Prologue

They weren't the best of times for me

‘The Narrator’

(continued from the previous issue, NQ172)

The Visiting Card

(Part 2)

"Yes, I can offer you a drink and some sort of dinner: omelette," I said. "Thanks a lot; you know what sort of things we pigs normally eat?" said the pig. "This is different". "What will you have, sir?" I asked, once we were at my place, seating him on the best sofa I had. "Give me anything straight with just two ice cubes".

I poured him a double peg of Solan No. l and two ice cubes which were really squares, and a double for me with soda and ice. "Cheers," said the pig, and took a large sip. "Cheers sir," I said. "Wahaa! Ahaa! It's very fine whisky! Sometimes our Indian-made foreign liquor is really very good, isn't it Humnabadkar?" "Yes sir, at times," I said. He grunted, then went on: "Yes, in our country things are good only at times; otherwise they’re made shoddily and falsely. We take too much interest in the false and not in the truth. Maybe, we feel, because of the constant squalor and poverty we aren't able to grasp them. That's why counterfeiters, hypocrites, crooks and mediocrities are more in circulation among us, eh? Take any field—they rule. Anyway, Humnabadkar, that was a good idea you had..." "Which one sir?" "Using owls, snakes and pythons to finish the rats". "When did you hear me say it, sir?" "I was behind that shop of yours; yes, rats are the most frightful—if left uncontrolled, they can mother and sister-fuck us". "True, sir". "And there's only one Ramban remedy for them: the owl, the snake and the python". He went on: "Humnabadkar, don't tease me by calling me sir; I am a pig". "True sir, but I feel like addressing you as Sir". "It's O.K. then, Pandurang, I too would like to take up the profession of pest control; of course after my retirement, when I get my fund and all. That way I can still be of use". I didn’t comment. "Hmm...where can I get owls and snakes, Pandurang?" "Oh sir, there are many here, right here in this colony, snakes as well as owls." "But they’ll have to be trained; right?" 'Maybe a bit, a very little bit, because rats are their natural and favourite food." "It's a dream; but after I retire, we can be partners in a pest control firm. 'Suvver & Humnabadkar or Pandurang & Suvver; Pest Control; Owls, Snakes and Pythons Ltd. How does that sound?" "There’s one problem, Sir," "What's that?" "Sir, in our culture, owls and snakes are supposed to be ill omens; I don't think of any of us will have the courage to use them for this." "Arre Pandurang, that's the whole problem with man; knowing all the answers, nobody has the guts to put them into practice, so the threats will remain. Forget it; how far have you come in your work? Any news of Tukaram?" "No, I don't even know what he looks like...I went to his home to see his photos but instead got to see those of a cow, a buffalo, a donkey and a pig". "Rather confused about his identity, is he?" ''Not anymore I believe," I said. "His wife says he identifies with the cow; I think we’ll have to look for him as a cow; difficult job." "That's what happens to a self-effacing man like Tukaram; after having effaced himself he takes on a new identity which is difficult to trace." "You mean he’s a saint, Sir?" "Yes; or almost as difficult to trace," said the pig, and with his snout raised to the ceiling, gave a loud grunt; then, bending down in that typical gesture of his, when he had last brought out a police drawing of Tukaram, he now brought out four thick books, and offering them to me, put them on the table. "What's this sir?" I asked; they were dusty and moth-eaten. "Humnabadkar, these books may help you in your search for Tukaram, so I got them from my shelf; this one is a book on world history, that one full of dust contains selections from all religions, and those two beside them are on the lives of saints—one eastern, and this other one is on the saints of the west." "Sir, I have with me the Gathas of our saints," I told the pig. "Oh, then it's very good," said the pig, taking a large gulp of whisky. "But sir, Tukaram may not be a saint, or if he is, his sainthood may be limited to animals, in which case he may be easy to spot among them. But if he is also meant for mankind, then he’d be difficult to find perhaps, because he’d be self-effacing and thus hidden amongst us, right?" "You’re mistaken, Pandurang; even if his sainthood is limited to the animals, he’d still be difficult to find. How many cows, buffalos, pigs and donkeys will you pry open from the skin to find him?" "Well sir, I hope these books will help, which you’ve kindly brought for me". "They will, they will, I’m sure they will, because they’ll inform you about the culture of mankind, its tendencies concerning the seven deadly sins," said the pig. "Seven deadly sins?" I said. "Don't you know?" ''No sir," I said, "Haven't heard of them." "Well, I’ll tell you," said the pig. “They are: sloth, anger, greed, envy, pride, lust and gluttony". "Ah, I see,” I said. “But is this according to the western or the eastern system of thought?" "Pandurang, they’re common to both systems, there is no dispute over that; can you tell me which is the worst of the lot?" "Hmm, Sir, I’ll have to think it over," I said. "Then I’ll tell you," said the pig. "It's greed". "Not sloth or gluttony, Sir?" I said. "Ha ha, Humnabadkar; you’re taking a dig at us pigs, are you?" said the pig, taking a gulp of the drink and raising his snout to smell the piece of omelette I’d made; it was in his ungula, which he brought near his mouth and swallowed with relish. He continued, “Oh, yes; sloth and gluttony are bad enough but they’re self-limiting; but not greed; its rapacity and need to plunder knows no end; you needn't search for Tukaram among the greedy; you won't find him there; that much less work for you. "You mean Sir, there could be saints with the other deadly sins, but not with greed?" "You’re right, I can't conceive of a greedy saint". I took the heaviest book he’d brought; it was “World History", and was full of dust and crawling with book mites; there was also a small spider that ran away. I asked the pig, "Sir, have you read this world history?" "Arre, that book, 'World History'? How can I read that? I’m an Indian pig; not even an Indian-made foreign pig. I only rummage through desi dirt with my snout. "So you purchased these for me, Sir? Why did you take so much trouble, Sir?" "I buy books? My pay is just enough to feed my stomach." "Sir, how does pay feed your stomach?" "That's a good question; however, I feel you can answer it only negative1y." "Negatively?" I asked. Said the pig: “Read the lives of the saints and you will then understand why pay did not feed their stomachs." "But these books?" I asked. "Humnabadkar, they were bequeathed to me by my poor, long-dead father". He gave a grunt and finished two boiled eggs. "What was he?" I asked. "Oh, he was one of the pigs reared by the Bombay municipality to clean up the dirty areas of the city and was posted at Acharya Nagar, Chembur. It was there, one day, he found these books near a latrine, and being a saintly pig who knew their value, took them home for study, and 1eft them for me in his will. But the ways of fate are difficult to understand, so here they are for you". I went into the kitchen, got half a dozen boiled eggs and fried a whole pomfret which I’d marinated and kept in the refrigerator, and placed this before him. I opened one more bottle of Solan No. 1 and said, "Sir, you’re famous for not being corrupt and being very, very clean." "Yes, because I clean up as only a pig can," it said. "But Sir, if I may say so, you also relish good food and drink; how do you manage it on your pay?" "That's because good friends like you, Haldankar and many others host me regularly. I go to them by rotation. Once people know you’re a good clean policeman, they aren't afraid of you, their doors are open to you and they go out of their way to bring you the goodies. You’ll be surprised, Pandurang that common people, out of sheer love and regard, go on sending goodies to my p1ace quite regularly." "It's really great that people now understand and value honesty." I said, and gave him a large piece of fresh, fried rawas which he smelled and then ate with re1ish. "I must say, Humnabadkar, you do take care of your guests...you must be doing pretty well, eh?" "No sir," I told the pig. In fact, I just lost a good job; all this is due to the goodness of Haldankar who as you know has employed me to search out Karmarkar." "I see; Haldankar and Karmarkar: Karmarkar and Haldankar..." it mused to itself. "Two radically opposite personalities..." I said. "Are they? I know only Haldankar; I know nothing about Karmarkar". "Know Karmarkar? Think of a person who’s the total opposite of our friend Haldankar and there you may have him…I’ll give you a tip..." "Please, Sir". "It's only a tip, the tip of the iceberg, you understand? The iceberg you’ll have to bring up with your hands. You’ll earn your money then. Show the world you can do it." "Yes sir, that's actually my endeavour." "Good then, go to Haldankar's home, see his study and observe it carefully; you may get a few pointers". "Yes sir, I’ll do that". "Yes, but go early at seven, without appointment". "I shall go tomorrow morning itself, Sir". "Achha, you’ve now met Karmarkar's wife, eh?" "As you know, Sir". ''What did you think of her?" "Quite a nice person..." "But you got angry with me for making that coarse crack about her?" "Sorry about that, Sir, I was worked up". "Don't be sorry, but don't you think you’ve seen her somewhere?" "How do you know that, Sir?" I said, all excited. "That's what has been bothering me since I saw her. Her face is familiar, I’m scratching my head to remember it". "Don't scratch your head Humnabadkar, scratch your balls or cock instead, then you may remember". "Sir, I think you’re making fun of me again". "No, Pandurang, I’m not; this is an extra and second tip," and raising its snout it gave a loud grunt, looking at the wall clock. It was nearly one. It now got up. There was suddenly a knock on the door, followed by a bark and a mew. I opened the door. Standing on their hind legs were a tall dog and a fat cat with grey eyes and large whiskers. Both in police uniforms. They came in and stiffly saluted the pig, the dog with his tongue lolling out. "Please meet my trusted assistants, sub-inspector Kuttha and sub-inspector Billy from the C.I.D, and my friend and private searcher of the truth, Pandurang Humnabadkar". They bowed and I bowed in return. "Come, boys, let's make a move," said the pig. But instead of going out by the front door, they went through my sleeping room, entered the balcony and climbed down via the water pipe, and jumped over the building wall into the large lake-like khadi that was behind our society. It was low tide, and by the light of the large gold-coloured, f1uorescent municipal lamps along the Eastern Express Highway, just beyond the khadi, I saw the three of them walking fast through the wet mud. A rather odd way of reaching the highway, I thought. I waited on the balcony for quite a while, hoping to see them all wet and muddy on the highway. I waited in vain; they’d disappeared. The highway looked quiet and empty.

I followed the pig's advice and was at Haldankar villa at seven a.m. It’s situated on the Vittal chowk on Lal Bahadur Shastri Marg near Meher Talkies. The chowk is known as Vittal chowk because of a small but ancient Vittal temple nearby which is mostly visited by the poor devotees who live in the more decrepit parts of Thane and work as maidservants, cooks, hotel boys and menials in that residential area which belonged to the rich people of Thane. The place is good enough but not like the traditional posh areas of Bombay, like Marine Drive, Malabar Hill, Breach Candy, Cuffe Parade and so on; because, after all, Thane is just the beginning of the tail of the large, awkward animal that is Bombay; its face being the presentable south, the rest being what it is: the body of a dying crocodile. Haldankar was at home, in shorts and in T-shirt, sipping tea and wiping sweat off his forehead, a newspaper in front. His feet were in Nike sports shoes; looked like he’d come from a jog and a visit to the Maruti temple; he had shendoor on his forehead. He saw me and looked a bit surprised though not put off. "Arre, buwa, what brings you here?" "Doctor, I’ve come to tell about my work on Karmarkar's disappearance". "Hmm, since you’re here anyway, come on in". I went in. "Now tell me," he said. "Let me start at the beginning; the first event: I encashed your cheque and started the investigations". "What do you mean? You don't trust me? You should’ve started the job first, then encashed the cheque". "Oh no, doctor, there’s no question of trust; I’m broke". "Oh sorry, I didn't think about that". "No problem, Sir". I started to tell more when he stopped me. "Arre, wait. Let me have a bath; go to my study and wait, we can then talk at ease". He took me to his study and through it went off to the bath. I was now alone, so I started to look around as per the pig's advice. It was a strange room with an air of eeriness. On all four walls were hung very finely done coloured photos in costly frames. All Haldankar’s. In one he was Napoleon on horseback. I noticed he had tried to make himself look short and squat like Bonaparte with the same hair style and hand placed in the vest pocket. In another he was Adolf Hitler with the swastika flag in the background giving the Nazi salute. In another he was Chatrapati Shivaji on horseback with the Bhawani sword drawn. In yet another frame he was Chengiz Khan. There were also two photos in which he was the blessing Christ. All these were on one wall. The other three were full of him in a leonine pose. In one he was on a hillock with a lioness (maybe Mrs. Haldankar), with a far-off, master of all I survey look. But at the centre of all these leonine poses was the gruesome photo of Haldankar as Narsimha tearing out the bloody innards of the demon Hiranyakashyapu. The intestines and the body looked very real; most probably a dressed-up corpse of one of the accident patients because the body looked all mangled up and I couldn't conceive of Haldankar committing homicide to get such a pose. Anyway, I was looking at all these as though in a trance when I heard footsteps and saw standing in the doorway, Narsimha, the lion-man God, staring at me. Obviously, Haldankar was a master of make-up. The lion's head was too real to me to relate it to the lion masks put on by the Dashavatar players of Konkan. Then all of a sudden, he started for me with fangs bared and claws out! I understood then that I was in a strange twilight world where anything could happen, and oddly enough began to recall the various calendar paintings of Narsimha and Hiranyakashyapu I’d seen in the distant past, especially a gory one of Venus beedi works, where Narasimha was shown chewing up the demon's intestines. Maybe because goat intestines was one of my favourite meats. But he stopped all of a sudden, gave a loud roar and said, "Whenever I’m in this form of Narasimha and see a human, I see the demon Hiranyakashyapu and I’m tempted to tear open his insides...anyway, Pandurang, what are you observing?" I gulped and said, "These photos, 1 didn't know you had such a great love for the theatre". "Theatre my balls! You think all this is a play? Do you!" he said in the sharp tone of a misunderstood man. I said, ''No, not exactly; these photos in which you’re Shivaji, Napoleon, Hitler, Christ show your preference for solo roles, maybe just for yourself”. "Not roles, really”. "Then what?" "That's me. The me that I’ve kept hidden from others, and even from myself”. "I see”. "Yes, but I had a strange realization sometime back which I’m unable to fully understand yet, and therefore am unable to talk about it; but because of it, I shall be removing these photos of Christ, Hitler and so on and keep only the photos of the lion and Narsimha". "Why so? You look so real in them". "Because Pandurang, I’ve arrived at last!" "Where?" "Before you, before the world!" "Ha Ha Ha!" I laughed weak1y, “you aren't really serious about this avatar business". "Oh Pandurang," said the lion. "You are truly Pandurang, standing immovable on a brick, immaculately in one place. Pandurang Varda Hari Vittal! My dear boy, why so sceptical about the avatars?" "Oh, so many avatars, messiahs: saviours, saints and mahatmas; it's not enough. We’re still not saved, and are still in darkness and squalor. What's happened?" "You’re right, we’re in a hell; but for us to be removed from here, we need thousands, lakhs and crores of avatars, messiahs, bodhisattvas, saints and mahatmas! What can just ten avatars, a few messiahs and still fewer saviours achieve?" "Very true". I heard a familiar voice from the doorway, then there was a loud grunt, a snout showed itself and the pig entered. It looked as though it hadn't changed its clothes after crossing the khadi and most probably slept in them. The lower portion of his trousers had a lot of mud caked on it and the shoes also had a layer so thick, making them look grotesque and enormous. "Oh come in, come in pig," said the lion. "Oh, I would’ve come in anyway," said the pig. "After all, I’m second in the genealogy of our avatars, except that I lack tusks to hold the earth; but I’ll get them soon and come into my own". And it held its first two fingers a little diagonally near its snout to make them look like tusks and gave a grunt. "Yes, then I came on the scene and the picture changed," said the lion and let out a roar. The pig grunted and the lion roared, again and again. They wouldn't stop despite my pleas, for I found the noise too hard on my ears and on my body. I’d learned from my karate guru, Swaminathan, a very powerful weapon to be used when one single-handed1y faces too many enemies at a time. He’d told me to use it only when all other means fail. It was this: collect from one's stomach and entrails the noxious, stinking gases and expel them via the mouth. They will, he said, make a whole herd of elephants pass out. I bowed to Swaminathan in the direction of Sion, where he lived, and with great effort collected the mixture of gases and threw it out and waited for the pig and the lion to drop—but nothing happened and they went on with their noise, increasing its crescendo to now unbearable decibels. The gas now started to come back to me; I started sweating profusely and passed out. When I came to they had stopped and the pig was putting a glass of brandy to my mouth. The first thing I asked the pig was, "Sir, didn’t you get the horrible stink?" The pig said, “I, Humnabadkar, I got the smell, not the stink; I’m a pig and live in what you would call a stink, but for me it’s my life and blood". I turned to the lion and asked, “Doctor, what about you?" He said, "Pandurang, the lion often eats rank carrion, full of maggots; he re1ishes it like many humans do Gorgonzola cheese, like you love the suka bangda, but at the smell of which a Tamil brahmin can easily puke and pass out". I said, "I’m beginning to understand; but what were you two trying to do, grunting and roaring at each other? Were you competing to see who’s stronger?" The lion said, "No, these were our confirming and reconfirming statements to assert our commitment and duty to our animal kingdom". "With roars and grunts?" I asked. The pig said, "You’re too young to know about all that, Pandurang". The lion said, "Come pig, tell him; he’s mature and hunts and forages for his food". The pig said, “Oh, lion; he’s human and humans never have understood animals". "Really?" I asked. "Yes," it said. "Because we’re above you, just as God is above us. That's why you call us janwar, janawar meaning above people". "Sir, you make good puns," I said. "Really?" "Yes," said the pig with a grunt. "It's better than making Huns". "Anyway, take this and try it on at home, something for you to wear," said the lion, putting a big parcel in my hands. I found some stiff black hairs sticking out of a plastic cover, and without giving it a second thought, I shoved it into the large shabnam bag I always carry. Just then the lion rang the bell button on the wall and said, "Let’s have some refreshments". And we all sat down. After a couple of minutes, a horse entered on its hind legs, wearing a sort of bearer's uniform on its upper body, carrying a large tea tray, followed by a chimp carrying a tray full of eats. As we started to sip the tea, there was the ringing of a bell at the door. The pig was about to say something when the horse ushered in the pig's assistants I’d met last night: sub-inspector Dog and sub-inspector Cat. They stood at the door and stiffly saluted the pig, which returned the salute. They were about to say something to the pig when it looked askance at the lion who invited them to join in for tea. The horse brought in some more tea and the chimp a large tray of cheese sandwiches. The dog's nose was wet and the cat smelled faintly of fish. When the pig introduced them to the lion, they bowed to him with great, almost cringing deference, which he acknowledged with a nod and a soft roar and asked them to sit down. In the middle of a cheese sandwich, the cat looked at the pig and mewed. Which made the pig address them both: "Listen boys, when at the table, eat first, only then talk business, understand?" The cat nodded, it seemed to me, with relief and the dog gave a joyous bark and everybody pounced on the food and tea.

That day was a very pleasant one. But the next morning at eight I had a call from Haldankar to come immediately to his residence. I went and found him distraught. He had an important lobotomy (excising the white tissue of the frontal lobe of the brain to relieve a rare case of mental disorder—the patient was raving mad) to perform which needed the anesthesia expertise of Tukaram Karmarkar. His usual psychiatric treatment, involving the primordial and the primitive, had failed. "Here," he said, "I can't match illusions with greater illusions created by me. I have to deal with a real brain disease, and that’s real tough work Pandurang, with all that opening of a tile in the skull and then closing it again. The opened body is a sort of Pandora's box in the reverse you know". I said, "I think reality is an anus-faced Pandora's box". "You mean Janus-faced?" "No, I mean anus-faced; it spews out as well as sucks in a lot of shit". "0h, forgive Pandora, Pandurang, she knows not what she does. Anyway, how far have you come in your search for Tukaram? I need him more than ever; I’ve been held up badly. In two days I must have him". "I’ll do my best; I must tell you that during my investigations I found he had purchased a clinic at Gopal Nagar, a zopadpatti behind my place; he has named it Gomata clinic!" "Arre, Pandurang, it was I who’d suggested the place to him”. "You? How did you?" "Well, you know, the place is just off the Eastern Express highway. One day, while off to Bombay, I noticed the Gopal Nagar board; in my childhood I had a good friend named Gopal who died of typhoid, and I was suddenly reminded of him. I turned my car inside; instead of going to my destination in Bombay, I visited your Gopal Nagar, in memory of my long dead friend from childhood". "Oh, I see!” I said. "Oh, Pandurang, I tell you, I was completely enchanted by that zopadpatti of yours. It reminded me so much of my native Haldan, I really can't tell you! I was lifted off my feet. Such completeness in miniature, a small Gokul! At last I saw my native place in Bombay!" "I thought you were very much an urban Bombayite, doctor". “Oh, I know, I know, I live in the city but deep down I’m a villager; what can I tell you? I haven't seen my Haldan for more than a decade. It's impossible because of this large, cursed practice of mine. Yes, I know the gods have been kind to me and I’ve prospered. So what do I do? Whenever I have some time off, I visit the various zopadpattis of Bombay. I like all of them and their inhabitants, whatever religious and linguistic group they may belong to. They’re like my village folk. I have tea with them, sometimes they offer me paan with kimam, sometimes I offer them, and then I go back to my work much rested". "I’m glad that in your busy schedule you could find some diversion and peace," I said. "You see, Pandurang, in the zopadpatti there is manuski, the human touch and warmth of feeling for one's fellow men. There’s the art and esoteric knowledge of the village". "I see..." "Do you know that the vaidus there claim to cure cancer, fistula, asthma, impotence (after V.D.) and AIDS?" "Yes, I’ve seen the boards making such claims, but I’ve always wondered how a person from a certain zopadpatti, and suffering, say, from impotence (after gonorrhea), goes to a vaidu there without letting his neighbours and others know about it". “Are you such a simpleton, Humnabadkar?" said a third voice, followed by a grunt. The pig had entered the room, smoking a beedi and letting out of his snout greyish-black smoke; it carried a newspaper in its ungula. I looked at him questioningly. It continued. "Arre, does Bombay have just a few zopadpattis? Can't a man with syphilis or impotence from one zopadpatti go to another one for treatment and keep his problem to himself?" The lion looked at the pig and said, "The pig is right; in my rounds there I found syphilitics from Indira zopadpatti going to Azmi Nagar zopadpatti's famous Bade Miya Hakim; the people of your Gopal Nagar go to Baiganwadi's Sheikh Baba for impotence, the Azmiwallahs go to Kudrati zopadpatti for gonorrhea, and everyone, I am told, goes to Haji Malangwadi where the aswalwallahs live, making magic gandas and taeeths; lockets with bear hairs to ward off disease, misfortune and black magic, right, pig?" "That's right," said the pig. Then he asked the pig, "Pig, where exactly is Haji Malangwadi?" "Haji Malangwadi?” said the pig. "It's across the Eastern highway's Naik chowk, beyond which is a moderately large khadi; after crossing it, there’s a narrow pathway that goes round a hill, on which not more than two can walk together; this goes for a mile above on the hill and where it ends is Haji Malangwadi". "That's pretty far," said the lion. "And crossing the khadi must be a Job?" "Not for those used to it," said the pig. "I understand," said the lion. The pig went on, "You see, the police department, especially our C.I.D., makes use of this khadi to train our men for difficult terrain exercises to catch criminals". "Great! I must visit that place; who stays there?" "There? Aswalwallahs, with their black bears, bandarwallahs with their monkeys, also angar and dhoopwallah fakirs," said the pig. "That's true, there are lots of those; they also manufacture the dhoop mixture there which they sell in the city," I intervened. "Wah, Pandurang!" said the lion with appreciation. "You’re great; how do you know all this?" “Oh, I know their chief dhoopwala, who comes regularly to our Vittal's shop to sell his wares. They’re effective against mosquitoes and have a wonderful aroma. He tells me it's a rare, secret and sacred form of incense". "Pandurang," the lion asked me, "How come you have such a great interest in zopadpattis?" "Because, like you, I too am a villager; whenever I get tired of Bombay life, I make rounds of the various zopadpattis; then I feel better," I replied. The pig said, ''Humnabadkar, have you ever visited Lobowadi?" I said, "I usually visit Azmi, Gopal, Indira and Kadam Nagars. I haven't been to Lobowadi; I think it's also called Dukkerwadi; but why do you ask, Sir?" said the pig. "It's full of pigs; I’ve taken a room there which I’ve converted into a gutter for their pleasure". Then it ruminated, raising its snout in the air, "Lao Tse, the great Chinese sage has a saying: 'A man always looks at things in front of his hands and a pig at things in front of its feet’. "What's that, Sir?" "Food". "As I was saying," said the lion, "The cow, Karmarkar, took the Gomata clinic on my advice. A little further along the khadi, I’ll be setting up my Lion Clinic; you know the board maker Abdul, Pandurang. Please see how far my board has come". "Right, I’ll do that, doctor; anything special on that board? I ask because the Gomata board seems to be quite original". "Yes. Very; I have some time on hand; I’ll describe the board. Pig, please listen and do stop smoking those obnoxious beedis, will you? Have these toasted Turkish cigarettes instead". "I will if you say so," said the pig. "But these beedis are made of tobacco and tendu leaves specially matured and cured in turds. But please go ahead with your description of the board. I’m all ears". "Yes, the Lion Clinic board is like this," said the lion. "It's ten feet by ten feet; I’d like you to check this with Abdul; I don't want a centimeter more or less". I nodded. “At the top centre is a hairy OM". "Hairy OM?" I asked. "What's that?" "Hairy in the sense that it has a mane; of course of the colour of a lion. On both sides it has two lion heads facing each other, their mouths opened and fangs bared. It should look as though these heads emerged from the repercussions of the OM's sound". "That's quite a job for Abdul; I suppose he can manage it with his excellent calligraphy,” I said. The lion went on: "Beneath each lion head is a flying eagle facing the onlooker, a snake in its claws; the snake in turn has in its mouth a half-swallowed frog, which has on its tongue a fly. Beneath each frog is a triple red cross and in between the set of red crosses will be my name and qualifications in capital letters". "Excuse me, Tukaram Karmarkar will be practising as a cow and you...?" I asked. "Of course as a lion," said the lion. "Anything else, Pandurang?" "There is one more thing; in your projected drawing of the eagle and the snake, don't you think you’ll be doing injustice to the snake?" "How’s that?" I said. "It's a bad comment on the snake; its favourite food is the pesty rat, not the frog which eats the flies," said the lion. "I agree, but don’t read too much into that; I just wanted to symbolize that on earth we live by eating each other," I said. "True, but your board will only add to the already prevailing prejudice against the snakes amongst the Gopal Nagar folk. They’ll start killing the snakes, with the result that the rats will multiply and that place is full of grain godowns, remember?" "Oh, I forgot; I should do something about that. What do you suggest?" "Show the rat in an eagle’s beak or in its claws and show the snake as a sacred emblem on the board. Maybe the people of Gopal Nagar will start worshipping the snakes and start destroying the rats". "Hmm, good idea, what do you think, pig?" "Very sensible indeed," said the pig. "In that case, Pandurang, ask Abdul to work on the hairy OM and the lion heads for the time being; tell him I’ll work out the other things later". The pig said, "I’m on the board of the Bombay Citizens Pest Control Club, BCPC for short. I look after the North-east zone, extending from Dadar’s Khodadad Circle, Sion, Chembur, Kurla east and west, right up to Mulund. Honorary work. Recently, I’d been to Gopal Nagar when they came to the club with their rat problem. I showed them how the snakes eat rats by taking them near the rat holes there at night, with the help of candlelight; and once, by the light of the full moon, they saw it all happen. I told them also about owls; how a pair nesting in a godown can clean up mice and rats as fast as they multiply. Then I lectured them about the beneficial effects of snakes, and told them I was also on the board of the amateur Hereptologists Association of India..." "So?" said the lion. The pig said, "Though they saw it all happen right before their eyes, they were reluctant to use snakes and owls for pest control. They’re basically very conservative folk; even the godown owners, who’re businessmen, find the whole concept revolutionary and anarchist; destabilizing in fact". "Then the only thing is to show by example," said the lion. "No, by conversion,” said the pig. "Conversion is better". "Excuse me," I intervened, and spoke to the lion. "You say that you’re building the lion clinic on the khadi; how?" "That's a secret between the pig and me. I shall tell you when time becomes yellow". "Ripeness is all," grunted the pig. "Oh, that reminds me," said the lion. "Pandurang, congratulate the pig; he is in for great times". I congratulated the pig and then asked, "What times? Why?" The lion brought out from his drawer two large, curved tusks of the boar and said, "Because I’m going to implant these tusks on him and then he won't be a pig but a boar". At that I congratulated the pig again, got up and said, "So sir, you won't be amongst the pigs anymore?" "How can that be, Humnabadkar? They’re my people and a boar is but a pig with teeth. I shall now be a fire for my people in their mire". I turned to the lion and said, "Now, I must get on with my job; I shall call again on Mrs. Karmarkar and see if I can get any leads on the cow". "Are you going there right now?" asked the pig. "Yes". "Humnabadkar, I don't think you’ll find her awake; she would be sleeping after her night shooting for the three X film, "Teen Tera"; go after five". What's that?" asked the lion. "Oh, nothing," said the pig. "Tukaram's wife has landed a lucrative contract some months back to act in an Asrani triple blue video"; it stopped, grunted, lit a cigarette and continued, "She has acted in three blue films till now, all popular in the circuit; the present rage being “Teen Deviyan”. And it looked at me pointedly, winked and continued, "It's a film with a lot of cunt and cock-sucking, lesbian episodes, sodomy, straight sex and orgies. Now Humnabadkar, you understand why you found Mrs. Karmarkar's face so familiar?" "My God!" I exclaimed as my mind lighted up knowingly and my body went tumescent. "Oh, that's O.K. by me," said the lion. I said to the pig, "Sir, how could you know that I’d seen that film?" "Elementary, dear Humnabadkar," said the pig. "The cassette was on your table with its title towards me". "Sir, I thought I’d kept it well hidden! Sir, your sense perceptions are extraordinary". "That's an everyday affair for us pigs". It said, "Do you know, only we pigs can find out the priceless mushroom truffle hidden in the forested earth?" "Yes, I’ve read that it's one of the tastiest things on earth for man; pigs and dogs are good at scouring it and pigs do it better than dogs," I said. "There are three possibilities concerning Karmarkar cow," said the lion, "all revolving around the structure and symbol of the panjarpole ” He was obsessed with the idea behind the place. “In my opinion, possibility one is that he’s alive and at a panjarpole, happily mixing with the cows there; two, he may have already been sold to the butcher by the corrupt panjarpole officials, in which case he must be butchered by now and his flesh sold; the third one is that he’s now in the process of being sold to the butcher as we’re talking, and is on his way to the abattoir". The pig said, "I’ve already posted my men at all known panjarpoles and slaughterhouses. Sub-inspectors Dog and Cat are in charge of the whole operation. Humnabadkar can go to the unknown panjarpoles and slaughter houses to search for the truth".

I caught the 12:30 Thane local for home. The tumescence I’d experienced at the lion's place after learning about Mrs. Karmarkar’s work in blue films developed during the journey into an overpowering and uncontrollable sexual urge. It hit me in the gut all of a sudden. It was so unrestrained that I felt I was floating above my seat, and while so floating began to rea1ize that such deep and powerful sexual desires, if unfulfilled, can be one of the most gnawingly tragic things in a virile life. I now began to have total recall of the blue film, 'Teen Deviyan' while looking out of the train window. I remembered the woman with large, sexually attractive buttocks, a slim waist, small firm breasts and a round face with blue eyes. That was Mrs. Karmarkar. But what obsessed me most about her, virtually putting me in a thrall, was her extraordinary looking sexual organ, which gave promise of great pleasure. It was large, with the labia majora prominent and sensual, and through the slit jutted out the labia minora like leaves or the large petal of a lotus; the right minora was pierced with a diamond nathni, a large gold ring with a diamond. The clitoris was large and firm. It was the dream organ of cunnilinguists, on which to play their pipes. I was simply enamoured and bewitched, and when I learned that its possessor was living just next door, I began to levitate at the possibility of a sexual feast of cunnilingus. Slorp, slurp and eat; rub your whole face on the moist open lips, take in its smell and get daubed by its wetness in a ripeness that is all. I wanted Mrs. Karmarkar at all cost now, and started making plans to seduce her. But, something must have been odd with me. In my compartment (it was 1st class), there was a large group of college-going girls and a few women in their prime. There were not many men in the compartment today. All of a sudden the girls stopped their gossip and seemed to have become restless, and started looking at me through the corner of their eyes; a lady sitting by my side moved closer, with her eyes widened and nostrils flared; I could feel the pressure of her shoulder increasing, but she pretended to look at the ceiling. I could see her nostrils working with her mouth open, showing her teeth, which were large and well kept. The girls all of a sudden started to giggle, and as though throwing all caution to the wind, with noses turned up, began to smell the air blowing from my side. I now understood; I was being sniffed at by the females! And now I began to get their smell too; a warm, welcoming, libidinous odour which was a delight; it was like the odour of fresh neera with more tang. The men now began to smell it. A man who was working on his calculator seriously lifted his head and fingered his crotch; the other two opened up their safari jackets, though it wasn't hot, and put their hands inside their trousers to have a feel. One of them was telling the other about the strong aphrodisiac properties of the kimam paan they just had, and that he was now ready to fuck even a mare. I was bewildered, as the woman by my side was breathing on my neck, making her intentions clear, when the spell was broken by a loud fart from one of the men. It took some time for the foul air to go away and the sexual spell might have built up all over again, except that the next station we entered was Kurla, where I was to get down. As the train passed me, I saw the lady had taken my seat, and with her wide eyes, open mouth and flared nostrils, was taking in as much air as she could through the window; the girls had all assembled at the compartment door, doing the same thing. I waved out to all of them and they all waved back. One girl threw a long stemmed rose at me; it missed me by an inch, fell on the ground and was picked up by someone else.

It was just one thirty by the Kurla station clock. But despite the pig's suggestion that it would be better to go to Mrs. Karmarkar around five in the evening, I decided to see her immediately. I had to. I took an autorickshaw straight to her place. The doorbell didn't seem to work. I knocked hard on the door; after a while it was opened by a lady in her fifties, but smooth of skin and fair, with grey sexy eyes; she was in the traditional nine-yard saree and looked like she was Mrs. Karmarkar's mother. She looked her age but was remarkably well kept by any standards of attractiveness to the male. When she opened the door, she stood there for a moment, looked at me and then let me in. Behind her, I saw the maidservant turning up her nostrils in my direction. Obviously, the old lady wasn't getting the odour or was impervious to it; then all of a sudden, there was a gentle breeze floating around and she got it! "Oh baiee!" she exclaimed, "This is the smell of a man in heat! Come Shalu, experience it for yourself. Beyond her I saw Shalu, i.e., Mrs. Karmarkar, in a sleeveless negligee-like household gown working on crossword puzzles in a Marathi paper. When she saw me she got up. "I’m fed up of male odours for the moment, mother," she said. She looked worn out and tired. "Who is he?" the mother asked. "He is Mr. Humnabadkar, private detective; stays in the building next door. Haldankar has employed him to search out Tukaram". Then she turned to me and said, "She is my mother, Mrs. Pendarkar". I said namaskar to the old lady and said, "Yours was a love marriage, madam". "Yes, but how did you know?" "Elementary, Mrs. Pendarkar, your husband is a Deshashtha brahmin and you are obviously a Kokanastha brahmin, and in your time, pardon me, such a marriage could only take place out of revolt or love or both and you are a person, I feel, who’d revolt for love". "Yes, you’re right, it was for both". "But not very happy, if I’m not mistaken ". "Why do you say that?" "Because of the cultural differences between your two brahmin communities". "You’re right, Humnabadkar, I always felt I was superior to him and till his death he tried to prove to me that it wasn't so; in fact, he died during one such attempt". "Oh, I’m sorry". "It's all right, because he now regularly visits me in dreams, trying to prove this by wondrous feats; not a night goes by without his doing something miraculous in my dreams; like last night when he showed me that he could fly like a bird. Please sit down; I’ll make you some tea". "You’re still very attractive Madam," I said. "See, Shalu," she said to her daughter. "The male in heat is interested in only one thing; all else is hot air". "Discreet and cultured males find peace in masturbation, mother," Shalu said. "The peace of masturbation is the peace of the smashan, the peace of the grave, girl," Mrs. Pendarkar said, and she went to the kitchen to make tea. "Who’s the fortunate lady who was brought to this state, Mr. Humnabadkar?" Shalu Karmarkar asked, with a smile. ''It's a long story, madam," I said. "Oh, please tell me, don't mind my mother; as you’ve seen, she loves such things". "Well, madam, it all began when I watched “Teen Deviyan...". "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, "Gope Asrani is proving himself to be superfast; you saw it?" “Yes, and I liked what I saw". Thank you, I’ll tell Gope; he’ll be happy. You know, he’s producing these for export. Did you notice those three sadhus in the film?" "Yes, they were very impressive as studs". "Gope is very particular about these things; he’s a very thorough man". "I see". "He wants to promote and show the world the erotic side of our cu1ture; Vatsayana, Khajuraho, the various kama asanas, our love potions and ultimately, our total spiritual philosophy". I could muster up some enthusiasm and say, "Wonderful!" "Yes, during our love scene in the grassy field, when I was entered in my three places by the three sadhus, did you notice a white, cud-chewing cow along with the other cows looking on placidly at the orgy?" "Yes". Then it suddenly struck me to ask, "Was that Tukaram, madam?" "Yes, 'Teen Deviyan' was filmed at Murud, and Tukaram in one of his offbeat moods had already gone there—as he likes that place a lot—to relax with the cows in the panjarpole there. When they were let out to graze by themselves, they came upon us unobtrusively while the shooting was going on, and seeing them, Gope asked the cameraman to shoot them to get a special cultural and ethnic effect. He feels that the cows were a godsend, and this scene will be appreciated in the West and help them understand us". I nodded my head. She suddenly pitched her voice sharply and said, "All right, now tell me why the film affected you so much?" The mother came in with three cups of tea and put one in my hands. "Should I?" I said, sipping my tea. "Yes, yes, don't feel shy, Humnabadkar, about the cause of your being in heat; if you don't tell, I’ll get angry". "In that case, I’ll tell you madam. In the film was a beautiful young lady with a diamond ring on her right labia minora; she, I’m afraid, is the cause of my rutting". "Oh my, I was afraid of just that; sorry, I can't help you there; and my mother will vouch for this: the only man in my life is Tukaram...right mother?” The old lady nodded, sipping her tea. "But..." I said with some hesitation. "Oh, you mean my work in this film? You’re mistaken, Mr. Humnabadkar, I’m not a woman of loose morals...no I’m not angry; anyone in your p1ace would’ve thought so, I can understand that. See, Tukaram taught me that each organ or part of the body is as good as the other, all are equal, and if one can work honestly for one's belly and creature comforts with one's hands or brain, there’s no reason one can't do it with one's private parts. Tukaram can’t earn much, so the responsibility is on me to keep the house running, and only this work gives me enough and a little more. You know, I’m not highly qualified and all that...". My face dropped, and I got up to go when she said. "Don't feel so bad, there’s one way for you to get what you want". "What's that?" I asked. "To join Gope's team of studs". "I see". "Because then, I wouldn't mind, it would be just a job; but for that you must be well equipped, eight inches at least; smaller than that the camera doesn't find it photogenic". At that moment there was a loud knock on the door but as it wasn't latched, it opened by the force of the knock and I saw a boar standing, its tusks markedly sharp and huge. It was the pig now transformed into a boar. It bowed to the women and said, "Inspector pig of the C.I.D.; now Chief Inspector Boar of the same". The women introduced themselves. I congratulated the pig on both counts; on becoming a boar, and getting promoted to a much higher post. It shook its ungula in my hand and said, "Humnabadkar, when my superior saw me with these tusks, they promoted me with immediate effect". It then turned to the women and said, ''Now ladies, your help is needed; an hour ago there was an urgent message from the police, that a white cow is lying outside the Deonar abattoir. Will you please come with me to identify if it is Tukaram? Humnabadkar, you too can join us".

It’s not really that far from my house to the Deonar abattoir. Beyond lies Haji Malang Nagar, inhabited by the bear-keeping dervish men, the asvalwallahs, the monkey-keeping makadwallahs, the incense makers, the dhoopwallahs. When we came out of Karmarkar's building, I saw an asvalwallah playing on a damru and making a large bear dance to an old film tune. This tune was my poor dead friend, Doctor Patkar’s favourite. It played often on his lips. I was suddenly reminded of the abrupt tragedy that struck him and later me too. I looked at the asvalwallah; he was a new one but there was something familiar about him that struck me; he too looked at me and then turned his eyes back to his act; then he started playing the damru rather fast and he played it well. Anyhow, I didn’t have any time for him now as the police jeep was purring, the ladies had taken the backseat and I joined them there. In the driver's seat was sub-inspector Cat and the boar sat by its side. At Chembur Naka, near Vijay Talkies, was the usual line of cars and lorries at the red light. There was nothing to do but wait and watch. Just opposite us, near the Santoshi Mata temple, was sitting a bare-bodied adivasi with shining black skin and a colourful turban; he had kept before him his wares, two live lizards tied to a small stake, and in a large pan, six dried and gutted large ones in oil. There was also a row of medium-sized bottles containing a brown-coloured oil and a large bunch of dried roots and herbs. Raising its snout, the boar said, "The oil from these lizards is good for bone and joint pains. I’m told it's good for impotence as well. So, Humnabadkar? This man is in the same line as you were once recently in: hawking medicine". "Yes," I said, "But this is indigenous". At this the cat said, "I’m from Roha; there in the middle of the town is a big peepul tree; in the daytime you’ll see on its branches thousands of big bats, hanging upside down while sleeping; asthmatics who eat an entire bat alive are rid of the disease; your damned allopathic medicines can go to dogs!" It then mewed. "Are there owls in Roha?" I asked. "Yes, plenty of owls; they’re our distant cousins, you know; you can make out by the strong likeness in our features. I know many of them; at night they come out and sit on the tree branches and rooftops and converse and then go hunting for their breakfast. Here in Bombay there aren't many..." "There are many in our Chembur," I said. "Yes, I meet them regularly on my nightly police prowl. They’re very good informers about local criminal activity. Many criminals are behind bars, thanks to these owls". A 1ittle further was a makadwallah with his three monkeys showing off their learning. All three were in baby frocks. There was no-one watching; most of them were now standing before the medicine man. "That makadwallah is an idiot," I said in anger. "Why do you say that?" said the boar. "Both are too close to one another to have enough people visiting them; that makadwallah should’ve been much farther away. See, he isn't making any money". "You’re right, but what can he do? Bombay isn't the same old town," said the boar. "There are very few vacant places now; before, we pigs had a whole lot of places in Bombay to roam and lie down in; to play and make love; we used to see kids play cricket, lagori, vitidandu, both morning and evening; then there would be the people of God, roaming free1y: Vasudev, Pothraj, Vaaghya, Kadakalaxmi, the five legged bull, the asval and the makadwallahs, the magician; the dombaris would entertain the city folk, more particularly, the children. These people would open a new world for the children, the world of wonder and fear. All that's gone and going; so much so, that you feel like crying over it". At this, there was a loud sob followed by a mew. It was the sub-inspector Cat. It was sobbing uncontrollably. "What's wrong, Sub-inspector?" asked the boar. "I was reminded of a Vaghyaa who used to come to Roha; he always had a glass of milk for me and a pat on the head," said the cat; there were two big tears glistening in his eyes. I was worried and said to the cat, "Sub-inspector, wipe your eyes and please don't cry, you’re driving". "Don't worry," said the cat, "I’m in the habit of crying when I drive". "You don't know the sub inspector, Humnabadkar. Cat uses his tears as bi-foca1s; if need be he can use them as magnifying glasses or even as a telescope. Show him, Cat," said the boar. The Cat then showed us the various wonders it could perform with its tears. It could make the teardrops go round and round between its eyelids, then fix them like thick marbles on the eyeballs, elongate them like mini-telescopes and broaden them like small magnifying glasses! Before it could do something more, the signal turned green and we went ahead. Then the boar said to me, ''Humnabadkar, you’re a private detective and a searcher of Truth; use your tears like sub-inspector Cat and you will know many things," I said. "Sir, I cannot cry; I find it difficult". It said, "Arre, think of the extinction of the dodo bird". ''Not possible," I said. "Think of your death". "I’m still young". "Try an onion".

I was soon to experience the truth of the boar's assertion. It was like this: when we got near the abattoir, I found a crowd of people in black, waving black flags and shouting slogans. I thought they were the anti-cow slaughter set in one of their regular protests. By then a speck of dust had gone into my right eye due to the west wind, bringing tears into my eyes. These tears now acted like binoculars and I saw how mistaken I was. What I’d taken to be people protesting against cow slaughter were vultures; the black flags flying were crows harassing them and the slogans were caws. The lion was already there, wearing Dr. Haldankar's mask beneath which I could see the rough mane peeping out, and his canines at the back of his mouth, with which he was growling while looking at a dead cow, which was black in colour. He took a much closer look and took a whiff. Then, seeing the boar, he roared. "Boar, this isn't a cow but an ox!" "Are you suwer?" said the boar. "Don't joke around, boar; oh, see the empty little bags wherein testicles once used to play by themselves?" "Then somebody misinformed us," said the boar, it looked around and grunted, "Who...who gave us this information?" "I…I gave it". An old man in a dhoti and kurta came forward; he had cataracts in both eyes and a walking stick in his right hand. I learned a little later that he was Navnitbhai Shah; he looked after the Govandi panjarpole. "Navnitbhai, can't you differentiate between a white cow and a black ox?" said the boar. "Inspector Pig, can't you differentiate between a blind man and a man with eyesight? I knew I could be wrong but wasn't sure, but I did what you asked of me... I felt the udders with my stick; they were too small, but what to do? Most of our cows have such shrunken dugs as they’re all dry, with no milk in them". The lion said, "Boar, he is right; our cows are like that; so what now?" "Well, nothing special," said the boar. "Now we’ll check the panjarpoles at Parel, Dadar, Matunga, Mahim, Ghatkopar and Bhandup. We’ve received a message that a white cow is lying dead at all these places. Ladies, would you like to come? And you, Humnabadkar?" The women said no, they looked tired; Mrs. Pendarkar said today was Friday, the day of the Goddess Santoshi Maa, whose devotee she was and did her puja at seven o' clock. Mrs. Karmarkar said her period had just started while in the jeep; I said no firmly, as I was dead tired. "Then take an auto and drop them home," said the boar. And getting into their vehicles, the lion and the boar sped away. When we reached our place, Mrs.Karmarkar asked me to come up for a cup of tea and wouldn't take no for an answer, so I went up with them. While I was sipping tea, she brought me some children's books and a notebook, saying, "For sometime, Tukaram has been reading these and making notes; you may find something of interest". The books were of English nursery rhymes and the notebook contained neat writing, but in modi script, the Marathi shorthand. In my childhood I was very adept at this mode of writing, but later on had forgotten it completely. I asked Mrs. Karmarkar to let me study them at home as I was too tired now. She hurriedly said yes and ran inside, telling me to close the door. I just looked at the spot where she had stood and saw a pool of thick, dark red menstrual blood, and just then Mrs. Pendarkar began a very melodious recital of "Shukrawarchi Kahani" ("The Friday Story"), the story of the grace bestowed on one of her female devotees by the Goddess Santoshi Maa. When I went down, the street lights were on; below one of these, opposite my house, was sitting the asvalwallah, looking at me as though he’d been waiting for me for a long time. I felt uneasy, and in my hand a bell was trying to ring but couldn't. I went up to my room and sat in the darkness, trying to gather my thoughts when the bell rang with great shrillness. Saying motherfucker out loud, I put on the light and opened the door. The asvalwallah and his two bears were standing at the door. "What do you want?" I asked in the rough Hindi of Bombay. In reply I heard a familiar voice in Marathi: "I don't want anything from you Pandu, only some water for me and these bears". I must’ve looked dazed or something, and then he said, "Haven't you recognized me yet, Pandu?" And he came straight in with the bears. "Who...what?" I stuttered, "Doctor Patkar?” "Yes, the same unfortunate man, Patkar; now a Gond asvalwallah". "But, you had died..." "Yes and no". "What do you mean? You’ve come back from the dead?" ''No''. "Then what was the damned ruckus about? You motherfucker, you made me lose a well-paying job for nothing; in addition to getting my name fully fucked up, just because you could be whimsical". As I was berating their master with violent gestures, the bears started to growl at me with their fangs bared. "Cool down, Pandu, cool down; I can explain everything, though, as you say, it may look whimsical". "Of course, Patkar, what else? You’ve earned so much money that you can now be an asvalwallah, makadwallah, Vasudev, dombari, and with a little more effort, a saint..." "Oh Pandu, I did not renunciate; I ran away!" "Oh yes! That's the safest and most convincing of roles: a coward! A coward and a six number will forever be without blame; they’re angels and have achieved grace. Only a fool would blame them. Anyway, it isn't entirely your fault, Patkar; it's mine too". "That's so good and honest of you Pandurang". When he uttered the name Pandurang, both bears fell at my feet in a dandawath and rose only when Patkar gave a whistle. "Please meet my bears," Patkar said. "This is Laxmi and this is Purushottam; Laxmi, Purushottam, this is Pandurang". At the mention of Pandurang, they again fell at my feet. "What's all this, Patkar?" I asked. Patkar said, "I’ve taught them to do dandawath at the mention of Pandurang, Vittal, Hari and Gajanana; you’ll be amazed to see the way they dance to my bhajans". At the mention of these four names, the bears got up and did the dandawath to me four times. "Oh please control them, Patkar," I said. "Right," he said, and whistled and they got up sitting on their hind legs, their mouths open and their tongues lolling out. "Now please get us some water to drink". "Oh, sorry". I went in and got a big bucket full for the bears and a lota for my old friend. They all started drinking the water, and a great peace came over not only on their faces but on their bodies as well. When this was achieved, I asked Patkar, "I thought you asvalwallahs were Muslims". "Well, not all of us, but at our level it really doesn't matter, we’re all Khuda ke bande, slaves of God". "Not God's men?" "No, not at all, we aren't messiahs". Just then I remembered that I had a large jar of honey which I was planning to open, but couldn't make up my mind when to. I knew bears liked honey, so I decided to give it to them. I went in, got two large bowls, putting them in front of Laxmi and Purushottam, poured all the honey into them, giving each bear exactly half the contents. Their joy knew no bounds. They danced, clapped and rolled on the ground, nearly upsetting the table. Patkar in the old days was very fond of Old Monk rum; I placed a bottle of it along with two glasses, some boiled eggs and warmed up a plate of Chinese fried rice with prawns (leftovers from yesterday) which I’d kept in the refrigerator. Patkar , overjoyed like the bears, also clapped, jigged and then sang in a loud voice the famous abhanga of Tukaram Maharaj:

He who identifies
With the battered and the beaten
Mark him as a saint
For God is with him

The bears also joined in, sitting by his side, nodding their heads like a group of kirtankars and making singing-like noises through their noses and mouths. When the abhang was over, I said to Patkar, "Now Patkar, don't tell me you’re one of those wretched of the earth; you’re not, a whimsical man like you". "You’re right, I’m not; it's these bears; anyway, what’re you doing now?" "I’m a private detective". "A better job than a salesman, at least you’re dealing with Truth on an honest basis; not the half-truths, the constant 'naro va Khunjro va' involved in selling". "You’re right. I deal with truth and I seek truth, though on a mundane level". "Oh, don't be such a snob, Truth is truth, Pandurang". On mentioning this name, the bears who were now licking their plates of honey clean, stopped and fell at my feet. He whistled at them to get up and said, "You’re still angry with me, aren't you?" I gave no answer. He said, "Well, I’ll try and make it up to you, but I want to tell you one thing: I did the changeover, not out of mere whimsicality, but for deeper and painful reasons". "Like?" "It's a somewhat long story, but I’ll tell you just to clear your doubts, shall I?" "Go ahead," I said. "I left Kurbad due to constant teasing amounting to great harassment". "Teasing amounting to great harassment? What's that?" "I’ll tell you. It started from my school days and ended one day before I stage-managed my own death. The perpetrators were people in my childhood, my schoolmates. A long and curious story it is... Pandu, I was born to good, decent, lower middle-class parents. We lived in Matunga, a lovely place in those days. I was in primary school in the municipal Marathi school there. Great things were taking place in the world then. A world war, India was in the midst of a freedom struggle and in Matunga a new cinema theatre, the 'Aurora' was coming up. It had become an exciting topic for both old and young alike. Everything was happy even in school till evil came in the form of a geography textbook, making monsters of my class and schoolmates. Incidentally, my school taught only up to the sixth standard, and I was in the second at that time. Well, the first two lessons in the Geography primer were very good, giving information about the seven islands which made up the city of Mumbai: Kulaba, Worli, Mahim and so on, and what a big centre of textiles, railways and industry it was; its trams and so on and so forth. The second was about its various bazaars: Null bazaar, Chira bazaar, Bhendi bazaar, Crawford market: about fishes native to Bombay like the pomfret, bombil, and what a tasty fish pomfret was, all of which I liked very much. The damned thing started with the third chapter dealing with the various peoples of Bombay; their varied types of clothing, headgear, food and mannerisms; the Muslims, the Parsees, the Kutchi and Gujarati banias, the Kolis, the Ghatis, the Konkanis and the Madrasis. We children were afraid of the Muslims because we were told they were fierce, merciless killers; of the Parsees we were scared shitless too (the Parsi colony was nearby) because they were whitish like the British, tough and used to moving in groups carrying cricket stumps. None of us would venture near the Parsi colony because even spotting us from afar, they would come running at us, shouting, "Bloody Indians, bloody Ghatis! Of the Gujjus we used to make fun because of their small number in Matunga. Whenever a Gujju boy came across us, we’d tease him with "Suu chhe, saro chhe, danda lekhe maro chhe"; at which he’d make a run for it. We had no Gujju children in the school because they had their own school in the Telang road gully where most of them lived. My class had mostly children from Nashik and, I think, Nagar districts, a few Koli children from Sion and one Madrasi Balan; I was the only one from Konkan. Well, Pandu, life was very good with homely fears and lots of fun; plenty of good fish to eat and very easy lessons to learn when the aforesaid evil entered with a 'tet te den' into my life, never to leave me except for brief respites. That damned lesson said that people of the Konkan were characterized by speaking in a very nasal tone which the geography teacher, Inamdar master, the creator of my misery, made me illustrate by reading two whole lessons in a very nasal manner, by twisting my ears, forcing me to put an anuswar over every moolaksher . A sadistically impossible task! The whole reading was like a prolonged nasal bleat of a young goat. Try it once. But the class laughed like mad. After this they had another treat: the Madrasis! The lesson taught that the Madrasi shouted 'Ayeeyo' at regular and frequent intervals, that their language sounded like the rattling of stones in a can, with the words 'Endu gundu soda lemon' being spoken every now and then. The teacher made the Madrasi boy, Balan demonstrate this after me for nearly fifteen minutes. To drive the lesson home the teacher rattled a can full of small stones and said ‘Endu gundu soda lemon' after every sentence that Balan spoke. The class now went wild. Even I couldn't resist. Well, our harassment started right from the next day; the leaders were Laxman Shelar and Latika Katke, who’re husband and wife now, Laxmanis today; Dr. L. L. D. Shelar, the top cardiac surgeon in Bombay; and Latika is the famous Latika Shelar, a specialist in infertility. They started by making funny nasal noises near my ears during class intervals, then gradually grew bolder by forcibly applying their snot to my body, collecting it and shoving it into my nostrils; all through this there was a shrill playing of the pungi and nasal whistles. Balan was teased by a constant shouting of ’ayeeyo!' and the rattling of stones in a can. Soon the whole class joined. Everyone seemed to have tin cans with stones in them, and there was a constant rattling noise in the class. Luckily for Balan, there was a Madrasi school coming up in Matunga and his parents enrolled him there. He swore revenge but nothing happened; the only revenge he extracted was from me once; while I was returning home from school, I came across him with some Madrasi boys; they kicked and bruised me, threw my books onto the street and than ran off, making nasal noises. Later on, as an adult, I met Balan in Thane; he made a nasal noise, then hugged me and apologized for what he had done. He did it, he said, because I used to laugh when he was teased. I told him he used to do the same thing when I was teased. He had no answer to that, so I gave him a quick kick in the shins and took off in an auto. I saw him limping after me, shouting "Bastard! Motherfucker!" Amid the confusion he was hit by a motorcyclist, who happened to be a Parsee, who shouted at him: "navel fucker, sister fucker!" Well, that was that. Back at school, things were worse as I was now the only target. They could now fully concentrate on me and it didn't take long for me to be the butt of jokes for the whole school. Even other boys from the Konkan, from the other classes, teamed up in labelling me as a bangda khau, bombil khau, kolambi khau (Mackerel-eater, bombil-eater, prawn-eater). Even the teachers, including the grave-looking headmaster, Hardikar, couldn't resist the temptation to make fun of me. Pandu, the whole thing became a nightmare. There were nasal sounds behind, in front of and following me. The worst thing was, when I told my parents about all this, they too started teasing me with nasal noises. I was a voracious eater of fish, particularly bombil, so my father started calling me (out of malice, I think, as I used to eat even his share) 'bombil khau'! I, Pandu, at a young age, had become an object of black humour of all things! Well, I had a deep, inner well of stoicism in me, which is now totally dried up, that came to my rescue. My father, later taking pity on me, put me in a different school a little further away: ‘Balak Mandir'. I got some peace there for a while, but my enemy, Shelar, had a friend there. He came visiting and the whole thing started there too. Luckily, a month later, my father took a flat in Bycu1la, near his place of work, and we left Matunga forever. I joined the English medium school, St. Paul's, there, and passed my matriculation. I passed my inter at Elphinstone in the B group, with good marks, and so joined the MBBS course at the Grant Medical College, and the first person I met in its corridors was my old enemy, Laxman Shelar! His sadistic joy knew no bounds. We were in the same class. Latika too was there. The teasing started again but with a sharp, adult-like malice. Shelar had what are called leadership qualities, so the whole class joined him in the game. Once, they put the nose of a cadaver in my lunch box—it was full of snot. The next time it was a shriveled cock with pubic hair; a little later it was a turd from a corpse! To get out of this situation, I studied like a dog and passed all the exams at the first attempt, a rare thing in a medical course. Whereas my enemy, due to booze and fornication, was behind me by two years. But his extraordinary skill in surgery was now getting recognized, and his bosses predicted a great future for him. They were right; they also predicted a great future for me as a diagnostician, and actually wanted us to practice in partnership and complement each other. The bastard knew the advantages this had for him and came to make peace. I spat on his face and told him to get out. I knew he was too selfish and would’ve grabbed all the credit, keeping me in the background, and furthermore, after so many years of being teased, it would’ve been impossible to work with him. I gave up the chance of becoming an M. D. and an important doctor because he swore revenge after this. I told him he’d already done this a hundredfold. He said he’d do it a thousand fold now. I settled therefore in remote Kurbad, a place so deep in the interior and isolated, though near Bombay, and developed a very large practice there. I became a legend, and top Bombay doctors came to me, requesting me to refer cases to them and promising a cut. I refused and all this became my undoing. My enemy had by now heard of me. With his gang of consultants whom I’d shown the door, he started to tease and harass me again. I started getting continuous phone calls, even at midnight, abusing me in a high-pitch-ed nasal voice, disturbing my sleep and my work the next day. I began getting envelopes containing dried yellow snot, then the usual cadaver's noses, penises, intestines and turd sausages. Telling the police was of no use as my enemy had by now developed very good political connections. And now that he’d become a top man of the I.M.A., he’d started a bogus case against me for medical malpractice with the help of a politician in Kurbad. Fed up with all this, I escaped, staging my own death". "How did you do that?" I asked. "It was like this, Pandu: an asvalwallah of Wasind was my patient; he was of my build, age, and height, but I can't say if face-wise we resembled each another much; or when walking, eating and so on, but there was an uncanny resemblance when he slept. He had an incurable heart problem and had only a short time to live. It was then that the idea struck me; I told Waheed, the asvalwallah, that he had barely two months and told him my problem. He said he’d help me if I promised to take care of his bears. I said yes. Before his death I got him admitted to my nursing home; his bears were near him; then I quietly shifted him to my place; I’m a widower so at night, after the servants and the cook left, we were alone and could interchange our clothes, waiting for his death. Meanwhile, I’d made all the financial arrangements so that my money would come on my name without any problems. Death came one early morning to my friend and I left Kurbad quietly with the bears, who’d by now become like my own. Waheed had also given me some esoteric knowledge about his people with letters to his important people, so that I wouldn't have any problems. This is my sad story, Pandu; now you know that I had more than ample reasons to fake my death". "The way you tell it, yes. But Patkar, haven't you been reading the papers?" ''No, I’ve put all that behind... why?" "Because you would have come to know that your enemies, Laxman and Latika, were burnt to death when their car fell into the Khandala ghat last month. They’d gone to Lonavala to see a rich patient". At this he raised his hands skyward as a gesture of thanksgiving to God, and then sang something highly singsong, nasal and whining and looked at me. "Were you singing something, Patkar?" ''Yes, the famous school ditty:

"Kashasati? Potasathi!
Khandalachya ghatasathi! "

He recited this with an anuswar on each letter. "Try it sometime, Pandu," he said. And he let out a large yawn. Just then, there was the noise of my balcony window opening with a bang, the noise of boots and the slop of something wet; before I could get up, the boar came in. It had come in from the khadi, its trousers were wet up to the knees and muddy; a couple of small catfish and some shrimp were hanging on his trouser legs and were making helpless, undulating movements. Seeing this strange apparition, the bears crouched in fear, making crying noises, now and then baring their fangs. Suddenly a crab, which was hanging on the boar's pants, fell to the ground and walked over to the Purushottam bear, which grasped it in its jaws, chewed it with relish and gulped it down. Seeing the bears and the asvalwallah, the boar had tears in its eyes, and then catching two large drops between its eyelids, began to rotate them round and round till they became like thick glasses, like the ones created by sub-inspector Cat, and began looking closely at the asvalwallah; then slowly, it folded its ungulates in a gesture of reverence and said, ''So, Swami?" On the path of parmartha and spiritual progress?" After two minutes of silence, Patkar said, ''Not at this moment, anyway; I’m here on the path of friendship and its fruits: food, drink, shelter". I then formally introduced the boar and Patkar to each other: Patkar as an old friend from the Haji Malang colony. I then asked the boar to sit down, pouring a glass full of "Old Monk" rum for him, and got him a plateful of fried rice. "Yes, Swami,” said the boar, looking at the food and drink, "Indeed, fruits of friendship are always welcome to an unfamished and famished stomach; thank you, Humnabadkar". ''My pleasure," I said, "What news, Sir, about the cow?" "Wait a minute, and I’ll tell you," said the boar, and put the bottle of "Old Monk" to his mouth; and after taking a large gulp, said, "They were all false and wrong leads, leading to the same dead-end. Maybe they were very convincing mirages. The white cow in Matunga was a dead white bitch and her five pups, all of them dead, were mistaken for her dugs". "A dead bitch is too small to be mistaken for a cow, sir," I said. "Yes, but her body had swollen to such an extent that it resembled a small, good breed of cow. In Dadar, it was a drunk in pure white clothes lying in the pose of Gomukhasana, the cow-faced posture, and therefore mistaken for a cow; in Ghatkopar someone had thrown away a lot of white dhokla that had gone bad and it had assumed the form of a cow; in Mahim, it was a white English pig sleeping in the mud and in Bhandup, it was a corpse wrapped in white, to be cremated; I’ve yet to go to the Babulnath, Thakurdwar and Ulhasnagar panjarpoles; according to the latest information, there’s a dead white cow there". "Sir, this may again be misinformation," I said. Yes, but every lead has to be followed up, Humnabadkar; one of them could lead to the truth. What do you think, Swami?" It looked at Patkar. He said, "Ultimately Sir, everything is for the belly and so we have illusions". And he sang the old school song:

"Kashasathi? Potasathi!
Khandalyachya ghatasathi!"

("What's it all for? For the belly!
For the ghats of Khandala!")

"I know it too well—after losing my job," I said, with a mean look at Patkar. He put down his head. I said to the boar, "Sir, you’ve come through the khadi?" "Yes, Humnabadkar, tomorrow is the night of the full moon; the lion and I are going to plant oysters in the khadi so that the people of Gopal Nagar will have a crop of pearls. If successful, it can be tried in other zopadpattis". And it turned to me and said, "Now you know why he has his clinic on the khadi; he has kept oyster seeds there". I nodded my head. "You don't seem to be impressed," the boar said to me. "I am," I said. ''But at the moment I’m a bit off colour; failure in this job and failure in sex". "Failure in a job can be made up for," said the boar, "things can change any moment; but what's this failure in sex? Impotence?" "A sort of..." I narrated. Patkar too was listening to my whole talk with Madam Karmarkar and the problem concerning the length of the penis. "And that's that, sir", I concluded, "I desire this woman very much and am even prepared to join Asrani blue electric films, except that I don't have the length of penis they require". "Wait a minute, Humnabadkar", said the boar, "I may be able to help you". "Really sir?" I asked. "I know this Asrani from my old days as a pig at Ulhasnagar; the other day he’d come to our C.I.D office; he wanted to borrow our trained Doberman dogs for the animal-women sex scenes in his new film; he feels that will make it a hit in the foreign market". "Such things are already done in the West, Sir," I said. "Yes, maybe he has in mind some of the difficult asanas in the 'Kama Sutra', but done by animals; a circus...I gave a firm no". It turned up its snout and gave a grunt. "Well, Sir?" I asked. The boar said, "I now sense an opening for you; you can go as a trained bear". "A trained bear?" I said. "Yes". Said the boar, "Did you open that packet Haldankar gave you yesterday?" I suddenly remembered that packet which was still in my large shabnam bag. "Oh no, Sir!" I said. "Then open it; in it you will find an excellent and comfortable bearskin; cool when it’s hot, warm when its cold, with all the vents working like normal. Wear it, practice walking on all fours, shit and piss through it, stick your penis through its vent and smell through its nose; then I shall take you to Asrani. You have the Swami's bears to practice on..." And then, as though knowing the question on my mind, the boar said, "Yes, Humnabadkar, you can use your own tongue as you normally do; you’ll see that when you put on the skin. I’ll tell Asrani that you’re a trained bear and will be far more suitable for fucking a woman than a dog". It was then that the problem of being a cheat began to gnaw my guts; was I doing the right thing or what?" I looked at the boar and said, "Sir, thanks for the trouble you’re taking to make me happy, but I was just wondering if I’d be doing the right thing" "Well, that's a matter between you and your conscience. If you’re able to overcome your qualms, just tell me, that's all". It got up to go. "And I shall go now," it said," the tide must now be up again in the khadi; I’ll check on our oyster beds to see if things will be O.K. tomorrow". It took leave of me, going the same way it had come. Patkar and his bears were now snoring.

I decided to try on the bearskin. It fit me to a Z. The lion was very wise. He knew my size and he knew what to pick and choose and give me. He also knew, perhaps more about what was good, bad and evil. I say this because the bearskin he gave me was so good and comfortable (the outside heat and humidity made no difference to the subtle air-conditioning inside it), showing superior judgment that seemed like a harbinger of many more such in the future. The cultivation of pearl oyster beds in the khadi for the benefit of the Gopal Nagar folk was an indication of his intentions. And he, backed by the boar, which with its deep, long experience in the police and with the criminal elements of the society, the enemy within that surrounds, infiltrates and bamboozles us the innocent, silent and the harmless majority, it too knew where it was going, going, gone. Such were my rather happy thoughts when a deep sleep came over me. I woke up very much refreshed to hear someone recite the English nursery rhyme that ended with the words: "And the cow jumped over the moon". It was Patkar reading aloud from Karmarkar's book of nursery rhymes. It was then that the whole thing struck me like a bolt from the blue! I scrambled out of my bed, unaware that I was in a bear-skin and ran into the room. Seeing a third bear, Laxmi and Purushottam rushed at me with their fangs bared; by then I realized what was wrong and said loudly, "I am Pandurang". The bears suddenly stopped midway and fell at my feet. Even Patkar was taken aback. I came out of the skin, explained everything to him and asked if he could read the Modi script. "I can try," he said. I placed before him Tukaram's notebook. He looked at it for a while, laughed out loud and said, "Arre, this isn't Modi but Marathi written fast; looks like a doctor's hand". "How do you know?" I asked, taking the notebook in my hand. "Because, I used to write prescriptions in a similar hand in Kurbad". "I thought they were in English," I said. "Oh no, it’s impossible to find an English-knowing compounder in Kurbad". "Strange; well anyway, read this". I handed him Tukaram's notebook. "Yes, the first two words here are in clear Devnagari, which of course you must’ve read: Om Shree, followed by 'Ani gai chandravarun udali' (And the cow jumped over the moon). This is a translation of a line from the English nursery rhyme. Odd." He said, "Thanks, Patkar, thanks. That's what I thought it would be. Now I’ll make a phone call to Chief Inspector Boar. Come." And I came out of the bear skin, put on my clothes and went to Pendse's flat. My next door neighbour, Pendse, had a phone; I placed a call to the boar from there. I told him there was every possibility of Tukaram Karmarkar jumping over today's full moon, telling him also about the book of nursery rhymes and the jottings in the cow's notebook. "Well, it's a great thing, Humnabadkar," said the boar, after listening to me, “You’ve come out with a very convincing hypothesis with the help of these things. Nothing is impossible for saints. History is full of them, levitating, disappearing or undergoing a metamorphosis for humanity. Let’s look at today's full moon; the lion and I’ll be watching from the khadi". The full moon rose on the khadi at 8:40 as predicted in the paper; at 8:45 the sudden noise of a roof blown apart came from Gopal Nagar, and I saw Tukaram Karmarkar, the cow, flying upwards from within the Gomata clinic in a gawky, awkward posture as depicted in the nursery rhyme illustration. There was a dark stain of blood where the head hit the roof, which wasn't of course in the book. "So, the cow will now jump over the moon and land on its dark side?" asked Patkar. "Maybe, maybe not," I said. By the khadi, the lion and the boar were now looking at the full moon, which was slowly rising. The cow had gone straight up, and at some point in the evening would be just opposite it. Sub-inspectors Dog and Cat had also come now and joined the lion and the boar. Looking at this scene, I made up my mind to fuck Mrs. Karmarkar in the bearskin.

ⁱ from the Marathi title “Varaha Ani Simha”

ⁱⁱ Sure-fire.

ⁱⁱⁱ A creek.

^iv Bear men.

^v An asylum for old or worn-out animals.

^vi A eunuch.

^vii from “Says Tuka”—Selected Poetry of Tukaram, translated by Dilip Chitre (Penguin Books, 1991).

^viii Background music in action films.

^ix A dot.

^x Basic letter of the alphabet.

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Damodar Prabhu worked as a Medical Detailman, i.e., a Medical Representative in a top pharmaceutical company. But he found time to compose poems, plays and narratives. At the moment he’s working on a long narrative and a play. He writes only in Marathi. His long stories, Zebra Crossing, Dr Albuquerque and Panjarpole were published in the periodical, Anaghrath, edited from Aurangabad, Maharashtra.