A Fine Balance Part 27

"In my bathroom you'll have to get used to it. All you can do is push the worms back by throwing water. Cold water don't use up the hot." She demonstrated, brus.h.i.+ng past him to reach the bucket, hurling mugfuls that sent the creatures sliding towards the drain. "See? There they go, into the gutter."

The soft lines of her outstretched upper arm did more to rea.s.sure him than the water technique. Bent over the parapet, her back pulled the nightgown taut against her hips, revealing the underwear outline. His eyes lingered, turning away when she straightened.

"Well? Are you going to bathe now? Or do you want me to stay with you, stand on guard against the worms?" He blushed, and she, worried about the tailors arriving, said, "Listen, because this is your first morning, I will do something special for you."

She fetched the bottle of phenol from the shelf outside the wc, uncorked it, and trickled the white fluid onto the worms. It worked instantaneously, transforming them into a writhing red ma.s.s, and then into little lifeless coils.

"There. But remember, phenol is very expensive, I cannot waste it every day. You will have to learn to bathe with them."

He shut the door and undressed again. The picture of her beside him, bending, reaching, pulsated through his limbs. But the antiseptic odour of phenol hanging in the air tugged in the opposite direction.

VI.

Day at the Circus, Night in the Slum

THE EARLY-MORNING GATHERING of red double-deckers outside the slum was noticed first by a child from the drunk's family. The little girl came running in to tell her mother. She saw Ishvar and Om awake outside their shack, and told them too. Her father was adrift in his alcoholic slumber.

The drivers honked flurries of greetings to one another as they parked; twenty-two buses lined up in two perfect rows. The tailors collected their water and proceeded towards the train tracks. Rain had fallen during the night. The ground was soft, the mud sucking at their feet like a many-mouthed creature.

"Let's go early to Dinabai today," said Om.

"Why?"

"Maneck will have arrived."

They found a spot that was to Ishvar's liking, and squatted. He was glad that the hair-collector with his pointless chatter was not in sight. He hated conversations at toilet, even sensible ones.

His luck did not last; Rajaram materialized along the curve in the tracks, spotting them at the far end of the ditch. He squatted beside them and began speculating about the buses.

"Maybe they are starting a new terminal," said Om.

"Would be convenient for us."

"But wouldn't they first build a station office or something?"

They washed up and went to the mud-spattered vehicles to investigate. Khaki-uniformed drivers leaned in the doorways or rested on their haunches along the kerb, reading newspapers, smoking, or chewing paan.

"Namaskaar," called out Rajaram to no one in particular. "Where are you taking your red chariots today?"

One of them shrugged. "Who knows. Supervisor said to bring the buses, wait for special a.s.signment."

The rain started again. Drops rang out on the roofs of the empty buses. The drivers withdrew inside their vehicles and shut the grimy windows.

Soon, the twenty-third bus arrived, its winds.h.i.+eld wiper swinging ineffectively, loose and slow, like a wet pendulum. This one was packed full, the upper deck devoted to uniformed policemen who stayed on board while the lower deck spewed out men with briefcases and pamphlets.

They stretched, eased their pants riding high at the crotch, and entered the slum. To save their leather sandals in the rain-muddied field, some walked tiptoe with heels aloft, balancing under open umbrellas. Others squelched along on their heels to favour the soles, scrutinizing the ground for gra.s.s tufts, stones, broken bricks anything that might provide a less mucky step.

Their performance on the tightrope of mud soon collected a crowd. A puff of wind caught the umbrellas; the men wobbled. A stronger gust pulled them off balance. The audience began to laugh. Some children imitated the funny walk. The visitors abandoned their sandals to the mud and, mustering dignity, walked towards the water-tap queue.

The one with the finest footwear said they were party-workers with a message from the Prime Minister. "She sends her greetings and wants you all to know that she is holding a big meeting today. Everyone is invited to attend."

A woman placed her empty bucket under the tap. The drumroll of water blurred the man's words, and he modified his pitch. "The Prime Minister especially wants to talk to honest, hardworking people like you. These buses will take you to the meeting, free of charge."

The water queue moved forward disinterestedly. A few whispered among themselves, and there was laughter. The party-worker tried again. "The Prime Minister's message is that she is your servant, and wants to help you. She wants to hear about things from your own lips."

"Tell her yourself!" someone shouted. "You can see in what prosperity we live!"

"Yes! Tell her how happy we are! Why do we need to come?"

"If she is our servant, tell her to come here!"

"Ask your men with the cameras to pull some photos of our lovely houses, our healthy children! Show that to the Prime Minister!"

There was more scornful laughing, and murmurings about unpleasant things that could be done to party-workers who bothered poor people at watertime. The visitors retreated for a brief consultation.

Then the leader spoke again. "There will be a payment of five rupees for each person. Also, free tea and snack. Please line up outside at seven-thirty. Buses will leave at eight."

"Go push the five rupees up your a.r.s.e!"

"And set fire to the money!"

But the insults tapered off quickly, for the new offer was creating interest. The party-workers fanned out through the slum to spread the message.

A ragpicker asked if his wife and six children could come too. "Yes," said the organizer, "but they won't get five rupees each. Only you." The hopeful father turned away, crestfallen, and was tempted again when the offer of free tea and snack was extended to the whole family.

"It sounds like fun for sure," said Om. "Let's go."

"Are you crazy? Waste a day of sewing?"

"Not worth it," Rajaram agreed with Ishvar. "These people are giving us bogus talk."

"How do you know? Have you been to such a meeting?"

"Yes, they are always the same. If you were jobless, I would say go, take their five rupees. It's fun the first time to see the government's tamasha. But to give up a day of tailoring or hair-collecting? No."

At seven-thirty the queue by the buses was barely long enough to fill one double-decker. There were unemployed day-labourers, some women and children, and a handful of injured dockyard mathadis. The party-workers discussed the situation and agreed to put into motion their alternate plan.

Shortly, Sergeant Kesar, who was in charge of the constables, gave his men the order to alight. A dozen were instructed to block the slum exits, the rest followed him inside. He tried to move with a slow swaggering walk, but his flat feet in the mud made it more of a slippery waddle. He had a megaphone, which he raised to his mouth with both hands, holding it like a trumpet.

"Attention, attention! Two people from each jhopdi must get on the bus! In five minutes no delay. Otherwise, you will be arrested for trespa.s.sing on munic.i.p.al property!"

People protested: how could they be trespa.s.sing when rent had been paid in full? The hutment dwellers went in search of Navalkar, the one who collected the rent, but his shack was empty.

"I wonder if the Prime Minister knows they are forcing us," said Ishvar.

"She only knows important things," said Rajaram. "Things her friends want her to know."

The policemen began rounding up the busloads. The double-deckers filled slowly, looking redder now with the dust and mud washed off by rain. Arguments in some shacks were easily settled when the policemen raised their lathis to emphasize the importance of complying.

Monkey-man was willing to go, but wanted to take his monkeys too. "They will enjoy the ride, they have such a good time on the train when we go to work," he explained to a party-worker. "And I won't ask for extra tea or snack, I'll share mine with them."

"Don't you understand plain language? No monkeys. It's not a circus or something."

Behind him, Rajaram whispered to his friends, "That's exactly what it is."

"Please, sahab," implored Monkey-man. "The dog can stay alone. But not Laila and Majnoo, they will cry all day without me."

Sergeant Kesar was called to arbitrate. "Are your monkeys properly trained?" he asked.

"Police-sahab, my Laila and Majnoo are beautifully trained! They are my obedient children! Look, they will give you a salaam!" He signalled; the monkeys raised their paws to their heads in unison.

Sergeant Kesar was greatly amused, and returned the salute, laughing. Monkey-man slapped the leashes against the ground, and the monkeys genuflected. Sergeant Kesar's delight overflowed.

"Actually speaking, I see no harm in allowing the monkeys," he said to the party-worker.

"Excuse me, Sergeant," said the party-worker, taking him aside.

"The problem is, the monkeys might be seen as some kind of political comment, and the enemies of the party could use it to ridicule us."

"It's possible," said Sergeant Kesar, swinging his megaphone. "But it could also be seen as proof of the Prime Minister's power to communicate not only with humans but with animals too."

The party-worker rolled his eyes. "Do you want to take responsibility for it in writing? With a memorandum in triplicate?"

"Actually speaking, that is not part of my jurisdiction."

Sergeant Kesar returned sadly to Monkey-man and broke the news. "I'm sorry, this is an important meeting for the Prime Minister. No monkeys allowed."

"Wait and see," said Rajaram softly to the people in line. "The stage will be full of them."

Monkey-man thanked Sergeant Kesar for trying. He locked Laila and Majnoo in the shack with Tikka and returned looking miserable. The buses were almost full now, and the convoy was ready for departure as soon as the few remaining stubborn cases were persuaded with caning and slapping to climb aboard.

"I have seen nothing so unfair," said Ishvar. "And what will Dinabai be thinking?"

"We cannot help it," said Om. "Just enjoy the free ride."

"Right," said Rajaram. "If we have to go, might as well have fun. You know, last year they took us in lorries. Packed like sheep. This bus is more comfortable."

"At least a hundred people in each one," said Ishvar. "Over two thousand altogether. What a big meeting it will be."

"That's only from our colony," said Rajaram. "Buses must have been sent everywhere. The meeting will have fifteen or twenty thousand people in all, wait and see."

After travelling for an hour, the buses reached the outskirts of the city. Om announced that he was hungry. "I hope they give us our tea and snack when we arrive. And the five rupees."

"You're always hungry," said Ishvar in a falsetto. "Do you have worms?" They laughed, explaining the joke about Dina Dalai to Rajaram.

Soon they were on rural roads. It had stopped raining. They pa.s.sed villages where people stood and stared at the buses. "I don't understand," said Ishvar. "Why drag us all the way here? Why not just take these villagers to the meeting?"

"Too complicated, I think," said Rajaram. "They would have to visit so many villages, with people scattered all over two hundred here, four hundred there. Much easier to get them wholesale in the city jhopadpattis." He broke off excitedly, pointing. "Look! Look at that woman at the well! What beautiful long hair!" He sighed. "If only I could wander the countryside with my scissors, harvesting what I need. I'd soon be rich."

They knew they were nearing their destination when the traffic increased and other vehicles pa.s.sed them, also ferrying the Prime Minister's made-to-measure audience. Occasionally, the buses moved over to allow a flag-flying car filled with VIPS VIPS to sweep past in an orgy of blaring horns. to sweep past in an orgy of blaring horns.

They stopped near a vast open field. As the pa.s.sengers alighted, an organizer told them to memorize their bus number for the return journey. He directed people to their seating area, repeating applause instructions for each batch. "Please watch the dignitaries on stage. Whenever they begin to clap, you must also clap."

"What about the money?"

"You will get it when the rally is finished. We know your tricks. If we pay you first, you crooks run off halfway in the speech."

"Keep moving! Keep moving!" called an usher, helping the new arrivals along with a pat on the back.

"Don't pus.h.!.+" snarled Om, sweeping the hand off his back.

"Aray Om, stay calm," said Ishvar.

Bamboo posts and railings divided the field into several enclosures, the main one being at the far end, containing a covered stage at an elevation of thirty feet. In front of the stage was the area for prominent personages. This was the sole section furnished with chairs, and arguments were in progress to determine their allocation. The chairs were of three types: padded, with arms, for WIPS WIPS; padded, but without arms, for VIPS VIPS; and bare metal, folding, for the mere IPS IPS. Invitees were bickering and wrangling with the ushers, pressuring them to add a v to their status.

"Try to stay near the edge of the field, near that tent," said Rajaram. "That's where they must have the tea and snacks." But volunteers wearing round tricolour cloth badges herded the arrivals into the next available enclosure.

"Look at that, yaar!" said Om in awe, pointing at the eighty-foot cutout of the Prime Minister to the right of the stage. The cardboard-and-plywood figure stood with arms outstretched, waiting as though to embrace the audience. An outline map of the country hung suspended behind the head, a battered halo.

"And look at that arch of flowers!" said Ishvar. "Like a rainbow around the stage. Beautiful, hahn? You can smell them from here."

"See, I told you you'd enjoy it," said Rajaram. "First time, it's always fun."

They made themselves comfortable on the ground and examined the faces in their vicinity. People smiled and nodded. The soundman went on stage to check the microphones, making the loudspeakers screech. A hush of antic.i.p.ation descended on the audience and dissipated almost instantly. Buses continued to disgorge pa.s.sengers by the thousands. The sun was hot now, but Ishvar said that at least it wasn't raining.

Two hours later the enclosures were full, the field was packed, and the first casualties to fall to the sun were carried away to be revived under the shade of nearby trees. People questioned the wisdom of holding a rally at the hottest time of the day. An organizer explained there was no choice, the Prime Minister's astrologer had charted the celestial bodies and selected the hour.

Eighteen dignitaries began taking their places on stage. At twelve o'clock there was a roar in the sky and twenty-five thousand heads turned upwards. A helicopter circled the field thrice, then began its descent to land behind the stage.

A few minutes later, the Prime Minister, in a white sari, was escorted up to the stage by someone in a white kurta and Gandhi cap. The eighteen notable personages took turns garlanding their leader, bowing, touching her toes. One dignitary outdid the rest by prostrating full length before her. He would stay at her feet, he said, till she forgave him.

The Prime Minister was baffled, though no one could see her look of puzzlement because of the eighteen garlands engulfing her face. An aide reminded her of some minor disloyalty on the man's part. "Madamji, he is repenting, he says he is sorry, most sincerely."

The live microphones ensured that the sun-scorched audience was at least able to enjoy the onstage buffoonery. "Yes, okay," she said impatiently. "Now get up and stop making a fool of yourself." Chastened, the man jumped up like a gymnast completing a somersault.

"See?" said Rajaram. "I told you it's going to be a day at the circus we have clowns, monkeys, acrobats, everything."

When the storm of manufactured adulation had pa.s.sed, the Prime Minister tossed her garlands, one by one, out into the audience. The VIP VIP seats and dignitaries cheered wildly at this grand gesture. seats and dignitaries cheered wildly at this grand gesture.

"Her father also used to do that, when he was Prime Minister," said Ishvar.