His escape cut off, Bhim backs away to the edge of the turret. He threatens to toss the girl over, waving her body in the air. Perhaps it’s the breeze from this motion that revives the Devi. “Welcome,” she says to her army of followers, then twists around to claw at Bhim’s face.
The next moment is a blur, with Bhim shouting, devotees charging, and the Devi woozily spurring them on with snatches of her speech (“Show them no mercy,” “Nourish the land with their blood”). Seconds later, both she and Bhim hurtle down towards a mosaic of shirts and saris held aloft (together with the odd devotee pulled along). The loudspeakers continue to chronicle Bhim’s fate even after his body is swallowed from view—his screams mingling with the frenzied cries of the hordes, followed by a subtle series of pops quite distinct from the static, like knuckles cracking or a stale baguette snapped in two. It takes me an instant to realize this might be the sound a body makes when pulled apart. I look at the eddies of activity swirling in the floodlights, and although I can’t be sure, I think I spot Bhim’s head bobbing away like a coconut.
The Devi, on the other hand, seems none too worse for her tumble. Dazed but intact, she rides the adulatory swells resting on her back for a while, then sits up to test-wave each of her three hands in turn. In short order, she is presiding over a group of people pulling up loudspeaker poles and lashing them together to cant against the hotel as climbing ramps. The last glimpse I have is of her leading the charge to reclaim her abode, the arms supporting her invisibly tucked under. An airborne presence, like Superdevi herself, gliding magically over the sea of her followers.
Now that the danger from Bhim has dissipated, Sarahan and his companions finally emerge from the emergency stairwell. I shout to Karun and Sarita to follow me—the last thing we want is to get caught in crossfire between competing factions. We swim against the tide of devotees, pouring in steadily now up the various flights of stairs. As we struggle down to the second-floor landing, Sarita comes to a stop. “Would you mind waiting here? I’ve left something in Guddi’s room I need to get.”
“You can’t be serious. Not again.”
“It will just take a second.”
In the end, we all go. While Sarita rummages around the cupboard for her pomegranate, I slip into the bathroom to retrieve the gun, with which I seem to be playing my own karmic game of lost and found.
Even the detour’s five extra minutes exact a price. By the time we get to the ground floor, the entire beach seems to have crushed its way into the hotel. As we watch, the wall behind the stage ruptures open, and more devotees burst in. “The elephants,” I shout to Sarita, and we push our way towards their stables.
Where, bless her little Bride of Ganesh heart, we find Guddi, who has somehow managed to install herself in the role of chief mahout. “Their supervisor was ill, so with all my experience in the village, it seemed only natural to help them through this fix. That’s why I couldn’t return to the annex, Bhaiyya—I hope you’re not too mad for leaving you like that.”
I assure Guddi all is forgiven, but we need Shyamu and her now to convey us to safety over the throngs. She frowns at the suggestion. “But I’m in charge here. I can’t just take off—it’s much too important a job. Just look how the noise has agitated the elephants. What if I leave and something goes wrong?” On cue, one of the animals trumpets, pulling with such force at his chain that he almost yanks the peg out.
But then another wall collapses and more people gush in. The mahouts inform Guddi that the only way to protect the animals is to ride them away to safety somewhere. They start mounting their charges and leaving, despite Guddi running around protesting that nobody should go until she decides what’s best. She gets very angry when I ask some of them if they will carry us along. “Didn’t you just say you wanted Shyamu and me to take you? Are we suddenly not good enough?”
Once I’ve soothed her feelings, she lines Shyamu up at the mounting stand so we can all get on. Clambering onto his head, she aims him towards a breach in the hotel wall through which the silvery sea is visible. She feeds him a small laddoo produced from somewhere under her sari. Then, unmindful of the screams of panicked devotees underfoot, Guddi steers us out towards the freedom of the sands.
SO IN THE END, fate gives the Jazter a last-minute reprieve, another shot at the Karun sweepstakes. I would have preferred just the two of us on the elephant (or, since we’re fantasizing, on a boat to some safe and secluded island), but still. One thing that’s changed: Karun has told Sarita about us—I can tell from their silence, see it in their faces. Which is excellent news—best to have everything out in the open, should Sarita claim the moral high ground because they’re married, or Karun be tempted to choose duty over love again. The Jazter has outgrown his Mahatma phase—no longer will he cede or sacrifice, watch his love wrested away. Now that it’s down to the home stretch, he’s going to make sure this journey ends the way he wants it.
SARITA
17
AFTER THE EUPHORIA OF ESCAPE HAS SUBSIDED AND THE CLAMOR of the crowds abated, after the moonlit beach has turned pristine and unpeopled again, I experience the strange sensation of being transported to another time, another place. Perhaps it is the rhythm of the elephant, the rocking cadence that pushes me back and forth against Karun, the soothing comfort I derive from the shoulder against which I brace myself. The stars shine down fondly on us, the breeze blows in coolly from the sea, and I feel secure, protected. Then I realize Karun is holding on to Jaz’s body just as I am holding on to his. Instantly, I find myself in the present again.
Too many thoughts flare up in my head, thoughts I haven’t been able to utter in Jaz’s presence. After the roller coaster of events, I no longer know where I’m headed, where I stand. With Jaz glomming onto us so resolutely, what odds of victory can I reasonably expect? Hasn’t Karun already tipped his hand by fleeing precisely such a situation in the past? The feelings he has let slip, the artless craving in his face I’ve glimpsed since. I watch the long white strands of waves ripple in silently, curl in on themselves with barely a splash. The brooding buildings that line the beach, the shuttered bungalows that sightlessly contemplate me back. The choice will be made tonight, there seems no way to avoid the contest. Already I can see the approaching showdown, its inky clouds billowing with portent.
The elephant lurches and the pomegranate, round and firm, presses against my thigh. Urging me to have faith in myself, reminding me I have not played the game yet. I think of all the times I’ve lost and recovered it—surely there must be a reason providence has intervened so often. What magic will the fruit work tonight, how will it showcase my strengths? The memories it conjures: the elixirs before bed, the flavors and scents, the lips tinted red—will Karun simply succumb to them? I close my hand over the fruit to charge me with energy, bolster my confidence. My secret weapon, my enchanted orb—if nothing else, it will reveal my standing in the contest.
Guddi interrupts my reverie. “Where exactly were you expecting me to take you?” she asks us. “This boat you said you’re trying to catch? Shyamu’s not used to carrying so much weight.”
“Madh Island. Where the ferry from Mahim stops—it’s up ahead.” Which is technically true, since it’s north along the beach, though hardly close as Jaz’s words suggest.
After that, Guddi starts muttering a stream of complaints. Shyamu doesn’t like walking in the dark, there’s nothing for him to eat or drink, he misses the other elephants. Although she’s happy we found my husband, this means Shyamu now has the three of us to carry, which as anyone knows, can ruin an elephant’s back. “What will I say if he’s crippled when we return? Devi ma will be very upset.”