Such A Long Journey (26 page)

For all I know, this bastard could take the money and disappear. But if Jimmy is really being tortured? ‘Thirty days is impossible. I can only withdraw one bundle a day.’

‘Withdraw two, Mr. Noble.’ A smile appeared suddenly on his face. ‘Or I will have to come and rob your bank.’ Disappeared just as suddenly. Poison again, in his voice. ‘I will do whatever is necessary to help Bili Boy. You have thirty days to return the full package.’

Gustad tried to protest again, but the man was hard as steel. ‘If the money is not delivered on time, things will go badly for
all
of us, Mr. Noble.’ Bloody bastard. With one hand I could flatten him. He knows I dare not.

They fixed the delivery date. ‘But if you are ready earlier,’ said Ghulam, ‘please come. I will be here every evening.’ He led him to the door. ‘So you were saying someone threw a dead cat and rat in your bushes?’

‘Yes.’ With one hand. Just one blow.

‘Hope you catch him, whoever he is.’

On the way downstairs most of the doors were shut. Brisk business. The record-player was spinning another song, about undying love, constant for over a hundred years, for eternity…‘
Sau saal pahalay, mujay tumsay pyar tha, mujay tumsay pyar tha, aajbhi hai, aur kalbhi rahayga
…’ the melody warm and syrupy, dripping nostalgia. And no way out for me. Have to withdraw. Involve poor Dinshawji also in the risk.

Outside, Peerbhoy told him Tehmul had left. ‘Don’t worry, he is all right. Poor fellow tried to explain what happened. But speaks very fast. I gave him a
paan
to reduce his juice production.’

ii

Miss Kutpitia could offer no explanation about Roshan’s relapse without examining the lime and chillies. So Dilnavaz went back with those neutralizers of evil eyes.

‘Yes,’ said Miss Kutpitia. ‘Yes, just as I thought. Look at this. You know what usually happens to a yellow lime?’

‘It turns brown, becomes soft and smells sour.’

‘And see this one,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Hard as a rock and black as the devil! And no smell at all.’

Dilnavaz felt a cold draught slink through the passage. Then Miss Kutpitia pointed out how peculiarly the chillies were also behaving, all still green as Satan’s emeralds instead of turning red. She kept passing them between her fingers like beads on a rosary. ‘Shows us how much damage the evil eye can do. The poor child has received the full force of it.’ She sniffed the chillies. ‘Fortunately, it is not difficult to be rid of. The seven will do it.’

‘But why did Roshan first improve, then get worse?’

‘Will you wait? I am coming to that. Listen. Inside the child, two forces are attacking: evil eye, which is unintentional; and something else, something dark, something deliberately inflicted. Now, when the evil eye is crushed, the child recovers. Then the dark force arises, and the child is sick again.’ She picked up the lime. ‘This,’ she said. ‘This black stone reveals the dark force.’

‘Dilnavaz wrung her hands. ‘So medicine is of no use?’

‘Some use. Will keep her from getting worse. But won’t cure. We have to find the one responsible for the dark force.’

‘O God! That will be impossible!’

‘Not with alum.’ A rare smile, of quiet confidence, strayed across Miss Kutpitia’s lips. ‘Wait.’ She went to her kitchen and returned with two chunks the size of pigeon eggs. ‘Take these. And Roshan must be present when you do what I will tell you, or it’s no use.’ She detailed the procedure, then returned the chillies and lime. ‘From now on, learn to be more cautious. And teach your children also. Teach them to fear the nights of the full moon; and with Kalichovdas approaching, keep them indoors after sunset. Tell them not to step on, or over, strange objects placed in the road. Beware of anything that looks like a little packet of flowers, or broken eggs or shattered coconuts. Those things come from black-magical
kaarestaan,
believe me.’

Dilnavaz nodded, trying to memorize her instructions. ‘But what about Sohrab? When will he return to me?’

‘Patience.’

‘Is there nothing more I can do?’

Her persistence vexed Miss Kutpitia; then, as a matter of compromise, she said, ‘Do Tehmul’s nails again. Add a lock of his hair this time. On the day after the new moon. His channels will be open widest that day.’ Wagging her bony forefinger, she admonished her again: ‘But you must be patient.’

Dilnavaz ventured timidly, ‘You had said there was a final remedy we could try if everything failed—’

Miss Kutpitia cut her off sharply. ‘I have told you not to think of that. Put it out of your mind. At once.’

‘Whatever you wish. You know best, that’s why I come to you.’ She thanked her humbly and left.

iii

Dinshawji’s advice to Gustad was to comply with everything Ghulam Mohammed said. ‘Don’t defy him. Just do it quietly, then we can forget about the bastard.’

‘But we’ll have to withdraw two bundles a day. That’s the only way we’ll finish in thirty days.’

‘Don’t worry, leave that to me.’ Dinshawji went about the task quietly, confidently. Each evening he passed two bundles to Gustad, who took them home and stuffed them back into the hateful black plastic under the
choolavati.

The bank was abuzz with the remarkable case in New Delhi. It was not very often that a Parsi made the newspapers for a crime. The last sensation had been more than a decade ago, when a naval commander had shot and killed his wife’s lover. In the canteen, they debated Major Bilimoria’s dubious confession, and the plethora of startling facts that the investigation was uncovering. Most of them refused to believe he could have imitated the Prime Minister’s voice, there was something very fishy about the whole thing, they said.

Dinshawji and Gustad took part in these discussions, trying to show a normal interest. Dinshawji handled it so well, thought Gustad, filling with admiration for the cool courage and good sense. Here was no clown or buffoon, but a solid, dependable friend. How badly I misjudged him. And how will I ever repay him for all his help?

Before long, the thirty-day deadline reached the halfway mark. Gustad emerged to pray at dawn and found the rose plant, the vinca, and the
subjo
bush hacked to the ground. Every stem, every branch had been slashed off, chopped into little pieces.

No point in calling the Gurkha, he thought. Why make a fuss? But Jimmy loved the vinca, sometimes he would come to water the flowers in the morning.

He stood there for a minute or two, then fetched the rubbish pail and quietly gathered up Ghulam Mohammed’s bloodless reminder.

Dinshawji stepped up the pace to withdraw three bundles a day, and Gustad wished he had not mentioned Ghulam’s threats. But the least he owed Dinshawji now was complete honesty. ‘Isn’t that dangerous, Dinshu? Thirty thousand will be highly noticeable on the ledger, don’t rush it.’ Dinshawji said there was nothing to worry about, he knew what he was doing. So the account was emptied five days ahead of the deadline.

That evening, Gustad shook his hand fervently. ‘Thank you, Dinshu, thank you. I don’t know how to thank you enough, so much you’ve done for me.’

‘Forget it,
yaar,
’ he smiled. ‘It’s nothing.’

But it was only the next day, after Dinshawji had expunged all traces of the fictitious account, that Gustad learned the truth. Dinshawji collapsed just before lunch, and was rushed to Parsi General. Mr. Madon sent a messenger to Dinshawji’s wife, and granted Gustad’s request to ride in the ambulance.

As it sped through the streets, its siren wailing, Dinshawji regained consciousness. ‘It’s OK, Dinshu, everything will be all right,’ said Gustad. ‘Your wife has been informed, she will come to the hospital.’

‘My domestic vulture,’ said Dinshawji, smiling weakly. ‘God bless her, she will come flying.’ The ambulance weaved in and out of traffic, at times grinding to a halt, making Gustad curse and fret. He gazed upon Dinshawji’s face and noticed how the dewlaps under his chin had, in repose, collapsed into little rolls of skin along the throat.

Dinshawji opened his eyes again. ‘Now you know, Gustad, why such a big rush. I could feel that not many days were left. So I began to take out three, to finish the job. Before it was too late.’ Gustad took his hand in both of his. The thing in his throat made it impossible to speak. The hand felt cold, and very smooth.

Dinshawji’s wife was not there when the ambulance reached Parsi General. ‘Traffic is bad,’ said Gustad reassuringly. ‘Alamai must be caught in the jam.’ He stayed with him while a bed was found in the male ward and the formalities were completed. It was the same ward where Dinshawji had spent time six months ago.

Dinshawji urged him to get back to the bank. ‘Or else that Madon will start marching up and down, asking why Mr. Noble is taking so long to come back.’

‘Don’t worry about Madon. I am going to stay here till the doctor sees you.’

‘Not necessary,
yaar.
This place is like a vacation home for me.’ His eyes twinkled the way they used to before Laurie Coutino’s complaint. ‘All the comforts and conveniences I can imagine.’ Then he sang softly, out of tune:

O give me a home where the nurses’ hands roam,

Where they all have big beautiful tits;

But where seldom is heard an encouraging word,

And the patient is treated like shit.

Gustad laughed. ‘Shh! If they hear you, they will give you a tough time. These people don’t know how to appreciate a Poet Laureate. You know their favourite way to harass patients?’

‘What?’

‘When you ask for the bedpan, they make you wait and wait till you think you cannot hold it any more.’

Dinshawji chortled, holding his stomach where it hurt. ‘
Arré,
let them try that with me. I will just let go, dhuma-dhum, dhuma-dhum. Right in the middle of the bed. And make the whole hospital stink. More work for them only.’ They laughed again. Then Gustad shook his hand and left. At the registration desk, he made the clerk note Miss Kutpitia’s telephone number next to Alamai’s, just in case.

He did not return immediately to the bank. Outside, in the hospital grounds, the sun was shining on the lawns. He found a bench along a path between flowerbeds. A butterfly flitted among the flowers. He saw its brilliant orange and black patterns before it floated away. Sohrab had one like that in his collection. Monarch, he said its name was. I can remember perfectly. After the rain, at Hanging Gardens. Everything was in bloom. Sohrab all excited the night before, making plans. And so shy in the garden, with his
sudra
—and—racquet net. But he caught five that day. Monarch was first. He removed it from the killing-tin with his tweezers, its antennae crippled, thorax contorted. A cloud had passed over Sohrab’s face when he saw that twisted butterfly, and Gustad knew his son would not pursue the hobby for long.

How much of all this does Sohrab remember, he wondered. Very little, I think. For now. But one day he will remember every bit. As I do, about my father. Always begins after the loss is complete, the remembering.

The butterfly returned, gliding on a slow breeze. He watched till it became a speck and disappeared from sight.

iv

When the lumps of alum fell on the hot coals, they fused into a single blob. The blob bubbled and frothed, making a hissing, gurgling sound as it perched viscously atop the coals. Roshan watched with interest till the coals lost their red heat and the seething activity ended.

‘Now back to bed,’ said Dilnavaz. ‘You will feel better after these prayers.’ She observed curiously, fearfully, the smooth, white contours the alum had assumed. How wickedly it sits on the coals. This evil thing. It separated easily from the embers, light and brittle. Like a fresh
khaari
biscuit, she thought, concealing it in a paper bag—the clue to the dark force harming her child.

Miss Kutpitia was delighted with the results. ‘Good, very good,’ she said. ‘What a nice, complete shape. Often it crumbles, and then it’s difficult to read. But you have done it so well.’ She placed the indeterminate mass on the telephone table and inspected it. ‘Come, you also look,’ she said. ‘But look at it without seeing it. That way it will take on different meanings. Look with the eyes you use when you dream.’

Dilnavaz tried, unsure of the instructions. ‘Reminds me of the Sister who brought Roshan home when she was sick.’

‘What?’ said Miss Kutpitia disbelievingly.

‘See, looks like the long white
jhabbho
the nuns wear.’

‘But would they want to hurt Roshan? They are good and godly people.’ She explained again. ‘Listen. If you use only your eyes, you will only see the things of this world. But we are dealing with forces from another world.’ They studied the alum again, silently, turning it this way and that.

‘Wait a minute, wait a minute,’ said Miss Kutpitia. ‘Yes, definitely. Stand here,’ she said, pulling Dilnavaz over to the other side. ‘Now what do you see?’

‘A hat? No. A house? A house without windows?’

Sorely disappointed with Dilnavaz’s hamstrung imagination, Miss Kutpitia dismissed the suggestions with the contempt they deserved, then guided her eyes with the benefit of her own expert vision. ‘Look, what is this? A tail. And this, this, this, and that? Four legs. And over there?’

‘Two upright ears!’ said Dilnavaz, excited, catching on at last, to her mentor’s relief. ‘And that, that’s a snout!’

‘Right!’ said Miss Kutpitia. ‘What does it all add up to?’

‘A four-legged animal?’

‘Of course. A dog, I think.’

‘A dog? Sending out a dark and evil force?’

‘You are not remembering what I said before.’ Miss Kutpitia was impatient. ‘I said the alum shape will give us a clue. That does not mean it will show the culprit. Someone who owns a dog could be the one we are looking for.’

Dilnavaz clutched her face with both hands. ‘O my God!’

‘Now what is it?’

‘Mr. Rabadi! He has a white Pomeranian! He was—!’

‘Calm down. First of all, does he have a reason?’

‘Yes, yes! He and Gustad have been fighting all the time, since the time of the big dog. Tiger, who used to do his chhee-chhee in Gustad’s flowers. And now the small dog also barks at him. Then there was trouble with newspapers, and he thinks my Darius is after his daughter. Rabadi really hates us!’

Miss Kutpitia picked up the crucial shape. ‘You know what you have to do next.’