'What kind of operation?'
'It is excruciating, but they keep you on opium for a number of days, which takes away some of the pain. Then the nirvana ceremony is performed.'
'What is that?'
'It means rebirth. A priest cuts off the genitals with a knife. One stroke and my organ was gone.' Dolly made a chopping motion with her hands. Eketi gasped again.
'Once the operation was over, I was deemed to have become a woman. Then my Guru took me under his wing and brought me to Banaras. It was here that I discovered an entire community of eunuchs. I have been living here for seventeen years now. These eunuchs are what I call my family, this is where I belong.'
'So you are actually a man?'
'Originally, yes.'
'Don't you feel strange without your . . . er . . . dick?' Eketi asked hesitatingly.
She laughed. 'You don't need a dick to survive in this country. You need money and brains.'
'And how do you earn money?'
'We sing at weddings and childbirths, housewarmings and other auspicious occasions, and give blessings. People believe that hinjras have the power to take ill luck and misfortune from them. I also work occasionally for a bank.'
'What kind of work?'
'Very often people borrow money from the bank but fail to return it. Then the bank asks us hinjras to land up at the defaulter's doorstep. We sing bawdy songs and generally create so much nuisance that the man pays up.'
'That sounds like fun! So are you happy being a eunuch?'
'It is not about being happy, Jiba,' she said grimly. 'It is about being free. But enough about me. Tell me, what has brought you from Jharkhand to our Uttar Pradesh?'
'I ran away from my village. I came here to get married.'
'Wah, that's a new reason to migrate. And have you found a girl?'
'No,' Eketi smiled shyly, 'but I am looking all the time.'
'Have you decided where you will stay?'
'Can't I stay in this house, with you? You have plenty of room.'
'I don't run a charitable guesthouse,' she said tartly. 'If you stay here, you will have to pay me rent. Have you got any money?'
'Yes, a lot,' he said, and took out the notes given by Inspector Pandey.
Dolly counted them out. 'This is only four hundred. I will treat this as a month's rent.' She leered at him and inserted the notes inside the mysterious confines of her blouse. 'You also need money to eat. I cannot give you free meals every day.'
'Then what should I do?'
'You need to get a job.'
'Will you help me find work?'
'Yes. They are building a new five-star hotel. I'll take you to the construction site tomorrow.'
'Then will you show me a little of your city today?'
'Certainly. Come with me. I'll take you to the ghats of Kashi.'
Chowk looked completely different during the day. The area was full of shops selling saris, books and silverware, and roadside eateries selling sweets and lassi. The streets swarmed with people. Rickshaws jostled for space with cycles and cows walked alongside cars.
Eketi thought the people on the road were gaping at him, till he realized they were staring at Dolly. Women shrank away in horror as soon as they saw her. Men scowled and gave her a wide berth. Children made fun of her, making lewd catcalls. Some jeered at her by clapping with their palms meeting sideways. She ignored their taunts and guided Eketi through the crowded thoroughfare to an alley which led to a series of terraced stone steps going down to the Ganges, and the tribal had his first view of the ghats.
The river gleamed darkly, like molten silver, with little boats bobbing on its surface like dabbling ducks. The embankments were full of pilgrims. Some were sitting under palm-leaf parasols consulting astrologers, some were buying trinkets, and some were taking a dip in the river. Tonsured priests chanted mantras, bearded sadhus paid obeisance to the sun and stocky wrestlers honed their bodybuilding skills. The ghats stretched all along the riverfront, as far as the eye could see. Thin reeds of smoke hung in the misty air from the funeral pyres burning in the far distance.
'The river unites both pilgrims and mourners,' Dolly said. 'Our city is a celebration of the living as well as the dead.'
'A man told me that people come to this city to die. Why?' Eketi asked.
'Because it is said that if you die in Kashi you go straight to heaven,' replied Dolly.
'So when you die, will you also go straight to heaven?'
'There is no one heaven, Jiba.' She looked benignly at him.
'There are different heavens for different people. We eunuchs even do our cremations secretly.'
A day later, on 1 November, Eketi began his first real job. Dolly took him to what looked like the rim of a huge crater. The construction site inside resembled the ugly bowels of some massive beast. A thin line of women carrying heavy loads on their heads moved across the belly of the beast, and men with pickaxes carved up its entrails. Wooden scaffolds looking like giant swings had been erected all over the site and monster cranes reached for the sky with flickering tongues. The air reeked with the odour of sweat and clanged with the sounds of metal on metal.
Dolly knew the foreman, a man called Babban who had a permanent frown on his face. He took one look at Eketi's rippling muscles and employed him instantly. The tribal was given a shovel and told to join a batch of workers digging a trench.
It was tough going. The shovel kept slipping from Eketi's grip due to perspiration, and yellow dust kept getting in his eyes. The pit was like a furnace and even the soft lumps of soil felt like embers burning his naked feet.
At two o'clock a siren sounded, announcing lunchtime, and Eketi heaved a sigh of relief. The food was just thick rice and watery vegetables, but the brief respite in the shade made it palatable.
The labourers sat in a group and ate their meal quietly. 'Who is the owner of this hotel?' Eketi asked a gaunt-looking man with a permanent stoop squatting next to him. His name was Suraj. His clothes were tattered and dusty and smelt of stale sweat.
'How do I know?' the man shrugged. 'Must be some big seth. Why does it matter? We are not going to be living in this hotel.' He peered at Eketi. 'You don't seem to be from here. Have you worked on a construction site before?'
'It's my first time,' Eketi replied.
'I could see that. Don't worry. I have been doing this work for three years and still make mistakes. But look after yourself, otherwise your back will become hunched forever like mine. And don't inhale the dust. It will clog the pores of your body. Sometimes it comes out even in my shit. Look what this work has done to my hands and feet.' Suraj held out both his palms. They were calloused and as rough as coconuts. There were blisters on his feet and the soles had ruptured into rivulets of dried blood.
'Then why do you do this work?' Eketi asked.
'I have five mouths to feed. I need money.'
'And how much money do they pay here?'
'Just enough to get by.'
The siren sounded again and the labourers reluctantly stood up. All through the afternoon they worked, hauling bricks, loading mud, breaking stones, mixing cement, digging and filling, building the hotel with their bare hands.
When the foreman finally declared the end of the day's work at six in the evening, the defeated men hoisted their pickaxes and shovels to their shoulders, the drooping women picked up their baskets and babies, and lined up before the contractor.
Eketi too collected his wage, consisting of five crisp ten-rupee notes, and began the walk back to Dolly's house.
As he was passing in front of an upmarket shopping centre, his eyes were drawn to a poster adorning the display window of a shop. It showed a magnificent island, piled high with dense green trees and ringed by a turquoise ocean. He stood there for several minutes, and then boldly entered the shop. A young woman was sitting behind a counter doing her nails. A big map of the world was displayed on the wall behind her and a pile of brochures lay at her side. She looked at his dusty cloth
es and grimy face with frank distaste.
'Yes, what do you want?' she demanded.
'I want to go to the island whose picture is in the window.'
'That is the Andamans,' she sneered.
'Yes, I know. How much does it cost to go there by ship?'
She blew her nails and picked up a brochure with the same photo of the island on the cover. 'We have an organized tour for five days. The total cost for the cheapest package will be nine thousand rupees from Kolkata. Now go, don't waste my time.'
'Can I take one of these?' He indicated the brochure. The girl quickly gave him one, and shooed him out.
'So how did you like the work?' Dolly asked him as soon as he returned.
'I didn't come from my village for this,' Eketi replied, massaging his back. He took out the fifty rupees from his pocket and gave them to Dolly. 'Will you keep this money safely for me?'
'No problem,' said Dolly.
'And can you tell me how many days I will have to work to earn nine thousand?'
Dolly frowned and did a quick calculation. 'One hundred and eighty days. Say six months. Why?'
'I want to visit this island,' he said, holding aloft the tourist brochure like a hunting trophy.
It was the tantalizing promise contained in that glossy sheet of paper which made Eketi forget the ache in his back and the cramp in his legs. After dinner he lay down on the floor, gazing at the picture of the island, feeling the wind rustling through the tall palm trees, hearing the cicadas singing in the dense green jungle, savouring the taste of turtle meat on his tongue.
The next day he was back at the construction site, doing the same work. Soon his hands fell into a rhythm, so that by the end of the week he didn't need to look down at what he was digging. Even though the work became easier, Eketi still hated it and he hated himself for doing it.
His world now revolved between the eunuch's house and the construction site. He had neither the time to explore the rest of the city nor the inclination to get acquainted with the other residents of Dolly's colony. He even put the project of finding a wife on hold. Sunday and Monday, Diwali and New Year meant the same to him – five ten-rupee notes, which he diligently gave Dolly for safekeeping.
Two and a half months passed. As the hotel began rising from the ground, Eketi's hopes also started rising. 'How much money has accumulated by now, do you think, Dolly?' he asked the eunuch one evening.
'A full three thousand,' she replied.
'That means I need just six thousand more for my trip,' he said, surprising her both with the longing in his voice and his newly acquired knowledge of maths.
Dolly gave him a strange look, but didn't say anything. That night, however, she quietly added a thousand rupees from her own purse to the kitty she was keeping on his behalf.
*
Two days later, Eketi was feeding stones into a crusher when all of a sudden there was a loud explosion and a huge cloud of dust rose from a corner of the pit. He rushed towards the scene of the mishap and saw that some bamboo scaffolding had crashed from a considerable height. A worker lay face-down on the ground, covered with dust, his limbs contorted into awkward shapes. Another worker turned him over, and Eketi cried out in anguish. It was Suraj.
Suraj's death led to stoppage of work for two days. So Dolly asked Eketi to accompany her on a mission on behalf of the 'bank people'. Together with four other eunuchs, they proceeded to a crowded market in Bhelupura. Dolly pointed out a shop on the ground floor selling electrical equipment. 'Our target is the owner of this store, Rajneesh Gupta,' she told Eketi. 'I need you to draw him out of the shop, then we will do the rest.'
So Eketi went in and told the mousy-looking owner that there was someone outside waiting to meet him. As soon as a slightly mystified Rajneesh Gupta stepped out of his shop, the hinjras pounced on him. Dolly's associates surrounded him and began taunting him, singing and dancing while clapping their hands in unison. Inside that human circle, Dolly stroked Gupta's cheek, tickled him under the armpits, and rained curses on him: 'May your children fail, may your business fail, may your body be infested with insects, may you die a dog's death.' All the other shopkeepers came out to enjoy the fun. They laughed and jeered, and Eketi was surprised to see that it was not the eunuchs they were deriding, but the hapless Gupta.
'Now repay the loan within ten days or we will make another visit.' Dolly jabbed a finger at the owner, before imperiously flicking her plait and calling off her troops.
Eketi couldn't help feel a tinge of pity for Mr Gupta, who remained standing in the middle of the market, red-faced and alone, trying to stifle his sobs.
The next day work resumed inside the pit, but it was no longer the same. The ghost of Suraj haunted the construction site, making the day seem longer, the food blander, the shovel heavier to Eketi. His heart had never been in this work; now even his hands were beginning to revolt.
When he returned home that evening he found the house in complete disarray. The cupboard had been ransacked, there was blood on the floor, and there was no sign of Dolly. It was a tearful Rekha who filled him in. Apparently Rajneesh Gupta had come to the colony that afternoon with three hired goons armed with hockey sticks. They had barged into Dolly's house and beaten her senseless. The eunuch had bled profusely and had required thirty stitches. 'She is now in the district hospital in Kabir Chaura, hanging on to life by a thread.'
'No! No!' the Onge cried and ran out blindly. He had just reached the gates of the hospital when a group of eunuchs trooped out. Four of them held aloft a bamboo stretcher on which lay a body wrapped in a white shroud. They were followed by three other eunuchs, chanting 'Ram Nam Satya Hai. He didn't need to look at the dead body to know it was Dolly, being taken on her final journey. The death chant rang in his ears with the pealing clarity of hammer hitting metal. The breath went out of his lungs as though someone had punched him in the stomach. He slumped down on the ground like a broken puppet.
He returned from the hospital in a daze and walked with heavy steps to Dolly's house. Entering it, he went straight to the pillaged cupboard and made a desperate search for his savings, only to find every rupee gone. He stood for a while in the room, staring at the dried bloodstains on the floor, imagining the savagery of the afternoon. Then abruptly he picked up his canvas bag and walked out of the colony.
As he crossed Chowk, the air began to resonate with the sound of chanting and the jangling of bells. He looked up at the darkening sky. The sun had set and the Ganga Aarti, the evening prayer ceremony, had begun on Dasashwamedh Ghat. But today he felt no temptation to walk down to the river. Dolly had gone to some special heaven for eunuchs. This city was done with her. And he was done with this city.
*
On the outskirts of Varanasi, close to the highway, he came across a stalled truck. It was laden with pilgrims who were going to a place called Magh Mela. The driver, a turbaned Sikh with a long black beard, was trying to repair a puncture. Eketi begged him for a lift and the Sikh relented.
Just before sunrise on 22 January the truck offloaded its human cargo on a concrete bridge overlooking the Ganges, and Eketi found himself in yet another new city.
Dawn was breaking lazily over the holy city of Prayag. The air was cold and bracing. Waves lapped gently at the sandy riverbank. The crimson rays of the embryonic sun tinged the water with rainbow hues. Wooden boats swayed lazily at the river's edge. A smoky haze hung in the atmosphere, clothing the landscape in shades of grey. Flocks of birds rose in the air, smudging the ruddy sky with dark little spots. A sea of coloured banners and saffron pennants fluttered in the wind. In the distance, Naini Bridge rumbled into life as an express train clattered over its metal frame. Akbar's Red Fort dominated the skyline, dwarfing the makeshift buildings and tents which had sprouted all across the temporary township.
This, Eketi learnt, was the Magh Mela, an annual bathing festival. As he stood on the sandy riverbank, a procession of dancers and musicians arrived, preceded by a messenger who carried a turban a
loft on a pole. The musicians created a cacophony of gong and drum beats, conch shells and trumpets, heralding the arrival of the Naga sadhus. A mighty roar went up as a group of ash-smeared monks ran into the water wearing nothing but marigold garlands, brandishing steel swords and iron tridents and screaming, 'Glory to Mahadev!' Devotees moved away in fright or bowed in reverence the moment the naked Nagas appeared. Eketi stood transfixed as the sadhus splashed themselves with water and cartwheeled on the sand. He was fascinated by their long matted hair and fearful red eyes, but most of all he was fascinated by their utter disdain for clothes.
The Nagas were followed by the heads of the various spiritual sects. These saffron-wrapped saints arrived by various means of transport. One came on a spluttering tractor, while another sat on a silver throne in the back of a trailer. Some were borne aloft on leopard-skin rugs in jewelled palanquins, while others came in golden chariots with silk umbrellas, trailed by hundreds of followers singing their praises and chanting bhajans.
The converging point for all these groups was sangam, that sliver of water which demarcated the meeting point of north and west, where the yellowish-brown currents of the Ganga merged with the bluish-black waters of the Yamuna. The shallow water was crawling with shivering devotees. Men in various stages of undress, displaying all makes of underwear, ladies struggling to protect their modesty while offering prayers with both hands, little boys splashing in the muddy water. Orange marigold flowers bobbed on the water's surface alongside empty Tetra Pak containers and transparent plastic trash. Chants hailing Lord Shiva and Mother Ganges rent the air.
Eketi also took a quick dip in the cold water and then hung around the riverbank, enjoying the free puris and jalebis being doled out by well-heeled devotees, and generally lazing in the sun. When it became too hot he decided to explore the Mela grounds and walked straight into a makeshift bazaar, reeking of incense and spice. Here women tried on a million coloured glass bangles and purchased copious quantities of vermilion sindoor, while little children lay siege to toyshops, begging their fathers to buy them plastic guns and miniature glass animals. Roadside astrologers enticed customers with good-luck charms for everything under the sun. Book stalls did brisk trade with their cheaply printed devotional booklets and lurid posters spread out on the ground, where the old gods and goddesses – Krishna, Lakshmi, Shiva and Durga – jostled for space with new ones – Sachin Tendulkar, Salim Ilyasi, Shabnam Saxena and Shilpa Shetty. A flute vendor kept repeating the same monotonous tune, an indefatigable salesman tried to persuade housewives to try their hand at his seven-in-one aluminium grater, and a glib-talking hawker sold snake oil as a cure for impotence.