Anupam? Guddi? Madhu?”

“Yes, Didi?”

“Guddi, can you open this door?”

I hear a giggle, and some muffled conversation. Then Anupam answers. “Didi? Mura chacha said not to let you out.”

“It’s just for a minute. I have to use the bathroom.”

More discussion follows, and then Guddi speaks again. “We’d have to check with Madhu didi first. She’s stepped out with Mura chacha. They won’t be long.” Anupam giggles in the background.

I decide to try a window. I pry apart two of the horizontal bars, but the widened space is barely big enough for a cat to squeeze through. Searching the compartment for something to use as a crowbar, I notice how much rustier the windows get towards the far end. The last window only has two bars still in place, one of which simply crumbles when I test it. Just as I knock out the remaining bar for an opening I can comfortably squeeze through, Mura returns.

“That stupid engineer. He wanted to return to Dadar, got cold feet going through Mahim. Some crazy idea of taking the Central Line to Ghatkopar, then switching over to the new metro rail. Never mind that those tracks are twenty meters up in the air. I told him there was absolutely no danger, that Bhim had personally arranged our passage.”