Nosey. To involve my poor unfortunate brother in the misery, just for my own comfort — that would have been too selfish.” He reasoned that Shankar’s life had already been wrecked once, in infancy. But Shankar had learned to inhabit that wreckage. To wreak a second destruction upon him would be unforgivable.
“So I have decided to wait. To wait, and talk to him about his childhood. Perhaps I will share little things, and watch his reaction. By and by, I will know which is the best course for us. And here is where I need your help.”
“What can we do?” asked Ishvar.
“Ask Shankar questions, make him speak about his past. See what kind of memories he has. He is still a little scared of me, he probably tells you more. Will you keep me informed?”
“Sure, we can do that.”
“Thank you. Meanwhile, I want to make his life on the pavement as pleasant as possible. I have begun to buy him his favourite sweetmeats every day — laddoo and jalebi. And on Sundays, rasmalai. I have also improved his platform with cushioning, and got him a better place to sleep at night.”
“Now it makes sense,” said Ishvar. “He keeps telling us how nice you have been to him.”
“It’s the least I can do. I am also planning to send him my personal barber, to provide the full deluxe treatment — hair trim, shave, facial massage, manicure, everything. And if people give fewer alms because of good grooming, then fuck them.”
Again Dina curbed the urge to say: Language. But this time it wasn’t as great a shock to her ears. “The news you have brought is wonderful,” she said. “How happy Shankar will be when you finally tell him.”
“Not when, but if. Will I ever have the courage? Do I have the wisdom to make the right decision?”
The weight of these questions suddenly plunged him into despair. The news which was to have cheered everyone became cloud across the sun.
“I’m sure it will be clear to you in time,” said Ishvar.
“What has become clear is a fine line between Shankar and me. Finer than the silken hair of my poor murdered beggars. I did not draw it — it is the trace of destiny. But now I have the power to rub it out.” He sighed. “Such an awesome, frightening power. Do I dare? For once that line is erased, it can never be redrawn.” He shivered. “What a legacy my stepmother left me.”
He opened his briefcase, took out his sketchbook and showed them his latest drawing. “I did it last night, when I was very depressed and could not sleep.”
The picture consisted of three figures. The first was seated on a platform with tiny wheels. He had no legs or fingers, and the thigh stumps jutted like hollow bamboo. The second was an emaciated woman without a nose, the face with a gaping hole at its centre. But the third figure was the most grotesque. A man with a briefcase chained to his wrist was standing on four spidery legs. His four feet were splayed towards the four points of the compass, as though in a permanent dispute about which was the right direction. His two hands each had ten fingers, useless bananas sprouting from the palms. And on his face were two noses, adjacent yet bizarrely turned away, as though neither could bear the smell of the other.
They stared at the drawing, uncertain how to respond to Beggarmaster’s creation. He saved them the embarrassment by offering his own interpretation. “Freaks, that’s what we are — all of us.”
Ishvar was about to say he was being too hard on himself, that he should not take Shankar’s and Nosey’s fates entirely upon his own person, when Beggarmaster clarified himself. “I mean, every single human being. And who can blame us? What chance do we have, when our beginnings and endings are so freakish? Birth and death — what could be more monstrous than that? We like to deceive ourselves and call it wondrous and beautiful and majestic, but it’s freakish, let’s face it.”
He shut his sketchbook and returned it to the briefcase with a certain snappiness, indicating that his saga of happiness and misery and doubt and discovery was over, the human emotions were being packed away, and now it was back to business. “Your year will be up in another four months. I need to know in advance — are you planning to renew the contract with me?”
“Oh yes,” said Ishvar. “Most definitely. Or the landlord will again start his harassment.”
They followed Beggarmaster to the verandah to see him off. Outside, the night remained unbroken by streetlights. There appeared to be a power outage, for the entire line of lamps was unlit.
“I hope Shankar’s lamppost is working,” said Beggarmaster. “I better hurry and check on him, he gets frightened if the pavement is dark.”
He strode across the black asphalt in his white shirt and trousers, like chalk across a blank slate. He turned once to wave, then gradually became invisible.
“What a weird story,” said Om. “Our friends at Vishram would really enjoy this one. It’s got everything — tragedy, romance, violence, and a suspenseful unresolved ending.”
“But you heard what Beggarmaster told us,” said Ishvar. “It must be kept secret, for Shankar’s sake. It’s one more story that cannot be included in the cook’s
XIII. Wedding, Worms, and Sanyas
THE KITTENS’ REAPPEARANCE OUTSIDE the kitchen window a month later was not an occasion for rejoicing. The creatures treated it as no more than a scrounging stop. Om and Maneck would have been happy with some sign of recognition — a loud miaow, perhaps, or a look, a purr, an arching of the back. Instead, the kittens grabbed a fish head and ran off to enjoy it in seclusion.
“Why are you surprised by that?” said Dina. “Ingratitude is not uncommon in the world. One day, you too will forget me — all of you. When you go your own way and settle down, you will not know me.” She pointed at Maneck. “In two months you’ll sit for your final exam, pack your things, then disappear.”
“Not me, Aunty,” he protested. “I will always remember you, and visit you, and write to you wherever I am.”
“Yes, we’ll see,” she said. “And you tailors will some day start on your own and leave as well. Not that I won’t be happy for you when it happens.”
“Dinabai, I’ll bless your mouth with sugar if that ever happens,” said Ishvar. “But before there can be homes or shops for people like us, politicians will have to become honest.” He held up his index finger, crooked it, then extended it. “The bent stick may straighten, but not the government.” In fact, he said, this was his biggest worry — how would Om take a wife if they couldn’t find a place to live?
“Surely something will turn up by the time he’s ready to marry,” said Dina.
“I think he is ready now,” said Ishvar.
“I think he is not,” snapped Om. “Why do you keep talking about marriage? Look at Maneck, same age as me, and no one’s hurrying to fix his wedding. Are your parents in a rush, Maneck? Come on, speak, yaar, teach my uncle some sense.”
Maneck shrugged his shoulders and said no, they weren’t in a rush.
“Go on, tell him the other part. That your parents will wait till you meet someone you like. And if you decide to marry, only then will they make the arrangements. That’s how I want it to be for me also.”
“Omprakash, you are speaking nonsense,” his uncle seethed beneath the absurd suggestion. “We are from different communities, with different customs. Because your parents are not with us, it’s my duty to find you a wife.”
Om scowled.
“Sour-lime face,” said Maneck, trying to head off the battle that was brewing. “Anyway, let me warn you, Aunty. You may not be rid of me in two months.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve decided to go to college for three more years, get a proper degree instead of the technician’s certificate.”
Her delight leapt to her face; she pushed it into a less public place. “That’s a wise decision. A degree is more valuable.”
“So can I stay on with you? After going home for my vacation, I mean.”
