Manil Suri - The City of Devi

Since I’ve just escaped the hospitality of Hotel Birbal, these new preparations make me very uncomfortable. As the dread seeps back in, I catch my name called out in a voice I never thought I’d take such delight in hearing again. “Gaurav-ghoda? Where were you? I’ve missed you so much.” Devi ma squeezes through the human cordon surrounding us and attaches herself to my leg. “You promised we’d spend the day together, but I waited and waited after pooja and you never came.”

Her thick girl-neck has never felt so welcome as I lift her up against my body. The laddoo-fed kilos seem to simply evaporate. I nuzzle my nose against her belly, kiss every digital nub, every cherubic appendage. She smiles at me happily. “What were you talking about with Bhim kaka? What’s happening?”

“Your Bhim kaka wants to kill me,” I announce, and make a sad face. “I escaped from the buffalo you just sacrificed, so now he wants to stick me in another and have you also set that one aflame.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“I don’t know. Ask him.”

“He’s lying,” Bhim tries to scoop the girl out of my arms, but she evades his grasp. “Tell me, would you rather trust Bhim kaka, whom you’ve known all this time, or him?”

Perhaps it’s because I’m holding her—the reassurance of my arms, the sincerity transmitted with every thump of the Jazter heart, that she picks me. “Gaurav-ghoda is my friend. Don’t anyone dare touch him.”

Seeing Bhim bow, I decide to press my advantage. “Also, if it pleases Dev ma, could she tell him to release my friend?” Grudgingly, Bhim nods, and both Karun and Sarita break free through the ring of guards.

“And my gun. He took my gun. I need it back to protect you, Devi ma.”

As expected, Bhim balks, which causes the girl to flare up. “Do as Gaurav-ghoda says,” she commands. Bhim pretends not to hear, which excites her so much that she scrambles out of my arms onto the ledge I’m standing next to. “Didn’t you hear me?” she shouts, stomping her foot. “Return his gun at once.”

Bhim bows again, even deeper this time, then straightens. “Forgive me, Devi ma. But this has gone far enough.” With a quick swoop, he picks her up by her shortest arm.

The girl screams as he swings her at the end of her stub. She tries to claw at him, but Bhim holds her further away from his body, then walks to the infinity pool and dangles her over the water. “Does Devi ma know how to swim? It would be such a pity if she drowned.” He dips her feet in, then dunks her up to the waist. She kicks and thrashes and tries to wrap all her appendages, like a panicked squid, around his arm. “Will you behave yourself if I set you down?”

Her eyes streaming tears, she nods. But she spits in his face the instant he deposits her on the ground. Then she kicks him in the shins and runs. “Guards! Attendants! Quick, get him, someone.” The maidens all look stricken, but none of them makes a move to respond. “Didn’t you see how he treated me? Kill him at once.” Anupam steps forward to help, but freezes under Chitra’s disapproving glance. “It’s my order. From your Devi ma.” Still shrieking her commands, she trips and falls.

Bhim takes his time lumbering up to her. “Did you really think you run the show here? Go ahead, shout all you want.” He stands over her, smiling indulgently at her cries, then bends down and slaps her hard. She screams throatily as he lifts her by the hair, then tries to crawl away whimpering, after he punches her in the mouth and lets her drop. “Do you understand now? Most respected Devi ma?”

He’s about to hit her once more when the rumble from the devotees distracts him. They’re milling around, riled at their devi’s treatment, their outrage barely contained by the guards. Bhim lets off several shots in the air to calm them down. “Look, she’s fine,” he says, lifting the girl to her feet and trying to wipe away the blood. “They’ll have her fixed in no time.” He thrusts her into the weeping maidens’ arms.

Unfortunately, the gun he’s fired seems to jog his memory. “Ah yes, the Muslim. We were about to do away with you, weren’t we, before the interruption?” He checks to see if the gun still has bullets, then waves the guards closest to me away from my body.

Suddenly, I feel very exposed. The wind blows in from the sea to swirl around my frame, highlighting its vulnerability, its isolation. “Ordinarily, I’d prefer something with a little more flair, but packing you back in a buffalo would take much too long.” He points the gun at my chest, and I feel my stomach contract, my breath stop. It seems too soon, too abrupt—I can think of nothing to say to give myself even another few seconds, nothing to do except stare paralyzed into the point-blank muzzle.

“Jaz!” Karun runs up and pushes away Bhim’s hand just as the gun discharges.

The bullet goes off into space. Karun falls against me, and I hold him in my arms and look into his face—in that one instant, I witness something I’ve never known, never even believed existed. The love I see there, the lips mouthing my name—this is what people live and die for, what they spend their entire existence seeking. It is the most intimate moment we’ve shared, conveyed entirely through touch and gaze, with nothing left to articulate. What good deeds did the Jazter perform to deserve such a moment?

Then I hear Bhim shout to get Karun off me, as Sarita, screaming, flings her body at us. Das tries to pull her away, the guards join in to separate the tangle, and at the edge of this drama, I notice the Devi creeping up on Bhim. This time, she carries her trident—with a yell, she plunges it with all her might into his thigh.

Bhim bellows in pain—so loudly, that for a moment, we all stop. The girl steps back to gaze regally at him—a devi staring down at her vanquished demon in triumph. But then he pulls the trident out, and she retreats a few paces. He raises the weapon and aims it at her—she gives a yelp and scurries away. The crowd parts to let Bhim through as he limps after her. A guard comes to his assistance, but he waves him away. “Come back. Bhim kaka has a lesson to teach you.” He hurls the trident after the girl, but it clatters harmlessly across the terrace.

“Help,” Devi ma screams, trying to get to the clamoring devotees sequestered near the audio shed. But the guards have learnt Bhim’s trick—they fire their weapons into the air to tamp down the group’s fervor. The shots drive the girl away—she veers instead towards the path leading to the turret. Her cries trail off as Bhim chases her past the potted palms, through the gate, down the walkway next to the parapet.

Abruptly, the speakers come alive—the transmitters are still on, and the Devi’s microphone has drawn into range. “Help,” she says. “Help me, he’s trying to kill me.” Her words roll across the terrace, sweep over the plants and the pool, reverberate from end to end. The devotees shout and strain in rage, but can’t break free of their cordon. By now, despite his injury, Bhim has closed in—used to being toted to and fro, the girl keeps tripping, her puffed cherub legs unused to maintaining this pace. “Help. Help me, I’m being killed.” With Bhim almost upon her, she clambers onto the parapet to try to get away.

He latches onto her foot—the microphone is sensitive enough to pick up his words. “So this is why I brought you here? This is why I saved you from your slum, you witch, you chudail?” He tries to pull her down, but she kicks him in the head with her other foot and scrambles away. Her screams echo across the entire beach, broadcast through the crowd below by the speakers stationed everywhere.

He catches her again and tries to throttle her. Her limbs thrash around, her head hangs backwards over the parapet between a pair of crenellations. The amplifiers blazon every sob she emits, every wheeze, every terrified grunt. Her choking pleas roil the assembly below. A stream of debris starts raining down on the parapet—stones, shoes, coconut shells—anything people can lay their hands on. One of the projectiles strikes Bhim and he lets go, pressing both hands to his forehead.