The Storyteller by Adib Khan

planks to one side. The hole gaped at me, inviting an exploration. I resisted the impulse to jump in. My imagination wandered into the possible dangers. Mice. Cockroaches. Snakes. I threw in a brick. A squelching noise. Scuttling feet. I tossed in more bricks and tiles. Silence. I lowered myself over the edge and felt an uneven surface with the tip of a big toe. The hole was big enough to swallow me. It was fun to sit there and pretend that I was the emperor of an underworld.
    I, Vamana, banish all men over two feet tall.
    I, Vamana, will graciously receive all gifts, honour and adulation of my royal subjects.
    I, Vamana, promise to love the women of my domain and take a new wife every month.
    I, Vamana, shall rule over this kingdom until the sun withers and the night conquers the world.
    The hole became my hiding ground for stolen possessions. Magazines, clothes, books, toys…I was determined not to share them with others.
    I read the make-up instruction booklet and then balanced the mirror on a pile of bricks. Oooh! The wet cotton wool felt cool on my cheeks. I patted my face with a piece of cloth and rubbed in the cream with the tips of my fingers. Powder and rouge. Kajal. Lipstick. I worked diligently with eager hands. The larger of the two wigs fitted my head snugly.
    I shied away from looking into the mirror until…until the urge was overwhelming. I remembered the look of revulsion on the face of the woman I had encountered in the bazaar. The speechless shock of a first meeting. Eyes lowered. The pulse quickened. The face—coy or genuinely shy? I scanned it with anxiety. No traces of fear. I stepped closer.
    My…my name is Vamana.
    She was…well, not exactly beautiful, but fresh and sparkling.
    I am Kamini from the timeless garden.
    May…may I?
    Of course. I am one of yours. Whatever pleases you.
    Eyes closed, I leaned over to touch her lips. Smooth. Cold as a winter’s ocean.
    Will you go away with me?
    Where?
    Over the empty palaces and graves, across the astonished moon and beyond the jealous sun.
    Only if you talk to me about things unseen.
    What shall I say?
    Tell me about the floating country where nothing grows old. Where the debris of ruined lives cannot crumble any further. Where the wind cries because it can only strum the vacant space. The trees are without leaves, shrivelled and black. A land where restless shadows wait for memory’s return.
    There is no love in such a place.
    Nothing to hate either.
    And if I do…Will you stay with me forever?
    I cannot do the impossible.
    For a lifetime then?
    Only if a man does not come along.
    But I am a man!
    You are a distorted image formed by the reflection of sour dreams in the fading afternoon’s light. You are …
    I didn’t feel the pain immediately. There was a red streak on the cracked mirror where my fist had struck a savage blow. Then a throbbing in my right hand.
    Kamini?
    She had disappeared. I wrapped my hand with a rag and hid the bag in the hole.
    Barey Bhai was generous that evening. He did not complain about the outrageous cost of maintaining us. With roti we had the rare luxury of a spoonful of vegetable and a stale barfi afterwards. Later we heard that a mysterious accident to one of the children in the bustee had prompted the tenants to pay their monthly rents without any obvious coercion from Barey Bhai’s thugs. The day’s takings were presented to him before we ate. Chaman fussed over my contribution. ‘An impressive collection for his first day, wouldn’t you say? He didn’t bungle at all.’
    Barey Bhai looked at Lightning Fingers who nodded his agreement. ‘He’s a natural talent!’
    Barey Bhai grunted and pocketed the cash with the aggrieved air of a man who had been paid an inadequate wage after a day’s hard labour. He examined everything else with painstaking care. It was an inflexible ritual observed with a religious solemnity. We were expected to remain silent as we sat on the floor in front of the raised platform. It