Shining Hero (37 page)

They began to film at midday. The sun was in exactly the right position, said Dilip Baswani. Poopay wore only a chiffon choli and pyjama that left her midriff bare as she started dancing though the dancing mistress who crouched before her, demonstrating the steps, was wearing a large wool jacket.

‘You must be quick,’ said Dilip. ‘She mustn’t be outside like this for more than a minute. This cold will make her ill.’

Between takes the spot boy wrapped Poopay in the coat and brought her cups of hot soup. Arjuna was impressed, for she did not even get goose pimples in her exposed midriff.

‘She’s not human, that’s the truth of it,’ one of the cameramen said.

Arjuna who was only marginally more warmly dressed than his partner, followed the dancing mistress’ instructions as best he could and decided to wrap Poopay with the whole of his body if she made the smallest shiver.

When they got back to the hotel, Arjuna’s cheeks were red where the biting winds had scalded him. Others were trickling in now. One of the camera crew, pouring coffee said, ‘I hope the mist lifts in time for us to do some real good shooting.’

Poopay’s spot boy, Raj, said, ‘Has anyone one seen Miss Poopay’s fleece jacket?’

A murmur of ‘no’ and ‘no’ went round till the spot boy pounced shouting, ‘How dare you wear it. It’s hers.’ And dragged the blue jacket off the back of a furiously protesting backdrop man.

The filming took three days. They had to stay an extra day after that because there was no flight back. There were groans of aggravation at the news, but Arjuna told the others, ‘I am going out to explore.’

‘Do be careful,’ he was warned. ‘These mountains are treacherous and you are not used to the height or the cold.’

As Arjuna began to climb the lower slope he felt surprised at how quickly the cold increased and he was glad of the great padded coat. He reached a little noisy stream and stood for a while, collecting his breath and looking down at the bubbling sparkle that was pure as diamonds. Around him the mountains glowed and sparkled, birds hung on the thermals, love and success waited for him down there in the valley and Arjuna was filled with the powerful sensation that it was possible for everything in the Cosmos to become right, good, beautiful and happy. A profound joy began to fill him. Then moments later, the atmosphere began to change. The mountains became less lovely, the cries of the birds took on a note of harshness and Arjuna got a vision of the polluted river that this pristine stream was fuelling. He looked around him, trying to work out where the negativity was coming from, but the sky was still as clear and blue and the peaks as rosy. He sat down by the little stream and waited, because he knew that his karma was catching up with him.

It had taken Karna three days to get to this place. The plane had left by the time he got to the airport so he had driven all the way instead. He had neither eaten nor slept in that whole time,
but instead, round and round inside his mind, he worked out what to do when he got there.

At first he had thought out the things he would say to Arjuna, even planning to plead with him. But he knew, as soon as he had the thought, that he could not do it. It was not in his nature. He briefly considered threats but knew almost at once that that would be no good either, for threats had never worked with Arjuna.

Then he thought he would go straight to Dilip Baswani and have it out with him. Perhaps Dilip had not understood Karna’s need for this part or even had forgotten he had given it to Karna. ‘You are my father,’ he would tell him. ‘And also my acting skills are more subtle and wide ranging than those of Arjuna so I will be clearly better for the part.’ As soon as he said this, Dilip Baswani would say, ‘How foolish of me, Karna, my son. What could I have been thinking of? Of course you must act the part of Arjuna.’ Karna began to feel drowsy and fell into a dreamy state in which he forgot the film and began to anticipate soon being once more close to Poopay. But then he jerked awake with the thought of Arjuna who might refuse to give up the part, make a fuss and threaten fights with him. Then perhaps Dilip Baswani would decide that both he and Arjuna were giving too much trouble, and find another actor altogether, for after all both Arjuna and himself were young and inexperienced, and there many others who Dilip might decide in the end would do it better.

Karna had gone so long without sleep by the time he reached the mountain village that he started hallucinating, seeing Poopay Patalya standing taller than the tallest peak and taking up the whole horizon, like Shiva’s wife, Uma, the maid of the snows. Or opening his palm and finding her smiling face there, as small as a mango stone.

He snuggled down into the anorak that he had bought for the trip and felt increasingly hopeful and warm all the way to the hotel where, he was told, the film people were living.

One of the film crew emerged in response to Karna’s knock and took his coat. It seemed Dilip Baswani was on the phone upstairs.

‘Would you mind waiting for him in the passage as Miss Patalya
is in the front room being interviewed by a journalist for a major paper,’ said the man, leading the way. Karna followed asking, ‘And Arjuna? Is he here?’

‘He has gone for a walk,’ said the man. ‘He said he won’t be back till evening.’ He laughed and added, ‘He says he’s going to find the source of the Ganges. No good all of us telling him that it’s not here. He won’t believe us.’ He led Karna along the passage and indicated a chair. As Karna sat down, he heard Poopay’s voice through the closed door. After the man had gone, Karna leant back, listened to her voice and felt his soul start swaying as though he was about to faint.

Closeness to Poopay sharpened his senses and he could smell her perfume through the closed door, and hear every word that was said. The journalist asked, ‘Our readers will want to know, have you got someone special at the moment?’

‘Yes,’ said Poopay. ‘I have found the man of my life. We looked into each other’s eyes and I knew that was it.’

Karna’s heart began to beat fast. Hope and worry started mingling.

‘Is it who we think it is?’

Karna gripped the back of a chair to steady himself and felt his legs trembling.

Poopay giggled. ‘Go on. Have a guess. Of course it’s Arjuna.’

When the man came to tell Karna that Miss Poopay’s interview was over and that he could go in and see her now, he discovered that Karna had gone and had not even waited to take his coat.

‘He must have gone walking off into the cold with only his T-shirt and his jeans,’ the man told Poopay.

‘I can’t imagine who he is, but he sounds very silly,’ Poopay laughed. ‘I bet he remembers his coat quite soon and comes back for it. Otherwise he’ll die of cold.’

But Karna did not come back.

Arjuna had walked quite a distance up the mountain when he saw the flicker of a dark figure that swiftly hid itself behind a rock. He shuddered and a little chill of apprehension ran through him. He peered through the bright white for a long time but the figure had vanished. Perhaps it was a hallucination. Or some mountain animal. But then the figure reappeared, much higher this time, moving furtively. Slinking like something wild.

Crouching out of sight so as not to be seen himself, Arjuna kept watch as the dark figure crept slowly upwards, sometimes vanishing for ages, sometimes appearing briefly, having run out of cover.

After a while the approaching person even began to look like Arjuna’s self, so that he wondered if exposure to so much snow and holiness had affected his mind and was making him see visions. Sometimes the figure would vanish for so long that Arjuna would decide it definitely was a hallucination, but then would reappear, nearer each time.

It was only at the very last moment that Arjuna realised it was Karna.

He went on waiting. Perhaps, after all, Karna must have been required for these snowy shots and Dilip had had him urgently brought here. But in his heart he knew that Karna had come after him in anger.

Then Karna was there, standing yards away and Arjuna rose from his squatting position and faced him, braced for fury. Even physical attack. But Karna just stood, his cheeks scoured with the cold, panting from hurry and the thin air. He was wearing only a pair of cotton jeans and a black T-shirt. He licked his lips as though he was about to speak, but no sound came out. He was shivering.

Arjuna said, ‘I am on a pilgrimage.’

‘I will come with you,’ said Karna. His voice was harsh, as though his words were grating in his throat. Then he asked, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

Arjuna shrugged and said quickly, ‘I thought you might be angry with me.’

Karna let out a laugh that had no humour in it, and said, ‘I wonder why you should have thought that.’

Another silence fell. Arjuna pointed at the stream. ‘Dilip Baswani told me that this runs into the Ganges. I am climbing up to find where it starts.’

A shudder of hatred went through Karna’s body. ‘Dilip Baswani is a liar so it probably is not so. Shall we start walking?’

‘You can’t possible come with me. In those clothes you will die of hypothermia.’

‘It will not be for long,’ said Karna.

Arjuna shrugged and set off up the path. Karna strode quickly after him and began walking on the inner side, a little higher so that they were shoulder to shoulder. They walked without talking, the silence broken only by the shuddering breath of the shivering Karna. Then Arjuna pulled off his anorak and, thrusting it at Karna, said, ‘Let’s take turns with the warm clothes.’

Karna, without accepting it, asked, ‘Have you heard of Man Bahadur?’

‘Who is he?’

‘My mother read about him to me from an old newspaper cutting she had kept from a few years before,’ said Karna.

‘He was a thirty-five-year-old Nepali who made a pilgrimage up the Himalayas wearing totally inadequate clothing. He was caught in an avalanche and lay under the snow for three days and survived.’

‘You are not a Nepali,’ said Arjuna, still holding out the anorak. The cold was starting to pierce his body too, so that he was shivering as well.

‘But I am also making a pilgrimage,’ said Karna.

Arjuna peered at him through eyelashes that were crusted with ice. ‘Are you?’ Perhaps there was another side to Karna after all.

‘There are pilgrimages, and pilgrimages,’ said Karna. After five minutes Arjuna said, ‘At least borrow the gloves and scarf.’

Karna waded on and said nothing.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Arjuna.

‘Put your coat back on,’ said Karna.

Arjuna suddenly tossed his coat over the edge. It floated down, turning and turning, its sleeves waving like arms pleading for help. He tore his gloves off, unwound his scarf, and sent them whistling after the coat. The gloves fell separately and landed, scarlet dots like blood, on the white landscape. The scarf twined itself around a bent and leafless tree where it fluttered like the flag of a victorious mountaineer.

‘Idiot,’ said Karna.

‘We’ll just have to hurry now,’ laughed Arjuna who felt free because now he and Karna had become equally disadvantaged. They had become the same height too ever since Karna began to walk on the higher ground.

Arjuna and Karna now went in step, like equals. Arjuna looked down and realised it was hard to tell which foot was his and which was Karna’s.

Karna wanted to hurry to keep his blood from freezing but the cold was slowing his legs. Arjuna was labouring too. Side by side they struggled upwards, heading towards the solution to the most ancient problem in the world. The rivalry of siblings.

Arjuna felt his breath running short as his lungs grew cold. He began not only to confuse feet, but hands and thighs as well. Perhaps there was no difference at all between him and Karna. Perhaps they had always been the same person.

‘I have heard that Yogis come up here, strip off their clothes and wrap themselves in wet sheets then have a race to see who can dry the most frozen layers with the power of their minds,’ Arjuna told Karna.

‘If we had sheets then we could test each other,’ Karna said.

‘You have to be a yogi.’

‘Perhaps we are,’ said Karna, the words coming out oddly because his jaws were rattling. ‘Do you remember the rishi that Shivarani got in to teach us?’

‘He said that everybody has an inner sun and it’s just a question of finding it,’ Arjuna remembered.

‘Can you find yours?’ Karna wondered what his life was going to
be like after his rivalry with Arjuna had come to an end. Perhaps, when Arjuna was no longer there he, Karna, would step into the young man’s shoes in every way so that soon he would grow to look entirely like Arjuna and no one would remember the taller and more handsome brother.

The narrow path was now merely a scratch on the mountainside, a way made by the sharp hooves of ibex and not designed for the fleshy feet of men. The young men sometimes lost the silver thread of water and had to drag themselves over rock ledges to find it again. The water was becoming thinner and colder and now carried chips of ice and pompoms of snow in its tiny current.

They rounded a boulder and jostling together on a pinnacle of sparkling ice they saw a tiny jet of water shooting from a crevice.

‘A boulder the shape of Vishnu’s toe,’ thought Arjuna, knowing as soon as he saw it that this, whatever Dilip Baswani thought, was clearly the source of the Ganges. A river shaped from anger. A river made out of fury. The sage Kapila had cast an angry glance on the sixty thousand sons of King Sangara, went the story, and they were all burnt to ashes but the saint Bhagiratha prayed that Ganga should flow from the toe of Vishnu and purify the ashes of the princes.