Manil Suri - The City of Devi

AFTER THE EUPHORIA OF ESCAPE HAS SUBSIDED AND THE CLAMOR of the crowds abated, after the moonlit beach has turned pristine and unpeopled again, I experience the strange sensation of being transported to another time, another place. Perhaps it is the rhythm of the elephant, the rocking cadence that pushes me back and forth against Karun, the soothing comfort I derive from the shoulder against which I brace myself. The stars shine down fondly on us, the breeze blows in coolly from the sea, and I feel secure, protected. Then I realize Karun is holding on to Jaz’s body just as I am holding on to his. Instantly, I find myself in the present again.

Too many thoughts flare up in my head, thoughts I haven’t been able to utter in Jaz’s presence. After the roller coaster of events, I no longer know where I’m headed, where I stand. With Jaz glomming onto us so resolutely, what odds of victory can I reasonably expect? Hasn’t Karun already tipped his hand by fleeing precisely such a situation in the past? The feelings he has let slip, the artless craving in his face I’ve glimpsed since. I watch the long white strands of waves ripple in silently, curl in on themselves with barely a splash. The brooding buildings that line the beach, the shuttered bungalows that sightlessly contemplate me back. The choice will be made tonight, there seems no way to avoid the contest. Already I can see the approaching showdown, its inky clouds billowing with portent.

The elephant lurches and the pomegranate, round and firm, presses against my thigh. Urging me to have faith in myself, reminding me I have not played the game yet. I think of all the times I’ve lost and recovered it—surely there must be a reason providence has intervened so often. What magic will the fruit work tonight, how will it showcase my strengths? The memories it conjures: the elixirs before bed, the flavors and scents, the lips tinted red—will Karun simply succumb to them? I close my hand over the fruit to charge me with energy, bolster my confidence. My secret weapon, my enchanted orb—if nothing else, it will reveal my standing in the contest.

Guddi interrupts my reverie. “Where exactly were you expecting me to take you?” she asks us. “This boat you said you’re trying to catch? Shyamu’s not used to carrying so much weight.”

“Madh Island. Where the ferry from Mahim stops—it’s up ahead.” Which is technically true, since it’s north along the beach, though hardly close as Jaz’s words suggest.

After that, Guddi starts muttering a stream of complaints. Shyamu doesn’t like walking in the dark, there’s nothing for him to eat or drink, he misses the other elephants. Although she’s happy we found my husband, this means Shyamu now has the three of us to carry, which as anyone knows, can ruin an elephant’s back. “What will I say if he’s crippled when we return? Devi ma will be very upset.”

Things come to a head when we reach the creek that cuts across the sand to mark the start of Versova Beach. The tide is low enough to safely wade across—however, the sluggish current renders the water stagnant, giving it the reek of a drainage channel. Guddi puts up a fuss about both the smell and the supposed danger involved. “Chhee! I’m not letting Shyamu wade into that . What if he gets stuck? What if he sinks?” No amount of cajoling seems to move her. Finally, Karun remembers the cell phone he’s carried, uselessly, through all his misadventures. “So many buttons!” Guddi exclaims, punching at the keys and pressing at the display, trying to coax it to light up. “Does it take pictures? I hope it’s not dead, like the rest of them.”

She’s dubious about Jaz’s explanation that she only needs to charge it with electricity at the hotel. But she’s already formed an attachment to the phone in the few minutes she’s held it in her palm. She ferries us across.

“Say goodbye, Shyamu. To Sarita didi and Gaurav bhaiyya and Mobile bhaiyya.” She waves, the phone in her hand glinting in the moonlight. Shyamu flaps his ears back, trumpets twice, then turns around and disappears splashing into the night.

The moon has climbed high enough to light our path, so we walk on. The sea forms a constant presence on our left, a vast and endless plain, the waves so muted they seem to stand still, like barely visible furrows. No signs of life break the horizon—no ferries or fleeing ships, no dhows with picturesque white sails. The sands are equally deserted—even the crabs seem to be in hiding.

It occurs to me that this is the first time Karun, Jaz, and I have been alone. So alone, in fact, that we could be the last three people on the planet. Didn’t Karun always maintain three was the basic configuration of the universe? That triples governed everything from space to quarks? The geometry we lived in, the primary colors we saw, the particles pulsing around in our atoms, the stars in their celestial triads above. Except not all trinities are as natural or sustainable as he claimed. For instance, this triangle in which we find ourselves unwillingly conjoined.

We try the doors of a series of bungalows along a lane branching off from the beach, but none are unlocked. Jaz even smashes open a few windowpanes, but the jagged shards in the frames prove too difficult to pull out. In truth, I’m glad we don’t find a place to stop. My chest contracts at the prospect of the reckoning to come. We have scrupulously refrained from all but the blandest of interactions. No talk about shared futures, no expressions of affection. Not even a touch, for fear of setting off simmering jealousies. The longer we continue walking, the further we postpone a face-off.

Just past a thicket of coconut palms, we come across a shed with a bamboo door that swings open readily when tried. Most of the shed’s roof is missing, making the shelter it offers over camping out on the sand rather illusory. But Jaz points out that the beach has been shrinking steadily, and narrows even more drastically up ahead, making it too treacherous to negotiate in the dark. Karun also wants to spend the night there, so I go along with the idea. “At least the inside is well-lit,” I say, pointing to the patterns on the wooden slats formed by moon rays slanting in. In one corner, we even find some rolled-up reed mats, as if someone anticipated our sleep-in.

Jaz starts dusting the mats out and announcing how tired he feels. I’m instantly on high alert—is this all a strategy? Getting us to spend the night, controlling how the mats are laid out, pulling some physical ploy with Karun once we turn in? I need to have some time alone first, play my trump card of the pomegranate. “Could I talk to you alone for a few minutes?” I ask Karun.

Before he can answer, Jaz cuts in. “There’s nothing you can’t say in front of me. I think we’re all adults, we all know what the situation is.”

“I was talking to my husband. It doesn’t concern you.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Karun intervenes, whisking Jaz away. I can hear their voices outside, talking in excited whispers. Finally, Karun returns. “I’m sorry. Jaz apologizes as well. He’s promised to wait by the palm trees until I come get him.”

I’m at a loss on how to respond. The naked competition, the open hostility, has unnerved me. I pick up the mat Jaz was dusting and unroll it with a snap in the air. But then I can’t decide where to set it down. How should our bodies be aligned? What would be acceptable, what would be fair , what would avert the accusation of wresting too much advantage for myself? The question feels outrageous. Aren’t Karun and I married? Do I need to get permission now, haggle for special dispensation just to arrange our beds?

“Are you all right?” Karun comes over to where I stand immobilized and takes the mat unfurling limply from my hands.