The Nigerian receded into the shadows and Eketi advanced towards Munusamy's door. A servant was expecting him. He led Eketi up a flight of steps and showed him into a drawing room where a balding, middle-aged man was seated on a cream sofa. Mr Munusamy wore a white shirt over a cream-coloured veshti. He had a round face dominated by two features: a small rectangular moustache which looked like hair jutting out of his nose, and three horizontal lines of yellow clay on his forehead.
'Welcome, welcome,' he greeted Eketi.
Eketi bowed and handed over the envelope.
Munusamy quickly read Mike's note and looked at the tribal with a crestfallen expression. 'I was looking forward to meeting the great Michael Busari, but it turns out you are just his agent.'
'Give me money,' Eketi said.
'Here it is,' said Munusamy and pulled out a small briefcase which he had neatly concealed behind his legs.
As Eketi bent down to pick up the briefcase, a flashbulb popped in his face with the suddenness of lightning. Almost simultaneously five policemen rushed into the room from various doors and pounced on him.
'You are under arrest,' an Inspector announced. Before he could comprehend what was happening, he was handcuffed and bundled into a police van.
At the police station, a decrepit-looking building with a shingle roof, he was thrown inside a large cell. He protested his innocence in broken English, and tried to plead with the constables, but they threatened him with sticks. So he curled up on the cement floor and waited for Mike to show up. He was confident his friend would explain everything and have him released from the lock-up before long.
The police station remained a hive of activity all through the night. First to be brought in was a tough-looking hoodlum dressed in a brown leather jacket. Then came a drunk. He swayed into the lock-up and crashed down senseless on the floor. Finally two young boys, no more than sixteen, were dragged inside and mercilessly beaten up by the constables. With each passing hour a sinking dread spread in Eketi's stomach.
Mike didn't turn up even by noon the next day, but a certain Inspector Satya Prakash Pandey from Bihar Police did. He was pot-bellied and constantly chewed betel nut. He had a stern face, with a curled-up moustache, and he gave an impression of fretful impatience, like a wild animal on a leash. The only silver lining was that he spoke Hindi.
'I have come to take you with me to Patna,' he informed Eketi. 'That is where Michael Busari is wanted for murder.'
'Murder?'
'Yes. He swindled a businessman, who committed suicide. Now you, motherfucker, will be our star witness in the court case against Busari.'
'But Mike is a good man.'
'Good man?' the Inspector guffawed. 'Your boss Mr Michael Busari, also known as the Hawk, is wanted in connection with fourteen cases of cheating in seven States. He has defrauded several businessmen with his black dollar and bogus oilinvestment swindles. So we laid a trap for him in Chennai. Mr Munusamy was the decoy, and Busari was supposed to be our prize. But instead, we've got you. Are you Nigerian too?'
'No. I am Jiba Korwa from Jharkhand.'
'From Jharkhand? Where in Jharkhand?'
'I . . . I don't remember.'
'You don't remember, eh? Don't worry, this hand of mine has cleared the minds of many hardened gangsters. You are just a greenhorn,' the Inspector smirked.
With his wrists handcuffed, Eketi was driven to the railway station the next afternoon and put on a train to Patna. The only other person in the first-class cabin with him was Inspector Pandey.
The train began its three-day journey to Patna at three twenty-five p.m. and an hour later the Inspector commenced his interrogation. 'OK, sisterfucker, I want to know everything about you,' he said and spat out a stream of blood-red betel-nut juice through the metal bars on the window.
'I told you, I am Jiba Korwa from Jharkhand,' said the tribal.
'And what were you doing in Chennai?'
'I just came to visit.'
Without any warning, the Inspector slapped him with his open palm. Eketi reeled back in pain. 'I told you to tell me the truth, sisterfucker. Once again, where are you from?' the Inspector barked.
'Jharkhand.'
'Which village in Jharkhand?'
'I don't know,' said Eketi and was rewarded with another stinging blow on his cheek.
'I am asking for the last time. Tell me the truth or you will die on this train.'
The grilling continued all through the evening and all through the night. By the middle of the next day, Eketi caved in, unable to withstand the punishment any longer. Sobbing and sniffling, he revealed everything about his journey from Little Andaman, about Ashok, and about his meeting with Busari.
The police officer heard out Eketi patiently. Inserting yet another fresh paan into his mouth, he gave a satisfied grunt. 'Finally you have told the truth, motherfucker. They say my hand is like an iron claw; it always manages to extract the facts from the suspect.'
Eketi nursed his cheek. 'Do you like hitting people?'
Pandey shrugged. 'If you don't hit, you don't convict. We are forced to work this way. And then it becomes a bad habit, just like eating betel nut.'
'So you hit people to show your strength?'
'Actually, it is not to prove our strength, but to mask our weakness,' the Inspector said with surprising candour. 'We pick only on the poor and the powerless, because they cannot hit back.'
They did not exchange another word for several hours. As the train thundered through the night, the Inspector reclined in his berth, deep in thought. Eketi sat by the open window, feeling the cold draught on his swollen cheeks like a soothing balm. Suddenly the Inspector tapped him on the shoulder. 'I have decided to do something silly,' he exhaled, and reached for his leather holster.
A bolt of fear shot through Eketi's body. 'Are you . . . are you going to kill me?' he asked, feeling a constriction in his throat.
'That would be too easy.' The Inspector smiled for the first time as he took out a key from the holster.
'Then what?'
'I am going to set you free.'
Eketi looked him in the eye. 'Are you playing a game with me?'
'No, Eketi. This is not a game.' Pandey shook his head slowly. 'This is your life. And it is not very different from mine. Like you, I also feel suffocated at times, working in a job where I meet the scum of society day in and day out. But occasionally I do manage to wipe the tears off a widow's face or put a missing child back into his mother's lap. These are the moments I live for.'
Eketi gazed out of the window. In the near distance his eyes encountered only a whizzing, velvety darkness. But close to the horizon he could see the bright lights of some distant city.
'I have two young sons,' the Inspector continued. 'They think their father is a hero, fighting criminals and killers. But I am just an ordinary man battling the system, mostly losing. I know you are innocent. So releasing you will be a small victory.' He looked at his watch.'We should now be on the outskirts of Varanasi. I want you to pull this—' he pointed at the emergency chain above his head. 'This will stop the train. Then I want you to get down from the compartment and disappear into the night. I will tell everyone that you escaped while I was sleeping.'
'Why are you doing this?'
'To keep alive your dream. To keep alive my children's dream. If you arrive with me in Patna, you are going to rot in jail for at least five years, pending trial. So run away when you still have the chance.'
'But where will I run to?'
'You cannot do better than Varanasi. People come here to die. I am sending you there to live.' He inserted the key in Eketi's handcuffs and opened them. 'But remember,' he raised a finger, 'ours is a strange and sublime land. You can meet the best people in the world here and the worst. You can experience unparalleled kindness and witness extraordinary cruelty. To survive here, you must change your way of thinking. Don't trust anyone. Don't count on anyone. Here you are entirely on your own.'
'Then maybe I should
return to my island,' Eketi mumbled as he massaged his wrists where the handcuffs had cut into the skin.
'That is for you to decide. Life can be ugly. Or it can be beautiful. It all depends on what you make of it. But whatever you do, stay clear of the police. Not all inspectors are like me.'
'Will you get into trouble for letting me go?'
'The department will probably file yet another case of incompetence and negligence against me. I don't care any longer. I am out of the rat race. But you may just be joining it. Good luck, and don't forget to take your bag.'
As Eketi draped the fake Adidas across his shoulder, Pandey took out some notes from his shirt pocket. 'Take this. It will help you get by for a few days.'
'I will not forget you,' said Eketi, as he accepted the money, his eyes filling with tears.
The Inspector gave him a wan smile and briefly squeezed his hand. 'Now don't just stand there weeping like a donkey, sisterfucker. Yank that damn chain,' he said gruffly, and pulled up a fawn blanket over his head.
Eketi's legs ached. For over two hours he had run non-stop, cutting through dense sugarcane fields and sleepy villages in pursuit of the gleaming lights of the city. Now he was in Chowk, the congested heart of Varanasi, but the twinkling lights had been snuffed out and the bustling streets were empty. An uncanny silence reigned in the area, interrupted only by a stray dog or a car. Beggars slept on pavements underneath shuttered shops. A posse of policemen stood guard in front of an ancient temple.
The only spark of life in the city at this hour was a brightly lit all-night pharmacy. Eketi crept behind a parked jeep and observed the manager drowsing behind a wooden counter, surrounded by glass shelves loaded with boxes and bottles.
A woman arrived and nudged the manager into wakefulness. A couple of minutes later she stepped out of the pharmacy, clutching a brown paper packet, and Eketi had his first glimpse of her face. She was the strangest-looking woman he had ever seen. Almost as tall as Ashok, her eyes were lined with dark kohl, her cheeks were caked in cheap rouge and her lips were painted deep red, but her flat jaw and square chin gave her a manly countenance. She wore a red-and-green sari with an ill-fitting yellow blouse. Her hands were large and hairy. In fact, Eketi could even see a thin line of hair which began from her navel and disappeared into her blouse.
Consumed with curiosity, he began following her. She went through silent back streets littered with rubbish, along dark alleys and cobbled, winding paths, and emerged eventually at the mouth of a crowded, lively street. There were ancient, double-storey houses on both sides of the road, with intricately carved balconies which resonated with music and the tinkling of dancers' ankle bells. On the ground below, women with hard faces and vacant eyes, some only wearing low-cut blouses and petticoats, leaned against shadowy doorways and beckoned passers-by with provocative smiles. There was a corner paan shop where a man doled out ready-made triangles of betel leaf, a stall selling bread pakoras, and even a store for pre-paid phone cards. The smells of jasmine perfume and fried food mingled in the thick humid air. While the rest of the city was fast asleep, the residents of this street were having a party.
'Welcome to Dal Mandi,' a man wearing a lungi and tank top accosted Eketi. 'Would you like to try our goods?' Behind him, a girl in a pink sari giggled. But Eketi took no notice of her, intent only on following the woman who was now walking purposefully towards the far end of the street. The road ended in a T-junction where she turned right into another alley. Eketi turned right too.
Suddenly she whirled around and caught Eketi by his right hand.
'Why are you following me? Do you think I am a prostitute?'
Taken completely by surprise, Eketi struggled to free himself from her grip, which was as strong as a man's. 'Mujhe chhod do! Leave me!' he cried.
She looked at him closely. 'Who are you, you little black devil?'
'First you tell me, what are you?'
'What kind of question is that?'
'I mean are you a man or a woman?'
She chuckled. 'This is the question which everyone wants answered. Some men are even prepared to pay to find out.'
'I . . . I don't understand.'
'My name is Dolly. I am the leader of the hinjras.'
'Hinjra? What's that?'
'You have not heard of eunuchs? Which planet are you from?'
'I honestly don't know about eunuchs.'
'We are the third sex. Between male and female.'
Eketi's eyes opened wide. 'Neither man nor woman. How is that possible?'
'In our country, everything is possible.' Dolly waved her hand. 'But tell me about yourself. Who are you? Where are you from?'
'I am Jiba Korwa from Jharkhand.'
'Jharkhand, eh? I used to have a friend called Mona. She was from Jharkhand too, but not as dark as you. Now she has gone to try her luck in Bombay.'
'Where do you live?'
'Not too far from Dal Mandi.'
'And what is this?' Eketi pointed to the brown packet in her hand.
'Oh this? This is the medicine which I have found with great difficulty. There was only one pharmacy open at this hour. This is for my friend Rekha. Her daughter is extremely sick.'
'What's the matter with her?'
'She has malaria. For ten days she has had a high fever.'
'Malaria? I can cure malaria.'
'You?' She appraised him from head to toe. 'You five-foot joker, you now say you are a doctor?'
'Believe me, I am. A pretty good one, too. On my island I once saved a boy who was going to die of malaria.'
'Island? Now which island is this?'
'Kujelli!' Eketi exclaimed and, to cover up his blunder, quickly opened his canvas bag and took out a bunch of dried leaves. 'This plant can cure malaria. If you will take me to your friend, I will treat her daughter.'
'Is that so?' Dolly thought for a moment and then nodded her head. 'OK. No harm in trying you out. Come with me.'
Eketi resumed following her through the twisted by-lanes of the city. They went down a couple of alleys, crossed a stinking open drain, and suddenly Eketi found himself in the enclave of the eunuchs. Even at this time of the night, they were up and about, dressed in saris and salwar kameez, with painted faces and outrageous hair-dos. They greeted Dolly and watched Eketi curiously, more friendly than hostile.
The houses here were small and austere, mostly one-room shacks built with brick and cement. Dolly stopped in front of a house with a yellow door. A hinjra wearing an orange-and-blue sari with a bunch of jasmine flowers woven into her braid ran out of the door, clutched Dolly and began to weep. 'Tina is going to die. My poor Tina,' she wailed.
Dolly spoke with some of the other eunuchs before turning to Eketi. 'The doctor came to see Tina a little while ago,' she told him. 'He says the girl cannot be saved, the fever has reached her brain. My trip to the dispensary has been useless.' She let go of the medicine packet, which dropped limply to the ground, and smothered her face with her hands.
Eketi stepped forward and pushed open the yellow door.
He entered a small, crowded room. There were pots and pans in one corner, clothes in another. But his eyes were drawn to a mattress on the floor, on which lay a small girl in a frock, surrounded by blankets. She was no older than eight or nine, with a round face and almond-shaped eyes. Frail and thin, she seemed to have been drained of vitality. Her face was pale and there were large red blisters on her neck. Her eyes were closed, but from time to time she mumbled incoherently in her sleep.
Eketi unzipped his canvas bag and got to work. He took out the bunch of dried leaves and asked the girl's mother to grind them into a paste and heat it. Then he mixed the red clay with pig fat and smeared the girl's forehead with horizontal stripes. As Dolly watched sceptically, he applied some yellow clay to the girl's upper lip and rubbed a hot mash of the dried leaves on her stomach. Finally he took out a necklace of bones. 'This is the chauga-ta, made of the bones of the great Tomiti. It will heal the body and keep the eeka a
way,' he announced and draped the necklace over the girl's neck.
'Are you some kind of witch doctor?' Dolly asked with a worried look.
'I am only trying to help.'
'Now what should we do?'
'We wait till morning,' he said and yawned. 'I am feeling very sleepy. Is there a place I can lie down?'
'Don't you have your own place?'
'No.'
'I thought so,' Dolly sighed. 'Come, I will take you to my house.'
Her house was the biggest in the area, with two rooms and a tiny kitchen. The painted walls were adorned with framed pictures of gods and goddesses. There was a faded carpet on the floor and even a small folding dining table with metal chairs. A wall clock showed the time as quarter to three. Eketi flopped down on the floor and within minutes was fast asleep.
When he woke up the next morning, Dolly was already up and about. 'You have worked a miracle,' she beamed at him. 'Tina's fever has disappeared. She is feeling much better.'
Tina's mother Rekha came in shortly afterwards and fell at Eketi's feet. 'You are an angel sent from heaven,' she cried, clutching the tribal's hand. 'My daughter and I are forever in debt to you.'
She was followed by another eunuch, who blinked at him coquettishly before extending her arm. 'I have blisters on my forearm. Do you have a remedy for this as well?'
'No, no. I am not a doctor,' Eketi grumbled.
'You must be hungry,' said Dolly. 'I am going to make breakfast.'
Later that day, as Dolly sat at the table chopping vegetables, Eketi sidled up to her. 'My curiosity is killing me.'
'What do you mean?' She arched her eyebrows.
'I am still confused about what you told me last night. How can you be neither man nor woman?'
With a grimace, Dolly dropped her knife, stood up and lifted up her sari. 'See for yourself.'
Eketi gasped in horror. 'Were you . . . were you born this way?'
'No. I was born a man like you, but always felt like a woman trapped inside a man's body. I was the youngest of three brothers and two sisters. My father was a well-to-do clothes merchant in Bareilly. Growing up was sheer torture. My brothers and sisters always taunted me. Even my parents treated me with derision and contempt. They realized I was different but still wanted me to behave like a boy. So the day I turned seventeen, I stole money from my father's shop and ran away to Lucknow, where I met my Guru and got the operation done.'