Bombay Stories

THE INSULT

AFTER an exhausting day, she lay down on her bed and immediately fell asleep. The official from the city’s Sanitation Department whom she called ‘Boss’ had just fucked her and left for home in a drunken stupor. He could have stayed the night, but he professed great concern for his lawfully wedded wife who loved him very much.

The money she had earned from the official in exchange for her bodily labours was slowly slipping from the top of her tight, saliva-stained bra, and these coins clinked together in rhythm with her breathing, a sound that dissolved into that of her heart’s irregular beating. In fact, it seemed as though the coins were melting right into her blood! Heat was spreading through her chest, caused in part by the brandy, a small bottle of which the official had brought, and in part by the beora, which they had drunk with water after the soda had run out.

She was lying face down on her long and broad teak bed. Her arms were bare up to her shoulders and spread out like a kite’s bow. Her right armpit’s shrivelled flesh was nearly blue from having been shaven over and over; it looked like a chunk of skin from a plucked hen had been grafted there.

Her room was small and messy and things were strewn about everywhere. Underneath her bed, her mangy dog had propped his head on top of three or four withered sandals and although asleep, was baring his teeth at some invisible something. The dog’s fur was so patchy that if someone saw him from a distance, they would mistake him for the folded piece of sacking used to wipe the floor.

Her beauty products were stored in a small niche in the wall — rouge, lipstick, powder, a comb, and the iron pins she used to put up her hair in a bun. A cage hung nearby in which a green parrot slept, its face hidden in the feathers of its back. The cage was filled with pieces of raw guava and rotten orange peels, and around this foul-smelling fruit hovered small black flies and moths. There was a cane chair with a grease-stained back next to the bed, and to the right of this chair rested a beautiful stool on top of which was a portable gramophone made by His Master’s Voice. A tattered black cloth was draped over the gramophone, and on the footstool and everywhere else in the room, rusty needles were littered. Four picture frames hung on the wall above this stool, and each held a man’s photo.

At a short distance from the photos — I mean, just as you entered the room and in the corner on the left — there was a brightly coloured picture of Ganesha that she had probably ripped off a bolt of cloth and framed, and both fresh and withered flowers hung over its frame. In that incredibly oily niche, she kept a cup of lamp oil, and to its side was a small lamp, its flame standing erect like a flick of paint on a devotee’s forehead in the room’s torpid air. Burnt-out stumps of incense soiled the niche.

When she made the day’s first money, she would hold it out before her, touch it to the statue of Ganesha, and then touch it to her forehead before stuffing it in her bra. Her breasts were large, so there was no chance the money would fall out, but when Madho came on vacation from Pune, she had to hide some of it in the small hole beneath the foot of her bed that she had hollowed out just for this purpose. Her pimp, Ram Lal, had told her how to keep her money from Madho. When he heard that Madho came from Pune to sleep with her, he said, ‘How long have you been seeing this bastard? What a strange love affair! The asshole doesn’t spend anything but gets to sleep with you, and then he makes off with your money? There’s something wrong with this picture. You must really like this guy. I’ve been a pimp for seven years, and I know all you girls have weaknesses.’

Ram Lal pimped all over Bombay — for 120 whores whose rates went from ten to a hundred rupees. He told Saugandhi, ‘Bitch, don’t waste your money like that. He’ll strip your clothes right off your back, the motherfucker! Dig a little hole beneath the foot of your bed and hide all your money there. When he comes, say, “I swear, Madho, I haven’t seen one dick all day! Order me a cup of tea and a pack of Aflatoon biscuits from the tea boy downstairs. My stomach’s growling.” Okay? Things are rough right now, honey. The Congress Party, the fuckers, have banned alcohol, and business is very slow. But at least you find a way to get liquor. I swear to God, when I see your empty bottles and smell the wine, I really want to be reborn a whore.’

Saugandhi liked her breasts more than any of her other physical attributes. Her friend Jamuna encouraged her, ‘If you support those cannon balls with a bra, they’ll stay firm forever.’

Saugandhi laughed. She replied, ‘Jamuna, you think everyone’s just like you. For ten rupees, men do whatever they want with you, and so you think this must be true for everyone. If any man ever touches me there, just see what happens!’ Then she remembered something. ‘Oh, let me tell you what happened yesterday. Ram Lal brought over a Punjabi at two in the morning, and they decided on thirty rupees for the night. After Ram Lal left, I turned off the light, and this guy got so scared! Jamuna, are you listening? I swear, as soon as the lights went out, he started shaking up and down! He was scared of the dark! I asked, “Hey, what’re you waiting for? It’s about to turn three. Your time’s running out.” He said, “Turn it on, turn it on.” I asked, “What do you mean?” He said, “The electricity! The electricity!” I said, “What electricity?” He said, “The light! The light!” His shrill voice made me break out laughing. I said, “No way!” When I pinched his chubby thigh, he sprang to his feet and turned on the light. I quickly covered myself with the sheets and said, “Don’t you have any shame, asshole?” When he returned to the bed, I rushed over to turn off the light. This made him anxious again. I swear it was a fun night — sometimes dark, sometimes light, sometimes light, sometimes dark. As soon as he heard the morning’s first tram, he put on his clothes and left. The bastard must have won a bet or something. I mean, why else would he waste his money like that? Jamuna, you’re so clueless. I know a lot of tricks for guys like that!’

Saugandhi really did know a lot of useful tactics, which she shared with one or two girlfriends. Her general advice went as follows, ‘If he’s good but doesn’t talk much, then tease him a lot, try to irritate him, tickle him, play with him. If he has a beard, then run your fingers through it like a comb and twist a few hairs. If he has a big belly, pat it like a drum. Don’t give him the chance to do what he wants. He’ll leave happy and you’ll be saved. Guys that never say anything are dangerous. They’ll really hurt you if you let them!’

But Saugandhi wasn’t as clever as she thought, and she had very few regulars. She was extremely emotional, so at the crucial moment, every ruse she knew would slip from her mind. Her stomach had many stretch marks from the time she had given birth, and the first time she had seen those lines, they reminded her of the lines her mangy dog made in the ground, pawing out of frustration whenever a bitch passed, ignoring him as she worried over her puppy.

Saugandhi lived mostly in her mind, but a kind word always made her body tingle with pleasure, and although she told herself that sex was worthless, her body liked it very much! She dreamed of being overcome by fatigue, the type of fatigue that would beat her to sleep, the type of sleep that falls upon you after being ground down all day — how delightful it would be! That type of unconsciousness that wraps around you after being utterly wrung dry of your last ounce of energy — what pleasure! Sometimes she wasn’t sure if she existed, and sometimes she felt as though she was stuck in between, floating high in the sky with the wind encompassing her — the wind above her, below her, on the right, and on the left — nothing but the wind, suffocating and yet wonderful! As a child, when she played hide-and-seek, she would hide inside her mother’s big trunk, and while waiting to be caught, she would become afraid of suffocating and her heart would race. How much she had liked that sensation!

Saugandhi wanted to spend her entire life inside a trunk like that while people looked for her in vain, though occasionally she would let them find her so that she, too, could go in search for someone. Her life for the last five years was just like hide-and-seek: sometimes she went looking for someone, and sometimes a man came for her. That was how her life passed. She was happy because she had to be. Every night she shared her wide, teak bed with a different man, and she knew countless ways to keep her johns in their place. While she had resolved many times not to accept their vulgar demands and to treat them indifferently, she would always get caught up in the moment and give in. She couldn’t control her desire to be loved.

It seemed like every night some john would proclaim his love to her. Saugandhi knew they were lying, and yet her emotions would overwhelm her and she would imagine they really did. ‘Love’. What a beautiful word! She wanted to smear it all over her body and massage it into her pores. She wanted to abandon herself to love. If love were a jar, she would press herself through its opening and close the lid above her. When she really wanted to make love, it didn’t matter which man it was. She would take any man, sit him on her lap, pat his head, and sing a lullaby to put him to sleep.

She was so full of love that she could have loved any of her customers and moreover, could have kept this love alive forever. She had already sworn her love to the four men whose photos were hanging on the wall. She felt like a good person, but why weren’t men good? She could never understand this, so once while looking into the mirror, she spontaneously said to herself, ‘Saugandhi, time has not been kind to you!’

The time she had spent as a prostitute — the days and nights of the past five years — was all that mattered to her. She was not as happy as she had dreamed of being, and yet she was content. Anyway, it wasn’t as if she were planning to build a palace. Money wasn’t an issue. She usually charged ten rupees, from which Ram Lal took a two and a half rupee cut, and so she got seven and a half rupees a day, and that was enough. When Madho came from Pune to ‘poke’ her, as Ram Lal liked to put it, she handed over ten or fifteen rupees although she did this only because she had a crush on him. Ram Lal was right — there was something about Madho that Saugandhi liked.

Why don’t I just go ahead and tell you everything.

When Saugandhi met Madho, he had said, ‘You don’t feel ashamed? Do you know what you’re selling me? Why do you think I’ve come? Chi, chi, chi. Ten rupees, and like you say, two and a half are your pimp’s. What’s left, seven and a half, right — seven and a half? For seven and a half rupees you promise to give me something you can’t give, and I’ve come for something I can’t just take. I want a woman, but do you want a man? Any woman will do for me, but do you really like me? What’s our relationship? It’s nothing, nothing at all. Only these ten rupees — two and half are your pimp’s and the rest you’ll waste — they’re all that connects us. You’re eyeing it, and I’m eyeing it. Your heart says something, and my heart says something. Why shouldn’t we make something together? I’m a head constable in Pune. I’ll come once a month for three or four days. Stop doing this. I’ll buy everything for you. What’s this room’s rent?’

Madho went on to say many more things, the sum of which had such a strong effect on Saugandhi that for several moments she felt like a head constable’s wife. Madho tidied the room and took the initiative to tear up the pornographic photos at the head of her bed. Then he said, ‘Saugandhi, dear, I won’t let you put up pictures like that. And this water pitcher — look how dirty it is! And this — this rag, these rags — aghh! — what an awful smell! Throw them outside. And what have you done to your hair? And …’ Saugandhi and Madho talked for three hours, and afterwards Saugandhi felt as though she had known him for years. No one ever paid any attention to the room’s smelly rags, the dirty pitcher, or the pornographic photos. No one ever treated her room like a home, where domestic concerns were possible. Men came and left, without even noticing how filthy her bed was. No one said, ‘Look how red your nose is today! I hope you don’t catch a cold. Wait here. I’ll go get some medicine.’ Madho was really good. Everything he said was irreproachable. How incisively he had scolded her! She began to feel she really needed him and that was how their relationship began.

Madho came from Pune once a month and before going back always said, ‘Look, Saugandhi, if you take up your old job, well, then our relationship is over. If you let even one man sleep here, I’ll grab you by your hair and throw you out. Look, as soon as I get to Pune I’ll send a money order for this month’s expenses. Remind me, what’s the rent here?’

But neither did Madho send any money nor did Saugandhi stop being a prostitute. Both knew very well what was going on. Saugandhi never asked Madho, ‘What’re you blathering on about? Have you ever given me anything?’ And Madho never asked Saugandhi, ‘Where did you get this money? I didn’t give it to you.’ Both were lying, and both were pretending. But Saugandhi was happy just as those who can’t wear real gold become content with imitation trinkets.

Completely exhausted, Saugandhi had fallen fast asleep with the light on. It hung overhead, and its sharp light fell directly on her eyes but she didn’t wake up.

There was a knock at the door. Who would come at two in the morning? The rapping penetrated Saugandhi’s sleep only faintly, as a fly’s buzzing would. The knocking intensified, and she lurched awake. Her mouth was full of bitter and viscous saliva, its taste a mixture of the previous night’s liquor and the small bits of fish wedged between her teeth. She wiped off the smelly paste with the hem of her lungi and rubbed her eyes. She saw she was alone. She bent over to look underneath the bed — her dog was grimacing through his sleep, his mouth propped up on the dried-out sandals. Then she looked over at the parrot’s cage and saw the parrot sleeping, its head lodged in the feathers of its back.

Someone was knocking. Saugandhi got up, her head throbbing. She scooped a ladleful of water from the pitcher and gargled. She guzzled another ladleful and went to the door to crack it open.

‘Ram Lal?’

Ram Lal was tired of knocking. ‘Are you dead or what?’ he asked, furiously. ‘I’ve been standing here knocking myself silly. Where were you?’ Then he lowered his voice and asked, ‘Is anyone inside?’

Saugandhi shook her head, so Ram Lal shouted, ‘Then why didn’t you open the door? Aghh! I’ve had enough of this. That must have been some sleep, huh? I’m never going to make it in this business if I have to beat my head against a wall for two hours just trying to get a girl out of bed. And why are you staring at me like that? Quick, take off that lungi and put on your flowery sari. Powder your face and come with me. There’s a rich man waiting for you in his car. Hurry up!’

Saugandhi sat down in the easy chair, and Ram Lal came in and started combing his hair in front of the mirror. Saugandhi reached towards the stool, picked up a jar of balm, and opened its lid. ‘Ram Lal, I’m not in the mood today.’

Ram Lal put the comb back in the niche and turned around. ‘You should have said so first.’

Saugandhi rubbed balm across her forehead and temples. ‘Not that, Ram Lal,’ she said. ‘It’s not that. I just don’t feel good. I drank a lot.’

Ram Lal’s mouth began to water. ‘If there’s any left, hand it over! I want some too.’

Saugandhi put the jar of balm on the stool. ‘Do you think I’d have this damn headache if I didn’t drink it all? Look, Ram Lal, bring your guy up here.’

‘No, no, he won’t come. He’s a gentleman. He was even anxious about his car being in the alley. Put on something and come with me. You’ll start feeling better.’

All this trouble and just for seven and a half rupees. When Saugandhi had a bad headache, she usually wouldn’t work, but now she really needed the money. The husband of a Madrasi woman who lived next door had been killed by a car. Now this woman had to return with her young daughter to Madras, but she didn’t have enough money to cover the journey. She was worried to the point of distraction. Saugandhi had reassured her just the day before, ‘Don’t worry. My boyfriend’s about to come from Pune. I’ll get some money from him and buy your tickets.’ Madho was indeed about to come, but Saugandhi would have to come up with the money on her own. With all this in mind, she got up, quickly changed into her flowery sari and put on some rouge. She drank one more ladleful of water and went out with Ram Lal.

The alley, larger than some small towns’ markets, was completely silent. The light from the streetlights was weak, as their fixtures had been painted over due to the war. She could just see a car parked at the alley’s far end, and the black car looked like a shadow in the mysterious silence of the night’s last hours. Saugandhi felt as though her headache had spread across the entire scene, and even the wind seemed bitter, as though it too felt the after effects of the brandy and moonshine.

Ram Lal walked ahead and said something to the men in the car. Saugandhi reached the car, and Ram Lal moved aside and said, ‘Look, here she is. She’s a very good girl. She’s just started working.’ Then he turned to Saugandhi. ‘Saugandhi, come over here. The boss wants to see you.’

Saugandhi lifted up the edge of her sari in her hand and stepped up to the car’s door as the man shone a flashlight on her. The light dazzled Saugandhi’s sleepy eyes. But then she heard the click of a button, the light went out, and the man said, ‘Yuhkk!’ Instantly, the engine jumped to life and the car took off down the alley.

Saugandhi did not have any time to react. She still felt the glare of the flashlight in her eyes and hadn’t even been able to see the man’s face. What had just happened? What was this ‘yuhkk’ echoing in her ears?

‘I guess he didn’t like you,’ Ram Lal said. ‘All right then, I’m leaving. I’ve wasted two hours for nothing.’

Saugandhi had to fight off a desire to do something violent. Where was that car? Where was that man? So that ‘yuhkk’ meant he didn’t like me? That bas.…

She caught herself. The car was already gone, and its red tail-lights were fading into the darkness of the night’s empty market. But this red-hot ‘yuhkk’ was piercing her chest! She wanted to shout out, ‘Hey, you rich fuck, stop the car! Come back here for just a minute.’ But fuck that asshole — he was already too far away!

She stood in the deserted market. Her flowery sari, which she wore on special occasions, was rippling in the breeze and seemed to be saying, ‘Yuhkk, yuhkk.’ How she hated that sound! She wanted to tear her sari apart and fling its scraps into the wind!

She recalled how she had put on lipstick and powdered her cheeks to make herself more attractive, and now she felt so ashamed by this that she began sweating. She rationalized her feelings, ‘I didn’t dress up for that pig! It’s my habit — not just mine but everyone’s. But at two in the morning, and Ram Lal, and this market, and that car, and the flashlight!’ And as she thought all this, the streetlamps started flickering on all around her, and again she thought she could hear the rumbling of a car’s engine.

She was sweating, and the balm on her forehead was seeping into her pores. Her body felt distant, and she felt as though her forehead didn’t belong to her. A gust of wind blew across its sweaty surface, and she felt like someone had cut up a piece of satin and stuck it to her forehead. Her head was still throbbing, but the internal noise of her thoughts had drowned out the pain. Saugandhi wanted the pain to engulf her body — she wanted pain in her head, in her legs, in her stomach, and arms too, the kind of pain that made it impossible to think. Thinking this, she noticed a sensation in her heart. Was it pain? Her heart contracted and then returned to normal. What was that? Damn, that was it! That ‘yuhkk’ was messing with her heart!

Saugandhi turned towards home, then stopped to think. Ram Lal said the man thought I was ugly. But, no, Ram Lal didn’t say that. His actual words were, ‘I guess he didn’t like you.’ But maybe he … but maybe he … did dislike the way I look. But if he thought I was ugly, so what? I think a lot of men are ugly. The last new moon, that john was really bad. But did I scrunch up my nose in disgust? When he climbed on top of me, wasn’t I revolted? Didn’t I just stop myself from throwing up? But, Saugandhi, you didn’t kick and scream. You didn’t turn him away. This rich guy in the car spat in your face. ‘Yuhkk!’ What could this ‘yuhkk’ mean?

1) ‘What a joke! This girl’s so ugly even her mother can’t bear looking at her.’

2) ‘I wouldn’t let this bitch shine my shoes.’

3) ‘Ram Lal, where did you unearth this specimen?’

4) ‘Ram Lal, you went out of your way to praise this girl? Ten rupees for this? A cow’s asshole would be better.’

Saugandhi was seething from head to foot. She got angry at herself and then at Ram Lal, but she quickly exonerated them and began to think about the man. With every bone in her body, she wished to see that man once more. She wanted to redo the scene once more, just once more. It would happen like this. She would stroll up to the car, a hand would emerge with the flashlight, it would flash in her face, and she would hear that ‘yuhkk.’ But this time she would leap on him like a wild cat and furiously scratch at his face. With her long fingernails, she would tear into his cheeks. She would grab him by the hair, drag him outside, and pummel him without mercy. And when she got tired, she would cry.

She thought of adding the crying part only because three or four tears were already welling in her eyes — she felt that angry and helpless. She asked herself, ‘Why are you crying? What’s wrong with you?’ Tears continued to swim in her eyes. She blinked and her eyelashes became wet, and Saugandhi stared through her tears in the direction where the man’s car had gone.

Suddenly she heard a noise—phar, phar, phar. Where was it coming from? Saugandhi looked around but didn’t see anyone. Then she realized what it was — it was her heart that was racing and not the sound of a car! What was going on? Why would it be going along fine and then suddenly begin to pound? It was like a needle catching on a worn-out record, and the music’s natural flow, ‘The night passed while I counted stars …’ turning into a one-word echo, ‘stars, stars, stars …’

The sky was filled with stars. Saugandhi looked up and exclaimed, ‘How beautiful!’ She wanted to think of something else, but their beauty only served as a nasty reminder and she thought to herself, ‘Stars are beautiful, but you’re ugly. Did you forget already how that man insulted you?’

But Saugandhi wasn’t ugly. She remembered all the recent times she had looked in the mirror, and while there was no doubt she didn’t look the same as she had five years earlier when she was living with her parents and free from all worry, in any event she wasn’t ugly. In fact she was the type of woman that men stare at. She had all the bodily attributes that men want in a woman, and was young and had a good figure. Sometimes when bathing, she would see with pleasure how round and firm her thighs were. She was also polite, friendly, and compassionate, and so it was hard to imagine that she ever disappointed any of her customers.

She remembered the year before when she had been living in Gol Petha over the Christmas season. A young man had spent the night, and when he got up the next morning and went into the next room to take his coat off the hook, he discovered that his wallet was missing. Saugandhi’s servant had stolen it. The poor soul was very upset. He had come on vacation from Hyderabad and didn’t have enough money to get back. Saugandhi felt so sorry for him that she gave him his ten rupees back.

‘What have I ever done wrong?’ Saugandhi addressed everything around her — the darkened streetlights, the iron electricity poles, the pavement’s rectangular stones, and the street’s gravel. She looked at her surroundings and then lifted her gaze to the sky, but there was no answer.

She knew the answer herself. She wasn’t bad at all but good, and yet she wanted someone to praise her, someone to put his hand on her shoulder and say, ‘Saugandhi, who says you’re bad? That person’s the bad one!’ No, there wasn’t any special need for that. It would be enough if someone said, ‘Saugandhi, you’re really good!’

She thought about why she wanted someone to praise her, as she had never before felt such a strong need for this. Why did she turn even to inanimate objects, asking them to confirm her worth? And why did she feel in her body such an overwhelming desire to give comfort? Why did she want to take the world onto her lap? Why did she want to cling to the streetlamp, putting her hot cheeks against its cold iron?

Then for a moment she felt as though everything was looking at her with sympathy — the streetlamps and the electricity poles, the paving stones, everything! Even the star-filled sky that hung above her like a milky sheet in the growing light seemed to understand her, and Saugandhi in turn felt she could understand the stars’ twinkling. But what was this confusion inside her? Why did she feel so unsettled? She wanted to get rid of the bad feelings boiling inside her, but how could she do this?

Saugandhi was standing next to the red mailbox at the alley’s corner. Sharp gusts of wind buffeted it, and the iron tongue hanging inside its mouth rattled. Again Saugandhi looked in the direction the car had gone, but she didn’t see anything. How much she wanted the car to come back just once, and … and.… But then she reasoned with herself, ‘I don’t care if it doesn’t come back. In fact, good for it! Why should I worry myself to death over it? I’m going home and I’ll sleep like a baby. What’s the point of rehashing everything? Why should I worry over nothing? Let’s go, Saugandhi, go home. Drink a ladleful of cold water, rub in a little balm, and go to bed. You’ll sleep well, and tomorrow everything will be okay. Fuck him and his car!’

These thoughts assuaged some of Saugandhi’s pain. She felt like she had emerged from a cold pond after bathing. Her body felt lighter, as she felt after praying. She began walking to her home, and was her spirits lifted, her steps seemed almost buoyant.

She had nearly reached her apartment when the memory of the man waylaid her again, filling her body with a throbbing pain. Her steps turned heavy, and she felt as though she was reliving the experience step by step — once again she left her room for the market, had a light shone in her face, and was insulted. She felt as though someone was pressing his thumb against her ribs, as you press your thumb into a sheep or goat to see if there is any meat beneath the hair. That rich fuck had …! By God, Saugandhi wanted to curse him! And yet what would come from that? She thought, ‘The real pleasure would come from branding his every inch with insults. The real pleasure would come from saying something to hurt him for the rest of his life. Or tearing off my clothes right in front of him, I would ask, “This is what you came for, right? Here, take it for free — take it. But not even your father could buy what I’ve inside me!” ’

Saugandhi was thinking of different ways of taking revenge. If just once she ran into him again, she would do this … no, not this, but this … she would take her revenge like this … no, not like that … like.… But when Saugandhi realized she would never see him again, she resigned herself to cursing him beneath her breath, and not even with such a bad word, just something that would stick to his nose like a fly to sit there forever.

In this bewildered state, she reached her second-floor room. She took her key out of her bra and reached out to unlock her door, but the padlock was missing! Saugandhi pushed one of the door’s panels inward, and this made a light creaking sound. Someone unlatched the chain from inside, and the door yawned open. Saugandhi entered.

Madho was chuckling. He shut the door and said to Saugandhi, ‘Today you took what I said to heart — a walk in the morning is very good for your health! If you get up and take a walk like this every morning, all your sluggishness will go away, the pain in your waist too, the pain you’ve been complaining about so much. You must have walked all the way to Victoria Gardens and back, right?’

Saugandhi didn’t answer, and Madho didn’t press her. In fact, he never really meant that she should answer his questions, and he talked only because he had to.

Madho sat down on the cane chair with the stained back, crossed his legs, and stroked his moustache.

Saugandhi sat on the bed. ‘I was just expecting you.’

Madho was startled. ‘You were expecting me? How did you know I was coming?’ Saugandhi relaxed her lips into a thin smile. ‘I dreamt about you. I got up, but no one was there. So I decided to go for a stroll, and …’

This pleased Madho. ‘And I came! Well, what do you know! Whoever said that people are connected by their hearts was exactly right. When was your dream?’

‘At about four o’clock.’

Madho got up from the chair and sat next to Saugandhi. ‘And I dreamt about you at exactly two o’clock. You were standing next to me in this very sari. What were you holding — what was it? Oh, yes, you were holding a little bag full of money. You gave this bag to me and said, “Madho, what’re you worrying about? Take this bag. My money’s your money, right?” Saugandhi, I swear, I got up immediately, bought a ticket and came here. What should I say? I’m in a lot of trouble! Out of the blue, someone filed a police report against me. If I give the inspector twenty rupees, he’ll let me go. Aren’t you tired? Lie down, and I’ll massage your feet. If you’re not used to walking, you’re sure to get tired. Here, put your feet next to me and lie down.’

Saugandhi lay down. She folded her arms behind her head for a pillow and then in a cloying tone said, ‘Madho, what bastard filed a report against you? If you think there’s a chance you might go to jail, just tell me. If you give him twenty or thirty rupees — no, even fifty or a hundred — you won’t regret it. If you get off, it’s like saving yourself a fortune. Anyway, stop that, I’m not that tired. Stop and tell me everything. Just hearing the words “police report” made my heart start pounding. When will you go back?’

Madho smelled liquor on Saugandhi’s breath. He thought this the opportune moment and so quickly said, ‘I’ll have to go back in the afternoon train. If the subinspector doesn’t get fifty or a hundred by the evening, then … well, there’s no need to give him a lot. I think fifty should be enough.’

‘Fifty!’ Saugandhi exclaimed.

She got up slowly and went up to the four photos on the wall. Madho’s was the third from the left: he was seated on a chair with a floral-printed curtain behind him. He sat with his hands on his thighs, and in one hand he held a rose. On the stool next to him were two thick books. Everything in the photo was so conspicuous that they all seemed to be saying, ‘We’re having our picture taken! We’re having our picture taken!’ In the photo, Madho was wide-eyed, and the whole situation seemed to make him uncomfortable.

Saugandhi started cackling, a sharp laugh that pricked Madho like needles. He rose and approached her. ‘Whose photo are you laughing at?’ he asked.

Saugandhi pointed to the first photo from the left, that of the official from the city’s Sanitation Department. ‘His — this guy’s,’ she said. ‘Look at his snout. He used to brag, “A queen once fell in love with me.” Yuhkk! Can you imagine a queen loving this nose?’

Saugandhi ripped the frame from the wall with such force that the nail came out along with some plaster. This shocked Madho, and before he could recover, Saugandhi threw the frame out of the window. It fell two floors down and hit the ground with the sound of breaking glass.

‘When his rag-picking queen comes by on her trash-collecting rounds, she can take him with her,’ she mocked. Again Saugandhi erupted in bitter laughter. It rained from her lips like embers flying from a grindstone.

Madho forced himself to laugh.

Saugandhi ripped the second frame off the wall and threw it outside.

‘What does this place mean to that bastard?’ she asked. ‘From now on ugly men are banned — isn’t that right, Madho?’

Madho again forced himself to laugh.

With one hand, Saugandhi took down the picture of a man wearing a turban, and with her other hand she reached for Madho’s photo. Madho shrank back as though she was reaching for him. Then Saugandhi ripped them off the wall, along with their frames and nails.

Saugandhi laughed loudly and then shouted, ‘Yuhkk!’ She threw both frames out the window, and after a moment, they heard the sound of shattering glass. Madho felt as though something inside him had broken. He forced himself to laugh.

‘Yes, good job,’ he said. ‘I didn’t like that photo, either.’

Saugandhi slowly approached him. ‘You didn’t like that photo?’ she repeated. ‘Why would you — is there anything likeable about you? You and your circus nose, you and your hairy forehead, you and your donkey nostrils, you and your twisted ears, you and your bad breath, you and your dirty body? You didn’t like your photo? Yuhkk! It hid all of your blemishes. You know, these days you’re supposed to be proud of your flaws!’

Madho shrank back further. When he reached the wall, he yelled, ‘Look, Saugandhi, it seems like you’ve started working again. Now for the last time I’m going to say …’

Saugandhi interrupted him. ‘If you start to work again,’ she imitated him, ‘well, then our relationship is over. If you let any guy sleep here, I’ll grab you by your hair and throw you out. I’m going to send you a money order for this month’s expenses as soon as I get to Pune. What’s this room’s rent?’

Madho was aghast.

‘I’ll tell you,’ she answered herself. ‘Fifteen rupees. Fifteen, and I charge ten. And, as you know, two and a half go to the pimp. The remaining seven and a half — seven and a half, right? — are mine. And for those seven and a half rupees, I promised to give you things I couldn’t, and you came for things you couldn’t take. What was our relationship? Nothing — just these ten rupees. We pretended, saying things like, “I need you and you need me.” At first it was ten rupees, and today it’s fifty, and you’re eyeing it and I’m eyeing it. And what have you done to your hair?’

With one finger, Saugandhi flicked off Madho’s hat. He didn’t like this at all.

‘Saugandhi!’

Saugandhi took out a handkerchief from Madho’s pocket, smelled it, and threw it on the floor. ‘This is a rag, a rag! Aghh, it smells awful! Pick it up and throw it outside.’

‘Saugandhi!’

‘No — fuck off with your “Saugandhi this and Saugandhi that”! Does your mother live here that she’s going to give you fifty rupees? Or are you some young, handsome stud I’ve fallen in love with? You son of a bitch! Are you trying to impress me? Am I at your beck and call? You fucking bum, who do you think you are? I’m asking you, “Who the hell are you? A fucking burglar? Why exactly have you come here in the middle of the night? Should I call the police? Who cares if there’s really a police report against you in Pune — maybe I’ll file one against you here.” ’

Madho was terrified. ‘Saugandhi, what’s happened to you?’

‘Go fuck your mother! Who are you to ask me that? Get out of here — or else!’

When Saugandhi’s mangy dog heard her yelling, he rose agitatedly from beneath the bed, turned in Madho’s direction, and began to bark. Saugandhi laughed loudly. Madho was scared. He bent down to pick up his hat, but Saugandhi yelled, ‘Hey, don’t touch that! You — get out of here. As soon as you get back, I’ll parcel-post you your fucking hat.’

Then she laughed even louder. She sat down on the cane chair, and her dog chased Madho out of the room and barked him down the stairs.

When he came back, he was wagging his powerful tail. He sat next to Saugandhi’s feet and shook his head, flapping his ears against his cheeks. Saugandhi suddenly felt the frightening stillness that surrounded her, something she had never before felt. It seemed as though a train full of passengers had emptied station by station and now stood desolate beneath the last tin awning. It was a painful hollowness. Saugandhi tried to dispel this feeling, but she couldn’t. All at once a rush of thoughts passed through her mind, but it was as though her mind were a strainer and all her thoughts caught inside it.

For quite a while she stayed in the cane chair, but even after thinking things over, she couldn’t find any way to soothe herself, so she picked up her mangy dog, put him on one side of her wide teak bed, lay down next to him and immediately fell asleep.