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  The first day he cooked dog curry, he ate it all himself. We wouldn’t touch it. We waited for a few days, and after we were sure he wasn’t going to start barking, we also tried it. Mmm, it was tasty! But Muni boasted that even if he were to cook a donkey, it would be tasty. He was very proud of his cooking. Okay, listen to this joke. On the first night that he ate dog curry in our camp—we were camping in Kibuye, a city I will never be able to forget until the day I die, the army massacred 1,80,000 there alone—while we were all asleep, we heard a dog barking in our room. We switched on the light to find Muniyandi barking, his eyes bright red, spittle foaming from his mouth. We all began shaking with fear. Miriam, a member of our troupe, even began to cry. Finally we found out he was just acting, deliberately trying to terrify us. He teased us for several days after that. That dog curry reminds me of so many things. Tell me—even though there are so many elephants in your country, you don’t eat elephant meat. Why? We eat it. Muniyandi loved it, too. In fact, the very first day we met that big fatso, he asked us where he could get elephant curry. I believe a minister in your country once told a group of

  starving people to eat rats. Politicians are the same all over the world. But there is a difference in our country; here, politicians shoot the people down, barbecue them, and then eat them.

  Okay, I’ll stop here. Tonight the memories of Muniyandi and my other comrades are crowding my thoughts so much…

  12

  THE COUNTRY SAT in the center of Africa, a tiny circular dot on the map. Zaire to the west, Tanzania to the east, Burundi to the south. A population of 81 lakhs. No coastline, no trains, no industry. Rampant malaria and venereal disease. Languages included Swahili, Kinyarwanda, and several other dialects. High above sea level. Rocky soil. Bamboo forests with elephants, lions, and gorillas. In the north, the volcanic peaks of the Virunga Mountains, Mount Karisimbi the tallest of them at 14,787 feet. In the west, Lake Kivu. Eighty-one percent of the population belonged to the Hutu ethnic group, who were largely farmers; they were said to be the first settlers, though nobody was sure when they arrived. The Tutsi came after them, perhaps around 1350. They were cattle herders. Six feet nine inches tall, and strong. No other race in the world could match their strength. They were a warlike people, trained as soldiers. They may have come from Ethiopia; wherever they came from, once they arrived, they dominated the other ethnic groups. Although they were not great in number, they soon became masters over all the others, owning and controlling the land.

  The aboriginal people of the land, the Twa, were pygmy hunters and potters. Their population numbered about 90,000.

  The country was colonized first by the Germans, and then by the Belgians, but they were only rulers on paper. The real power rested with the Tutsi. For over 360 years the country was ruled by a Mwami, a feudal lord of the Tutsi tribe. In 1962, the Hutus rebelled. Power was snatched away from the Tutsi. Nine thousand of them were massacred. They fled to other countries as refugees. This was the same year in which the university in Butare was founded. But after a few years the Hutu president was assassinated by Tutsi soldiers—this is all stuff you can learn from old newspapers. You don’t need me to tell you. But Nano, how the nine thou- sand Tutsi were massacred will not be found in our archives. Those details are locked in the collective memory vault of the Rwandan people.

  But I happen to have come across that information. My Algerian girlfriend, Nafisa, translated an old Hutu man’s notes, written in Kinyarwanda, about how he and the other Hutus massacred the Tutsi.

  Our war has begun. It began a long time back. We finished off Rukansu Mwimba, Ntare Rutaganzwa Rugamba, Mwami Kigeri Rwabugiri, and all the other Tutsi Mwamis.

  We swirled the Tutsi children in the air and smashed their heads onto the ground, into trees and rocks, and killed them. We chopped off the Tutsis’ genitals and their tongues. We dug out their eyes with thorns. We threw them alive into the canals. We tore the children and babies in two. We built a stake nine feet tall and sharpened the top, made a Tutsi sit on it, and pulled him down by his legs. It was not easy to tear apart a Tutsi. The body would split in two up to the neck and stop there. After that we would cut up the Tutsi’s body. We made some of them swallow red hot coals. If a Tutsi escaped, we would chop off his head; our children even today tell tales of watching headless bodies run for miles. We did all this in full view of the other Tutsi. The Tutsi should see this, the Tutsi should learn to fear us. We used to fear them; we did all this because of that fear—the fear of death. Do you know what another word for death is? Tutsi. We were teaching death what death was.

  Did you hear what the old Hutu had to say, Nano? Now the Tutsi and Hutu are killing each other by turns. They don’t impale people on stakes anymore; more often, they use tyres. You should see that, a man running with his arms pinned to his body by a flaming tyre! But what- ever the old Hutu man said is nothing new to us. If you doubt me, just ask Thayumanavan. Right now, the same thing is happening again, in Ethiopia. The TPLF (Tigray People’s Liberation Front) and the EPLF (Eritrean People’s Liberation Front) are at war with each other. Eritrea is fighting to become an independent nation. But the recent famine has sent 1,80,000 as refugees to Sudan.

  And so it keeps happening again and again. Not just here. Everywhere.

  13

  THE FOLLOWING HEADLINE grabbed my attention as I was doing research in the archives of daily papers from years past: THE MONKEY THAT DEFILED A WOMAN. I looked up the meaning of monkey in the dictionary, and discovered that it was an animal. But I still could not understand the word defile. The state-approved lexicon did not include this word. When I looked it up in the dictionary of forbidden words, I saw that it meant to sexually overpower. Still, I couldn’t make any sense of it. What was it to sexually overpower someone? Was that even possible? Why didn’t she just suck out his blood?

  The story is complete. All that’s left is to title it. Since it falls under the genre of science fiction, I think this title will do. It’s not fancy, but I think it will suit what follows.

  THE WOMAN WHO DEFILED A

  MONKEY

  Piyyo wrote that while researching old manuscripts in some archive or the other, he had discovered that it was on the very same day ninety years ago that the leader of the Tree Party had held a very significant historical nine-hour-long fast. Riyyo wrote back saying that he had decided not to come, because he was worried that the Soil Party, which boasted about having splintered off from the Tree Party, would announce the celebration of their ninetieth anniversary. When asked “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this when you called last night?” the only reply was a kind of noise:

  Pee…kee…kow…nyoing …

  Pee…pee…kirrr…pee…kirrr…

  the bastard will fall sick excrete deteriorate further when will you die donkey you dirty bitch Mudevi unwashed Mudevi bitch in heat working through the day singing and dancing when he arrives he will start to dance and oh what a dance he’ll put her on his head and twirl ecstatic demented frenzy they will melt into each other like sugarcubes what’s this? Why did these lines intrude into the story, only to generate confusion? Forget it. My fingers itch to draw the sari, but I hesitate—I’m worried that Ninth- Century-A.D.-Dead-Brain will accuse me of copying Kurt Vonnegut. In his book, Vonnegut drew a sketch of the ladies’ underwear of an earlier era. Now I will draw the sari:

  Of course, the designs on the sari would be many and varied. I said, “If you were to wear this sari, then Riyyo would not keep staring at your waist.” This is a Lady Reader’s letter found in a newspaper ninety years back:

  Dear Editor,

  It is said that it is part of Tamil tradition to wear a sari. I don’t understand this tradition. When we wear saris the menfolk stare unblinkingly at our waists. If, to avoid this, we wrap ourselves with the pallu and tuck the end in, there is still a large part of the waist exposed. The only way out is to totally cover our body, like a television news
reader. But, if we try to board a bus like that, the sari end somehow escapes our grasp, and then it becomes a struggle retrieving it in the crowd. Also, wearing a sari necessitates choosing a matching underskirt. Now in a salwar-kameez, we can avoid all these problems. All we need are panties. We don’t need to worry about losing the end of the sari or the waist being visible. Therefore, please desist from publishing any more letters that lament over Tamil women forgetting their traditions and switching over to salwar-kameez. Of course you men, who wear your pants without underwear so you can come and grind against us on crowded buses, will find this difficult to understand.

  Riyyo: You have upset me by inviting me to Kiyyo’s place tonight. I gave you company the whole day. Phir bhi… you called me… I can’t sleep tonight…

  Kiyyo is engrossed in his research on primordial man. Riyyo is doing the same thing. And so they are known as science fiction authors. Those who opposed them demanded: “These two, who are writing about ancestral man—do they live as ancestral man did? And if not, why do they want to write about him? Their blood must be sucked out as a punishment!” But Kiyyo engineered their escape by means of a super-intelligent feat. Kiyyo said: “Ancestral man. Sign. Arrival. Style. Structuralism. Style. A sign is contained in a sign, not in a language. Language is contained in language, not in a sign. Language and sign are completely different. I was asked, ‘What is a sign?’ I said, ‘Look for the sign in the sign.’ They are still looking. And so Riyyo and I escaped.”

  14

  SHE IS READING about the history of Peru. Her bones tremble on reading of the massacre by Pizarro and his men of 9000 Inca warriors. The Spaniards then installed a puppet ruler, Tupac Huallpa, before marching on Cusco. They captured the capital city on September 18, 1539, and looted the golden treasures of the Sun Temple.

  In my next novel, the protagonist will not know how to think. Her name will be Echo. She will be an audio mirror. She will do nothing but repeat what you say. Your speech will be her speech. Your word will be her word. Your silence will be her silence. She will not remember any name or identity.

  Thinking these thoughts, she switches on the radio.

  The radio news says that 270 skeletons have been found in the hospital morgue in Sarajevo, that only 90 of them have so far been identified, that the task of recovering the 9000 bodies in Srebrenica is underway, and that the excavation is revealing more and more bodies.

  She shuts off the radio and puts on Mozart’s Requiem Mass.

  15

  THE DOG IS CHASING Muniyandi matter

  movement the animal’s bark was as loud and menacing as the roar of a lion matter attempts to exist on its own the ground seemed to quake matter is engulfed by other matter he is running down Barakhamba Road in the dark cold lonely night running for his life matter will give its best effort to exist on its own matter tries to occupy the universe it has come too close about to start a spring that could span the world it is because man understands himself as human that he tries to study the universe the distance between himself and certain death was shortening matter has continuous movement within it death is now dependent on time and space it is only because the neutron understands itself as neutron that the big bang took place the dog is now a word existing on this page when meaning is sought after there are many other meanings that are lost here in this moment illusion from now on it makes no difference if the physical movement is real or a hallucination does Borges have this physical movement of matter in him death is certain now language is a set of games the fear of death lends him speed the scientific truth of matter in language is negated here I can feel the hot breath of the dog at my heels Robbes-Grillet looks at matter as nothing but that as his terror increases so does his speed but isn’t this reminiscent of eighteenth-century naturalism the body burns like fire Iannis Xenakis is able to recreate the burning sun with his electro-acoustic music breathing has now become a fiery storm is the seepage of light similar waves that measure the sky density and sonority of sound is an eighty-thousandth of a second galaxy explodes traveling in mind and cosmos using group theory and mathematical logic into the concept of mathematical probability stochastic music theory is created is it possible to become nothing with no space or time only a few moments separate me and death the athlete covers ninety meters in 9.81 seconds I stand on the precipice defying gravity the density of nuclear matter is 45 trillion times more than that of osmium the densest element occurring in nature this has a parallel with Bernoulli’s law of large numbers which states that as the number of trials of a random experiment increases the percentage difference between the expected and actual values goes to zero.

  I jump off the precipice and then catch hold of the edge flipping a coin nine hundred times increases the chance that the number of heads and tails will at some point become equal the dog follows the natural count is lucid and systematic his chest feels as if it will burst fish jaw blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah waves scream to shatter the universe Henri Charrière calculated the patterns of the ocean waves and planned his escape accordingly can I escape Xenakis is an expert in physics but The Honorable Tamil Writer says music is the sacred worship of creativity that creativity will come alive as melody it will become visible to human eyes he runs forgetting time space self and the other the Yoruba dancers have reached the climax a sensation of melting into the atmosphere okantomi okantomi okantomi okantomi okantomi okantomi okantomi okantomi okantomi blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah Guevara’s face is visible amidst the swirling Yoruba dancers the sound recedes into silence poses in different forms lingam yoni yin yang lines squares circles space music vilambit structures symmetry time swastika dimensions universe light and attuned body movements frog crocodile tiger snake animalistic forms such as a replacement of old and dilapidated wiring replacement of electrical fittings and fixtures and installing additional electrical points are badly required frequent breakdown of electricity the working hours have been increased and there is almost darkness no toilet for the lady staff members or the male staff members whereas about four hundred and fifty mem- bers are working in this office psycho fever in the minds of the staff members because of the appearance of live snakes requested that availability of funds to the tune of nine lakhs two thousand three hundred and four (Rs. 2,50,659 for minor civil works plus Rs. 6,51,645 for electrical repairs) in ’63 when pump-sets were introduced into rural areas it relieved the sexual frustrations of the rural youth all genitals have been confined in the darkness hidden from sunlight for centuries only humans copulate face-to-face Garcia Lorca tries to escape death in Madrid by fleeing to Granada, but is caught there and dragged through the streets we are reminded of his House of Barnada Alba and its women embarrassing problem of premature ejaculation suddenly remembering the similarity between running and punching he turned his thoughts to Yamaguchi the karate master spending hours practicing sanchin under a mountain waterfall kiai develops with kiai you can do impossible things Seikenzuki breaks a 180 kilogram block of ice with his bare hands front forward push multiple stroboscopic photographs taken at intervals of 1/180th of a second show the fore-fist moving at the speed of nine meters per second she breaks wooden planks measuring 27 × 18 × 1.8 centimeters and concrete slabs 45 × 18 × 9 centimeters thick the physicist analyzes and evaluates the factors the elasticity of the materials the acoustic properties of the materials and the amount of energy each material accepted from the fist concrete’s elasticity is such that if it bends a millimeter it will crack wood will fracture if made to bend 1.8 centimeters Michael Feld Professor of Physics at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Muniyandi thought about the distance between the object and the punching fist and its speed it is the same as the distance between me and the dog chasing me Le Diatope is a composition of cosmic music combined with African drums Japanese tsuzumi noises made by rubbing stones on cardboard and music based on mathematical probability theory.

  16

  I HAVE TO STOP MYSELF from building
up these myths about Muniyandi.

  First, his claim that The Honorable Tamil Writer was ignoring him, purportedly because he made derogatory statements about the Tamil language, is a lie. In fact, The Honorable Tamil Writer responded by challenging Muniyandi to a wrestling match.

  Also, Muniyandi didn’t really die in Rwanda. There is clear evidence that he came to Kashmir after the Rwandan Civil War. He wrote a letter to Surya from Kashmir. I even read it. It was damaged, though, and all I could make out were some recipes for Kashmiri cuisine. You don’t believe me? Here, I’ll quote from it.

  Wazawan Researchers believe this dish originated in Central Asia. It takes nine hours to prepare and nine people to cook it. The cooks must rent huge cauldrons, which they bring on horse-driven carts. The cooking is done in the open air. The ingredients are:

  [This portion is missing, the paper having been eaten away by bookworms.]

  Aside from the many run-of-the-mill roadside dhabas, I have made a list of places to head for specialty items. The Friday night buffet at the International Centre—the chicken curry served at Shri Ram College of Commerce on Wednesday—the fabulous evening tea at St. Stephen’s College in the university campus—the Sunday lunch spread at Hindu College, which could be compared to a wedding dinn…

  [The portion after this page is lost among Muniyandi’s notes.]