And so, they left the Warden’s office with no resolution, no guidance, and very little recourse, but to continue behaving as they had. And not a few weeks passed before Makhan Singh started approaching Bunnu again in the Yard and events unfolded in almost exactly the same way as they had before, landing them, once more, in the Warden’s office for further discussion. The second meeting, however, made no greater headway than the first and it wasn’t long before the incidents repeated themselves again and again and again, for a third, fourth, and fifth time.
And as events progressed from duplicity to triplicity to inordinate multiplicity, the process started to become cyclical like the changing of seasons: a routine that the two of them had come to expect, until Bunnu found himself, unwittingly, feeling a kind of association with Makhan Singh. This bond had managed to form itself so gradually that he had failed to notice it until after a very long time had passed. And now, things had progressed to the point that if Bunnu failed to go out to the Yard for Courtship Hour, it would seem like he were consciously avoiding Makhan Singh, specifically, which would actually prove to have the reverse effect of what he intended. And so, regardless of what he did, there was a link forming between the two of them that he couldn’t seem to sever. But perhaps, this had been Makhan’s plan. Perhaps, all along, he had been scheming for Bunnu to get used to him by sheer virtue of persistence…and now his perseverance was starting to pay off.
Which brings us back to the present: Back in his cell, now, and still reeling from the chaos of the speech in the assembly hall, Bunnu sat on his bed and let out a sigh. He scratched the rash on his palm as he looked at the untouched bowl of beans sitting in the dumbwaiter. It would soon be Courtship Hour and there could be no doubt that Makhan Singh was going to beat another inmate half to death today. That’s simply where they were in their cycle. And now, with this new apparatus designed by Dr. Narciss, who knew what would be in store for them? It would undoubtedly have some kind of effect. Perhaps the cycle would intensify, or speed up, or even grow in scale to include other inmates besides Makhan Singh and him. The only thing he could hope for was that this apparatus would somehow interrupt the cycle and he could be left alone once again to do as he pleased. Otherwise there would truly be no escape from the others.
If what the Warden had said was true, the factions all seemed to have their hopes pinned on him and not because he was anything special, but simply because they saw him as the missing ingredient to some kind of secret formula that they suspected could save them all from the same breed of cannibalism that befell their predecessors in Asoka Plains. Something about their adulation made Bunnu feel ill, as though he had always unsuspectingly been controlled by those surrounding spheres of influence and groomed for the role they expected him to perform. He knew that to cooperate—even slightly— with these factions would be a kind of suicide for him, a compromise too great to bear. And yet, regardless of how hard he tried to cut himself off from them—socially, biochemically, or otherwise—there always seemed to underlie a kind of association that superseded anything within conscious control. And now, this new apparatus, this MRDA, would only serve to reinforce it.
And so, Bunnu could only conclude that as long as he stayed here at this facility, there was simply no escape from these people with whom he’d been cooped up for the past few years. He tried to take a deep breath and was met with the stale, humid air. Upon exhaling, a fatigue crept into his body. He slumped back against the wall next to his mattress.
There were ways out of this facility.
There was no doubt about this. The man behind him at the assembly—the tall stick figure with the small coconut head and the mountain accent—spoke of a tunnel. It sounded risky, but the plan had its merits. Another possibility would be to escape with the help of one of the factions that had connections with the guards and could arrange safe transport out through the trucks. There was no guarantee of success, but certainly no harm in trying. And then there was the administration itself: one could play along with their mind-bending rules in the hopes of being viewed by them as rehabilitated and thus, fit for life again in the outside world. Their testimony would certainly carry a great deal of weight in his trial. And the ends would undoubtedly justify the means.
But then, all of these methods required cooperation, which was simply out of the question. Surely, there had to be a way for him to escape without having obligation conferred upon him. Otherwise, one could scarcely consider oneself truly free, even upon leaving the facility.
The Courtship Hour bell rang and Bunnu leaned forward, resting his head against his hands as warm tears streamed down his cheeks. His thoughts were suddenly with the outside world as he felt a great weight sink inside of his chest like an anchor and his windpipe narrow—as though tied to it by a length of chain— until an intense pain swelled in the back of his head.
To Separation