The girl’s voice sounds a bit thin at first, her words shaky, but she quickly seems to gain confidence. Bhim nods in approval. “I knew, the moment I saw her in her slum at Dharavi, that she would be the one.” He shushes Karun, who’s now switched to earnest appeals to save Jaz. “Not now. I want to see if she delivers this part properly—it’s about the bomb.”
Like an anxious parent tracking a school play debut, Bhim mouths the words along. But his youngster doesn’t quite pull it off. “Come to me, and I will save you from the fire,” she says, then gets stuck. The seconds tick by, and Bhim gets increasingly fraught. He’s about to give the signal to switch to the canned version when she sputters back to life. “I will save you from the destruction of our city, I will save you from the bomb.”
Bhim claps at the end of the recitation, causing his entire entourage to burst into applause. Seizing the opportunity of Bhim’s genial mood, Karun pleads again on Jaz’s behalf. “Ah yes, your friend. Don’t worry, I hadn’t forgotten. But first, let me ask—this lady by your side—are you his lovely missus?” He bids me namaste and I instinctively fold my hands to respond. “Such an honor to meet you, so wonderful to unite you with your husband. But tell me, has he informed you about the secret Muslim hobby he’s developed?”
There’s nothing to do but look away, which prompts Bhim to emit a horrid little laugh. “So you know already. And what do you think? Should I release this Gaurav so you can be one happy family from now on? Or would you rather remain a twosome, prefer I remove this impediment once and for all?”
“If you think I want anyone killed, you’re crazy. Release him at once.”
“Bravo! Putting your husband’s interests over your own—spoken like Sita herself. The ground should part open any moment now to acknowledge such a noble sacrifice. But why do I feel our Sita’s not quite ready to be welcomed back into the earth’s fold just yet? That she wouldn’t mind if instead of her, the Muslim got swallowed instead?”
“That’s such a lie. I would never want—”
“No, of course not. You’d never want it on your conscience, I understand. How could you even face your husband afterwards if he’s so sad and hobby-less? But fear not. We won’t let your hands get dirty—we’ll leave that to Devi ma instead. Look, here comes her magic buffalo, in fact. I had them move it to the earlier show so we could all enjoy its sacrifice.”
I turn around to behold the airborne buffalo, bobbing just inside the parapet. The body looks plumper than yesterday, as if it’s been gorging all night to fatten itself. A line of green swastikas runs along its brow like dots adorning a bride’s forehead. “I am the demon Manisha,” it bellows through the speakers, and the Devi stands defiant against its threats.
“This part’s still prerecorded,” Bhim apologizes. “Devi ma hasn’t been able to memorize the lines yet.” He seems to know all the words—so well that I wonder if he’s composed the script himself. “Repent, or I will cut your buffalo head and incinerate your sinful flesh,” he booms at Karun, mimicking the metallic voice that blusters across the terrace. “But yes, as for your request. Watch carefully, because here comes the good part, the one that concerns your friend.”
Bhim grins impishly and I start to feel chilled. “I promised not to lay a finger on him,” he says, winking, as a trident appears in the girl’s hand. “This way I get to keep my word, and bestow a bit of happiness on Sita as well.”
“It couldn’t be,” I whisper, almost to myself. Last night’s image, of the spirit, as Chitra called it, flailing inside the buffalo frame, fills my mind. “He couldn’t be inside.”
“Excellent,” Bhim exclaims, his head eagerly cocked to catch everything I’ve said. “Even though you’ve spoiled my surprise, even though I was going to save it for after the show.” He beams as if we can’t help but be delighted at this twist he’s engineered for our entertainment. “Of course, with all the fireworks shooting off, you’ll barely catch a glimpse of your friend.”
“He’s inside,” I shout, clutching at Karun, who hasn’t quite understood. “Jaz is inside the buffalo—they’ll light it and set him aflame as well.” From her stand, the Devi waves her trident, hurling more threats at the buffalo, which floats in bloated obliviousness. “I saw it yesterday—someone burning alive—we only have a few seconds left.”
My words galvanize Karun. “Stop,” he shouts, waving his arms to catch the Devi’s attention. “Stop, Devi ma, stop, your Gaurav-ghoda is inside.” He charges off, sprinting halfway down the length of the pool before the guards catch up with him. “Stop,” he screams, struggling to break free from their grip.
Bhim shakes his head. “Tell your husband to relax and enjoy the show—there’s nothing he can do to help. Devi ma just imagines she’s doing the igniting—we light it by remote from up here.” As he speaks, a burst of laser-like rays sparks from the girl’s trident.
Karun is still screaming when a small flame pops alive on the buffalo’s skin. It climbs up the face and leaps onto the neck, burning along the nape like a fiery mane. Smoke wafts out of the nostrils, buds of orange sprout along the legs. As they burgeon and flower, people start cheering from the beach below.
With a luxurious whoosh, a cloak of flame enwraps the buffalo. Strings of firecrackers burst forth from the eyes, a volley of rockets zooms out of the mouth. Responding to the crowd’s acclamation, the Devi holds her trident victoriously aloft. The fire burns right through the posterior from tail to haunches, leaving the underlying frame exposed. I try to make out the grisly sight I know the interior imprisons, but already there is too much smoke.
A tremendous explosion rips the belly apart, generating a fireball large enough to swallow the entire animal. Bits of debris flame through the sky like meteor remnants, a shower of cinders drops sizzling into the infinity pool. The heat is so intense that the cable holding the frame melts right through, the remnants crash out of view below. Attendants rush down the terrace to douse the fronds of a palm set ablaze in its pot.
“Good show,” Bhim says. He inhales deeply, as if pleased to be breathing in smoke from the air. “See, that wasn’t too traumatic. Stop looking so horrified—don’t you realize this means you’re free? One day you’ll thank me—competing with such a hobby is not so easy.”
The guards try to lead Karun back, but his legs give way under him. I rush over as they prop him up against a ledge by the pool. I cradle him in my arms, tell him neither he nor I could have done anything. But my efforts barely penetrate. “So little time. We had so little time together,” he keeps repeating.
Holding his stricken face between my hands, I see what he has managed to hide so well even this afternoon (or is it simply something I have refused to acknowledge?). The bond I ascribed to sexual attraction is deeper, more threatening. Despite the horror of what has passed, I want to ask: What if it had been me in the fire instead? Would his expression be as tortured, his devastation as complete? Or would his grief be more sculpted, staid—a bereaved spouse’s dutiful mourning? “So little time,” he says again. Hasn’t he spent even fewer years with me?
But then his suffering overwhelms me. I find myself dissolve in his anguish, cry for the love he has felt and lost, for the love I have for him, and for the love, even if not as strong, I know he has for me. I hold him close to my body, kiss his face repeatedly, tell him I’m there to comfort him, I will always be by his side. Somehow, I think, we will put Jaz behind us, find a way, no matter how painful, to focus again on the two of us.
I’m wondering where we go from here, what tentative steps we take into our future, when the first shots ring out. The Devi screams, as Das, accompanying her back from the turret, slaps his neck as though bitten by a gnat, and crumples.