Last Labyrinth Page 20

  ‘Good bye.’

  When I went back the next morning it was still raining. Along the ghats, a crowd of drenched singing dancing people, rain streaming down their faces, had blocked our taxi for an hour. Aftab met me in the Blue Room. He looked haggard. He wore the same clothes in which I had left him the previous night. He had not shaved and it did not look as though he had slept.

  ‘You have come to see Anuradha?’ he said with a half-smile.

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, she has disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared where?’

  ‘If I knew she would not be considered disappeared. She went to the temple last night for Janmashtami and she hasn’t come back.’

  ‘It was Janmashtami last night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Krishna! I thought, Krishna again. There was something else, though. Why had she not made a mention of it to me?

  ‘How did she go to the temple.’

  ‘Tarakki dropped her.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ I said trying to control my rage and my despair.

  Aftab shrugged.

  ‘If you don’t mind I am going to inform the police.’

  ‘As you like,’ he said, getting up.

  5

  From where I sit I can see the line of shimmering surf. The moon is high. To my left lies little mound where honeymooning couples pose to have their pictures taken. Somewhere beyond the mound, along the curve of the beach, I had walked with my father that day after our visit to Elephanta.

  Geeta sleeps next door. The children, too, are home for vacation. It is a quiet, restful, perfect life. But I cannot sleep and, at times, I go out on the beach and cradled by the roar of the sea I cry to the stars.

  Months have passed but there is no news of Anuradha. I did go to the police in Benaras and registered a case. Aftab sat in silence while they searched his haveli. They found nothing except a bit of her antique clothing. ‘It is true,’ said a tired superintendent, ‘it is true things could happen in this haveli without leaving a trace. But we cannot demolish the whole place. We cannot take it apart.’ Tarakki’s evidence that he had dropped her at the temple, held. Anuradha’s pictures were flashed to every police station in the country.

  I whistle for Banjo. He creeps out from under the bed, stretches himself, hind legs first then the fore legs. ‘How about a stroll, old man?’ Somehow he understands this — always has — and pricks up his ears. I open the rosewood cabinet, pick out my grandfather’s gun, tuck it in my trousers. We step out.

  The sand is cool to my bare feet. I roll up my trousers an inch or two and we make slowly for the mound. It stands in the moonlight like a mutilated breast. Some nights ago, I thought I had seen the lean, hungry face of Tarakki lurking in its shadows, his eyes towards my house. At the time I had dismissed it as a hallucination.

  We climb the mound and sit down. The gun makes it difficult for me to sit properly. I adjust the butt until the barrel settles comfortably against my belly like a secret limb. Grandfather’s ideas are not without their use.

  The roar of the sea is loud here. A plane goes by overhead, a jumbo, slow and graceful, its wings unfurled. I see its landing lights go on and off but, because of the crashing surf, I cannot hear the jets. I remember how my father had stood staring up at such blinking lights that evening fifteen years ago. And, I remember how I had patronized him that night. ‘But surely you want to understand, Som,’ my father had said, looking curiously into my face.

  Last night I dreamt again of Aftab’s haveli, its arches and silent courtyards and the sarcophagus of green marble. Wandering through the mazes the police had come back to it, again and again, but they could not touch it, dared not touch it. I dreamt I stood near the sarcophagus and, while I stood, it changed into the bar of the Intercontinental, its brass-work gleaming through the mist of the dream. A drugged Aftab Rai leaned against the railing. Someone said, ‘He is dead. He is dead.’ Just then Aftab’s corpse stretched out its hand and caught me by the wrist. I woke up, shaken.

  Some time back I received a letter from Aftab. It was unstamped and unsigned but I could recognize the large, unsteady hand. The moon is bright but not bright enough for me to read it here. But I have read it many times before and, by and large, I know its incoherent contents.

  ‘For me now,’ he writes, ‘all is desolation...’ take hold I tell myself... “take hold Aftab Rai, you can live without her”... but I cannot live without her... endlessly, I walk the mazes... night turns into day... day into night... I knock my head against walls... cry out my love for her... she does not listen... I am finished... I had liked you... I had let a snake enter my home... she thought she would handle you... she came that night from Bombay and said you were dying... the secret of her love written on her face... I was happy you were dying... she went across the river... spoke of the night many years ago... when she cut her wrists... told me you will never... never put your treacherous foot in Lal Haveli... but I knew... she knew... if she was proven wrong... if you ever returned... you would pay heavily... why did you return... how I hate you... curse you... you escaped to the hotel that night... but how long... your time will come... while you live you will rot... when dead you shall not find peace... from one graveyard to another you will wander... a million years.’

  I light a cigarette.

  Aftab’s letter explains nothing beyond confirming that it was indeed Tarakki whom I saw the other night. I must now at all times be ready to receive Aftab’s emissary. Like a curse, I carry my grandfather’s gun wherever I go.

  In place of Anuradha, of Gargi, we now only have this terrible, terrible, hatred in common. And where is Anuradha?

  Anuradha, listen. Listen to me wherever you are. Is there a God where you are? Have you met Him? Does He have a face? Does He speak? Does He hear? Does He understands the language that we speak? Anuradha, if there is a God and if you have met Him and if He is willing to listen, then, Anuradha, my soul, tell Him, tell this God, to have mercy upon me. Tell Him I am weary. Of so many fears; so much doubting. Of this dark earth and these empty heavens. Plead for me, Anuradha. He will listen to you.

  I marvel at the strange mad thoughts that at times carom around my skull. Are they harbingers, the pilot-escort, of melancholia? Of insanity? Faith? You never know what is the pilot-escort of what.

  Of my companies, the less said the better. Mr. Thapar struggles day and night to put them back on the rails. If anyone can straighten them out he can. I pitch in whenever required. It is a big mess.

  I bury the half-smoked cigarette in sand and stand up. Banjo follows suit. Another liner goes by with a great roar. It comes in dangerously low, so low that I can see the bright port-holes and the colours of British Airways. As I approach the house, the figure of a woman appears at the window of my room. Geeta, after all, is not asleep. She watches me as I wipe my shoes on the door-mat. There is something that Aftab wrote about her that I forgot. Somewhere amidst those broken words he writes: ‘Geeta knew.’ But what did she know? When did they meet? Did he write?

  Geeta watches me as I come in. I pull out the revolver, take a step towards the cabinet, then turn around and put it casually to my temple. She steps forward, alarmed, unbelieving. ‘Don’t,’ she whispers. I laugh, pull the gun away, put it on ‘safety’ and dump it in the cabinet. Geeta puts her hand on my arm. In her nightie and dressing gown she looks good, very good. ‘Som...’ she begins. I shake my head slowly, from side to side, a long time, as though I had a headache. ‘Som...,’ she repeats, shaking me gently as though rousing a man from sleep. I hold up a weary arm, the palm facing her, like a traffic policeman. I hope she understands.

  GLOSSARY

  Aarati A Hindu ritual of worship in praise of deity.

  Angithi Fireplace, brazier.

  Bhang Intoxicant.

  Bhul-bhulaiyan A maze; labyrinth.

  Chaat A mix of highly spiced potatoes, flour fritters topped with a thick sauce of chillies, black salt and tamarind.

  Chaatwala
hs Seller of chaat.

  Chikan A style of fine and delicate embroidery.

  Chimtas Tongs.

  Choli Blouse.

  Chowk A Hindi word for square or crossroads.

  Churidar Tight fitting pyjamas commonly worn by both men and women in the Indian sub-continent.

  Cowrie Till the mid-20th century, the lowest unit of currency in India.

  Dharamshala Shelter or a rest house, traditionally for pilgrims.

  Fana Death or destruction.

  Gajra A small flower garland worn by women either around their wrist or woven into the hair.

  Garara Loose pyjamas worn by women.

  Ghat A level place on the edge of a river where Hindus cremate their dead.

  Ghunghrus Small metallic bells strung together to form an anklet and used by classical dancers.

  Jaimal Garland of flowers.

  Kalash Pinnacle of a temple.

  Kamiz A long shirt worn by many people in the Indian sub-continent, typically with a salwar

  Kirtan Devotional singing.

  Lokalok Literally, this world and not-this-world.

  Lungi Broad piece of cloth wrapped around the waist which serves as a sleeping pyjama, a swimming or bathing suit.

  Mahant An ascetic, who is the head of a temple or monastery.

  Mallah Boatman.

  Mehndi Henna.

  Mantra jap Repeated recitation of a mantra (a group of words chanted as a prayer).

  Motia A type of white flower.

  Mul Muslin.

  Namaskar Traditional form of greeting with folded hands in Indian sub-continent.

  Paandan Box in which betel leaves and other ingredients for rolling it are kept.

  Pajeb Anklet.

  Palki Palanquin.

  Panda Priests or half priests usually found at religious places.

  Prasad Something edible, first offered to a deity and then distributed amongst followers.

  Rangoli Traditional Indian decoration and patterns made on the floor usually with coloured ground rice, particularly during festivals.

  Rehris Cart used by roadside vendors to display and sell their wares.

  Riyaz Practice especially of singing and dancing.

  Shakti Strength; the female principle of divine energy, especially when personified as the supreme deity.

  Shamianas Pavilions, canopy.

  Shrimanji Mister.

  Sowars Here it refers to horse-mounted soldiers.

  Taluqdars Landowners.