Manil Suri - The City of Devi

“He’s lying, Devi ma, listen to me—he’ll have your Gaurav-ghoda killed, he told me so himself. Go right now and save your friend, or you may never see him again.”

But the Devi girl has already allowed herself to be picked up in Bhim’s arms. She snuggles against his chest, her stunted right hand playing with his locks, the nubs on the left stroking his neck. “He gave me a present,” she says, producing the empty Marmite jar from a pocket and forlornly turning it over for Bhim to see. “The chutney inside was so tasty, I licked it clean.”

“And you didn’t save any for Bhim kaka? We’ll get some more, don’t worry.” He kisses her forehead. “As for your Gaurav, I promise not to touch a hair on his head.”

“Don’t trust him!” In desperation, Karun tries to clutch at the girl’s shoulder to get her attention. She screams as his fingers slip past and wrap around her malformed appendage instead.

“How dare you touch Devi ma! I’ll have you put to death. Guards, you heard what I said. Right now, this instant, in front of me. Slice off his head.”

The guards look at each other and I nervously draw closer to Karun. Bhim starts laughing. “Now, now, Devi ma—that’s quite a drastic punishment. Perhaps you can show some mercy, because I need him and his wife tomorrow, at breakfast.” He lifts her up on his shoulders so that she sits straddling his neck. “Bhim kaka has never seen you summon Kali quite like that before—he’s very impressed.”

The praise pleases the girl. She waves away the Khakis from atop her perch and makes a big show of granting Karun a pardon. “It’s almost time for your appearance,” Bhim reminds her, patting her leg. “Today’s the big night, isn’t it, to speak your lines yourself? Bhim kaka hasn’t forgotten—let’s go get the gold on your face touched up and fit a microphone around your neck.”

He carries her away, walking at first, and then, as the girl says “Bhim-ghoda,” breaking into a gallop.

THE CROWD ERUPTS in euphoria the instant Bhim appears on the walkway with Devi ma. I now understand the ostentation in Bhim’s outfit—it connects him to the girl, echoing her golden splendor, conferring upon him the same supernatural aura: if she’s the anointed daughter, he must be the divine father. He deposits her atop the Superdevi machine and raises his arms high in the air to elicit even more roars from the beach. Then, taking off his helmet, he bows with folded hands for her formal endorsement. By now, the stand has risen just enough for her feet to be conveniently within reach without him having to stoop too inelegantly to touch them. The Devi bestows her blessing on his head, the transaction smooth and choreographed, except that as she straightens back up, the lotus in her right appendage pops out from its slot. The crowd doesn’t care—its cheering grows twice as loud, its exultation swells. Bhim basks in the adulation as long as he can, until behind him, the Devi starts levitating in earnest. As the spotlight leaves him, he hesitates, then makes his way back to where we stand.

“Welcome. I’m so gratified you have come to see me.”

The girl’s voice sounds a bit thin at first, her words shaky, but she quickly seems to gain confidence. Bhim nods in approval. “I knew, the moment I saw her in her slum at Dharavi, that she would be the one.” He shushes Karun, who’s now switched to earnest appeals to save Jaz. “Not now. I want to see if she delivers this part properly—it’s about the bomb.”

Like an anxious parent tracking a school play debut, Bhim mouths the words along. But his youngster doesn’t quite pull it off. “Come to me, and I will save you from the fire,” she says, then gets stuck. The seconds tick by, and Bhim gets increasingly fraught. He’s about to give the signal to switch to the canned version when she sputters back to life. “I will save you from the destruction of our city, I will save you from the bomb.”

Bhim claps at the end of the recitation, causing his entire entourage to burst into applause. Seizing the opportunity of Bhim’s genial mood, Karun pleads again on Jaz’s behalf. “Ah yes, your friend. Don’t worry, I hadn’t forgotten. But first, let me ask—this lady by your side—are you his lovely missus?” He bids me namaste and I instinctively fold my hands to respond. “Such an honor to meet you, so wonderful to unite you with your husband. But tell me, has he informed you about the secret Muslim hobby he’s developed?”

There’s nothing to do but look away, which prompts Bhim to emit a horrid little laugh. “So you know already. And what do you think? Should I release this Gaurav so you can be one happy family from now on? Or would you rather remain a twosome, prefer I remove this impediment once and for all?”

“If you think I want anyone killed, you’re crazy. Release him at once.”

“Bravo! Putting your husband’s interests over your own—spoken like Sita herself. The ground should part open any moment now to acknowledge such a noble sacrifice. But why do I feel our Sita’s not quite ready to be welcomed back into the earth’s fold just yet? That she wouldn’t mind if instead of her, the Muslim got swallowed instead?”

“That’s such a lie. I would never want—”

“No, of course not. You’d never want it on your conscience, I understand. How could you even face your husband afterwards if he’s so sad and hobby-less? But fear not. We won’t let your hands get dirty—we’ll leave that to Devi ma instead. Look, here comes her magic buffalo, in fact. I had them move it to the earlier show so we could all enjoy its sacrifice.”

I turn around to behold the airborne buffalo, bobbing just inside the parapet. The body looks plumper than yesterday, as if it’s been gorging all night to fatten itself. A line of green swastikas runs along its brow like dots adorning a bride’s forehead. “I am the demon Manisha,” it bellows through the speakers, and the Devi stands defiant against its threats.

“This part’s still prerecorded,” Bhim apologizes. “Devi ma hasn’t been able to memorize the lines yet.” He seems to know all the words—so well that I wonder if he’s composed the script himself. “Repent, or I will cut your buffalo head and incinerate your sinful flesh,” he booms at Karun, mimicking the metallic voice that blusters across the terrace. “But yes, as for your request. Watch carefully, because here comes the good part, the one that concerns your friend.”

Bhim grins impishly and I start to feel chilled. “I promised not to lay a finger on him,” he says, winking, as a trident appears in the girl’s hand. “This way I get to keep my word, and bestow a bit of happiness on Sita as well.”

“It couldn’t be,” I whisper, almost to myself. Last night’s image, of the spirit, as Chitra called it, flailing inside the buffalo frame, fills my mind. “He couldn’t be inside.”

“Excellent,” Bhim exclaims, his head eagerly cocked to catch everything I’ve said. “Even though you’ve spoiled my surprise, even though I was going to save it for after the show.” He beams as if we can’t help but be delighted at this twist he’s engineered for our entertainment. “Of course, with all the fireworks shooting off, you’ll barely catch a glimpse of your friend.”

“He’s inside,” I shout, clutching at Karun, who hasn’t quite understood. “Jaz is inside the buffalo—they’ll light it and set him aflame as well.” From her stand, the Devi waves her trident, hurling more threats at the buffalo, which floats in bloated obliviousness. “I saw it yesterday—someone burning alive—we only have a few seconds left.”

My words galvanize Karun. “Stop,” he shouts, waving his arms to catch the Devi’s attention. “Stop, Devi ma, stop, your Gaurav-ghoda is inside.” He charges off, sprinting halfway down the length of the pool before the guards catch up with him. “Stop,” he screams, struggling to break free from their grip.