Next to Godliness

By: Asha Jyothi

Artist: Gayatri Malhotra

Mar 9, 2020

Vedha’s dad checked the cuffs of his light blue, pure polyester shirt and, satisfied, was ready to tear himself from the mirror and go to work. Still two more seconds to douse the chest with Pond’s Sandal Radiance Talc. Tap-tap the residue on the cheeks.

“Ey, get me the helmet.”

“It’s right there, on the table.” Vedha’s mom called out over the whir of

garam masala blooming in aroma.

Vedha was sitting on the teapoy, eyes wide dead, watching Mundane

Monday unfold.

“Bye baby,” dad said to the helmet and sped away.

She got up, fading ‘Elsa’ bag on her shoulders with one functional buckle, shoes buckled on both sides, with a mind to pay mom a visit in the kitchen.

“Wearing your SHOE and coming into the…” She didn’t stay to hear the rest of the screech. Auto Suresh's green honk rivalled it in intensity anyway.

Moira was sitting there waiting for her. Even though they had been best friends for three years, Vedha still thought the best thing about Moira washer name. Vedha loved saying it to her face like she was squishing some toy jacked up with springs that would bounce back to shape the moment she released it. And Moiiira always grinned at this silly affection and bade her muscles freeze in that grin even after Vedha had moved onto examining other elements of the scenery.

They studied in Sri Acharya Vidyalaya in the 4th standard. Two decades ago, the visionary principal of the school had somehow found a way to compose the school song to the tune of the omnipotent Gayatri Mantra while still retaining the phrase “we shall overcome and be engineers.” The girls made their own fun by chanting the original mantra to the tune of We Shall Overcome. Bhurbhur bhuvahswahaa somedaaay. They were forbidden to share each other’s lunch and forbidden to tell each other this. Apart from

the milk biscuit segment ruled by Britannia that was the tiffin of choice for the mini break. That was, how to say, kosher, but the girls hated having to break their factory-made treats into half and spoil their Good Day so they repurposed the laws of contamination to segregate their snacks instead and freely traded ghee-soaked pulao for the spiced rice of the chicken biryani.

“But we eat sambar idly at Brahmin’s Cafe every week.” Moira reasoned when her mom had listed the terms of their friendship.

“Silly girl, then won’t she want to eat the chicken I have massaged and

tenderized and simmered for 90 minutes? Who do I cook for? Do you know the price of chicken?”

Moira wanted to remind her that dad owned a butcher shop but instead said, “But Vedha is Brahmin.”

“Did she say that?! She is a half breed. Her dad is SC.”

Moira didn’t think to ask what SC stood for exactly. Mom made it seem

ominous enough to warrant discretion in its usage. She instinctively understood that she couldn’t ask Vedha about it outright so it got tucked away somewhere in the recesses of her memory as they continued to grow and sing and eat.

Moira and Vedha opened their lunch boxes that Monday to find puris that only differed in their shade of brown. The gravy masala thankfully tasted nicer on the other side so they partook of that and swallowed their own peas and potatoes. Now they were sitting in the B section classroom with their environmental studies workbooks open, trying to figure out whether “using places near historical places for nature's call” was right or wrong. It seemed right. Their classmates were similarly absorbed in percolating the indoor air with a low-frequency drone when their teacher clapped everyone back to attention and announced loudly that the school was going to be shut for two weeks because of Corona. A spontaneous chorus of happy yelling rose up

like a cloud to meet and greet other classroom bursts of joy and rain down on the entire school. Being more precocious, Moira and Vedha looked at each other with subdued worry. What would they eat for lunch for two weeks? What about forbidden ice lollies and pineapple slices after school? What about the study of the environment! And there was the milestone birthday party. Moira’s tenth on the 27th.

“This stupid bloody China virus ya!” the party planning chair whined.

“It’s fine ya, we will have the house party no!” the birthday girl consoled her.

It’s not the same without the invite-only rummy party with the card sets I was going to flick from dad’s closet; not to mention the special Antakshari with English songs that Moira ordered but is bound to be a huge flop, thought Vedha.

“I guess we can play normal antakshari at your house now. Parents will be there no. They can also play.” she ventured.

“Oh. Ah, we’ll see about that later,” Moira dismissed.

*Vedha*

We are eating rice and tomato sambar with ladies’ finger palya. Such a funny name for something that doesn’t even look like it. Before I can answer dad’s question about what happened in school, mom rushes in and tells him.

“Good only. There are all kinds of odd characters in your school,” dad

frowns, shaking his head before a mouthful.

“Remember how she brought lice home from that girl Deepa.”

There’s nothing more for me to say.

“Moira’s birthday is in two weeks...two and a half.”

Mom and dad look at each other.

“What is the need to go there? Don’t go. They are not nice. They cut up goat and this and that” dad says.

“Goat, chicken. Fish. What else…” mom adds.

I have nothing more to say. I thought of the red bodies hanging in Aziz

uncle’s shop without heads and I ‘unthought’ them.

“They won’t cut up goat for her birthday.”

“You eat your food,” dad says.

*

Daddy is in his blue and yellow checkered towel praying to the three devis. Lakshmi, Saraswathi and Parvathi. They all look the same except for the color of their sarees. He has already applied talcum powder on his chest. I keep trying to make out what is he praying. But then they may not be actual words only. Maybe he doesn’t know the words. Devi the pomeranian is also staring at him from the neighbour’s bed outside the window. She will be Saraswathi, because of her white fur.

“What happened, baby?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I shrug.

It’s funny not to be in my uniform even at 8 in the morning. After Daddy leaves, I go to the neighbour’s house to find Devi without telling Mummy and I come back before she finds out I’m not there. She has to go to the factory till 3 o’ clock, which is ok, but she’s taking her phone with her! What will I do till then? I’ll go to Moira’s house. I just have to cross the main road on my own when aunty starts watching TV after uncle leaves. Then I’ll be back for lunch. I have to replan the whole party with Moira anyway.

There’s a huge flyover in the middle of the road where I have to cross. I

always get so distracted looking at all the cars going so fast on top of it. So I look right and left properly and I reach the flyover safely. Some dirty man is sitting over there. And he’s staring at me. I got a shock for a second! I almost dashed him and I was going to fall. But it’s ok, I didn’t. I think he’s smiling at me. I run and then I have to stop suddenly because of the truck.

Then I run again.

*Moira*

Vedha has come! She’s saying she saw some dirty man near her house and his shirt was all black-black and I was feeling so yuck but then mom came in and she stared at Vedha so weirdly. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to go to the room but she made us sit in the hall itself. And she told me to go get my textbooks!

I was thinking what excuse to make but Vedha said, “Aunty, what cake are you ordering!” She’s so funny.

“You want black forest no?”, mom asks.

“NO! I want a pinata cake?!”

“What’s that!”

“Aunty, get a rainbow cake.” Vedha piped up.

“No!” I told Vedha.

“But a pinata cake will just be regular cake inside,” she said, but it’s fun to smash the ball and every colour in the rainbow cake will taste the same, I told her. Also, it’s my birthday!

“No! Each colour is different. They use pineapple for yellow, orange for

orange, and red velvet….” Vedha says.

Thankfully Mom said, “Enough girls. I’ll go see what’s there in the bakery. And there’s a lot of time for that. Study now.”

I hope she doesn’t go to Iyengar’s bakery. They won’t have all my cakes and she will pick up some boring cake which will taste yuck.

“Aunty, there’s also a rainbow pinata cake.” Vedha says again.

Vedha is so stubborn!

Suddenly, dad emerged from his room. “Moira, go wash your hands.”

“I already did.” I told him. I looked down at Vedha’s hands. I keep telling

her to scrub her inside elbow properly. There’s a lot of dirt there. She has to scrub it properly with gram flour like I do. It looks black. When I was young, when dad used to bathe me, he would make me scrub all those parts properly. Inside my stomach. Even inside my bums. That’s why nothing is black now. Everyone knows Muslims are cleaner than Hindus. I wash my ear so well before namaaz. That’s why it’s always soft. I don’t want to touch Vedha’s ear. Especially Not Now.

Vedha wants to do watercolor painting but my set is getting over and I think she’ll try to draw a rainbow cake. I don’t really mind having a rainbow pinata cake now but I won’t tell her.

“Mm, let’s practice songs for English Antakshari.” I tell her.

“Ok, but BTS is not English.” Vedha says.

“...Ok.” I agree.

Sitting, sitting, what to do. We have to play some game.

Let’s play Antakshari. Taking God’s name.

M. There are no English songs that start with M itself. It is actually quite tough to find songs in English. But I don’t want to play normal antakshari for my birthday so I don’t know what to do.

“Moira, I’m going to go recite namaaz,'' Dad comes in and goes out. It is at least one hour before dhuhur but dad is going to the mosque more times now.

“Why isn’t the mosque shut?” I asked mom.

“It is safe there,” Mom said.

*

The day after Vedha’s visit, Aziz stopped at the tyre shop near the mosque to chat with the proprietor, and there he saw a small crowd gathered straight down the road, under the flyover. Mahesh the bus driver was there too and they both set off in that direction to find out what was happening.

There were five or six men there who were rough-handling a shaggy-

haired, shaggy-bearded man, asking him where he had come from and

what he was doing now. The man under interrogation predictably broke his silence to mumble something in a language they tried unsuccessfully to decipher, and then he coughed guiltily, which only encouraged them to raise their own tones. After being informed by a casual partaker that the fellow had “deliberately coughed” at two of the men smoking cigarettes, Aziz waded into the melee himself and called for silence. And silence he got as the men regarded him with a degree of curiosity bated by dismissiveness.

“Why don’t we call our corporator…”

Of course, that was all he managed to get in before this silly suggestion was drowned out by a chorus of disapproval deriding the efficacy of any government to handle any situation.

“But, but...” Aziz tried to butt in, but wisely got out his phone instead and made a call a few steps away from the focal point of tension.

“Hello Naresh sir? Namaste. Sir, this is Aziz speaking. Yes sir, Deccan

Chickens. And fish and mutton also sir.... Sir, there is a situation here…”

Sir received an account of the situation and told Aziz to stand by while he sent a representative to check if the flyover intruder was a virus-carrying hazard to the neighbourhood. When the men gathered there received an account of this conversation, they grudgingly scattered away.

“You stay here. Go sit there.” Aziz shouted to the shaggy man, almost

spitting into him, and left to tell the tyre shop owner the news, and then home to tell Moira and Moira’s mother.

*

That same evening, Mallanna returned home in a surfeit of nerves to tell Vedha and Vedha’s mom that the first death had been reported from near his village in Kalaburgi.

“There is a new beggar sleeping under the flyover.” Vedha’s mom interjected as if this were a natural succession of thought.

“Yes!”, Mallanna continued, “I saw him before turning into the lane.

Somebody should shoo him away.”

“Yes, yes. That has all been arranged by Moira’s dad it seems.” Vedha’s mom confirmed.

Mallanna considered this, and retired to the bathroom, weakly murmuring assent.

*

Aziz was feeling especially energized after the Friday prayer. The hall of the mosque was packed with more believers than usual and the imam had reinstated the faith and courage of every man there by proclaiming Islam’s superior preparedness to fight the godless virus, readily witnessed in their style of greeting, the habiliment of the women and of course, the pious rituals they followed every day.

He walked to the flyover, saw the man lying there in a state of stupor, and called Corporator Sir again. The call went unanswered. Three times. He went back home and the rest of the weekend went by in a state of rest and overconsumption of mutton and ginger garlic paste.

*

Mallanna was turning into the main road with Vedha and Vedha’s mom in tow. They were going to Brahmin’s Cafe for their weekend special. Vedha, sandwiched between mom and dad, was already salivating at the thought of warm, melting ghee on crisp, brown dosés and fluffy, white idlis. Or hot rice bathed in lentil soup- she hadn’t decided.

“Daddy!” she shouted, and pointed at the scary fellow dozing off under the flyover- face and one arm turned to the road without fear or remorse.

Daddy didn’t look properly. He didn’t want to think of this inauspicious

being while they were making their pilgrimage to Pure Veg Paradise. When they got there, they realized that paradise was oversubscribed by hungry devotees patiently perambulating its outer gates. Of course, the wait to enter the sanctum was worth it and they were stuffed with saturated fats to their heart’s discontent as they made their way back to the earthiness of their home. But they didn’t have to wait that long before they were jolted back to reality and all the deadly diseases it nurtured. Daddy had a better view of the bushy beggar man creeping up on him from his left side now. He braked and asked Vedha to carry on. Then he swerved left. Both Vedha and Vedha’s mom stood glued to the pavement. He parked the bike on the road and went a little closer. He tried to poke the man’s feet with his feet- the man was sitting upright now but was still faithfully fulfilling his duty of dozing. Mallanna knocked his unruly head of hair with his helmet and he bolted awake. He got up to behold the terrible gaze of Mallanna, and instinctively started coughing to comfort himself. Mallanna’s rage hurled

out of his mouth.

“What man! Go over there, pompous son-of-a!”

The man responded by staying put like Vedha and Vedha’s mom on the other side, and slowly examined his shirt. The oddest thing about all this was the sudden spurt of attention he was receiving. Why were people talking to him, even if they were yelling? In place of the morbid tranquillity of being allowed to rot at his own pace, this curious aggression that he was being force-fed was threatening his fundamental right to partake of various public works like the flyover. Two or three men had once again gathered around him like perceptive little ants around a spot of sugar. Once again, they loudly exchanged opinions with each other while he had to mutely look on. Then they went their separate ways.

*

On Monday, Vedha was sent on an information scouting trip to Moira’s

house, and she went, not bothering to remind them of their own

interdiction. Soon after she arrived, Aziz made a call from his wife’s phone and Corporator Sir responded. Wondrously, a team of officers in half-sleeved raiment manifested at the flyover in the late afternoon and proceeded to make important assessments of the public health situation. The tyre shop owner sent word to Aziz about this. Vedha’s neighbour aunty descended down to the spot with Vedha. Apparently, the man could be kept in a government shelter but the closest shelter was already teetering with twice its holding capacity. There was no chance of him being taken to a farther shelter at this time. He just had to be avoided by the good citizens of the neighbourhood. Someone asked if he could be tested. The senior officer saluted everyone and graciously asked for permission to leave. When the object of all this attention realised that the crowd was gesturing for him to stay right where he was, the bewildering predicament he had been put through seemed finally to be on its last leg.

*

Another week went by. The city was locked into isolated domesticity. And Moira’s mom had to find a cake, which she really should have ordered earlier except that she was accustomed to a much shorter turnaround time. And a fresher cake was a safer cake. And she wasn’t sure of the turnout at all even though she had especially requested people to come instead of just letting the invitations float around to save herself the bother of ordering extra. She had written down what Moira wanted and was consulting Google on the similarity of pinata and pineapple. Perplexed at the architectural dexterity that this clearly foreign cake seemed to require, and exasperated at the rule-abiding baking establishments that had pulled down their shutters, she decided to bake time-hallowed chocolate. And with immense

resourcefulness, YouTubed how to stuff packets of Gems inside so there was still an element of unlocking hidden pleasure. Then she had to cook three kinds of biryanis, excising the Jain option from the list. Buy a kilo of chips and a few litres of Pepsi, which she could set any boy to do.

*Moira*

My birthday is here! I’m so happy. Mom is combing my hair. It’s a little

empty when I look outside my window but it’s ok, my house is full itself. The guests are in the hall and I can hear Vedha talking to them. I’m just wearing my shoes. Mom was fussing too much with the socks so I told her to leave it and went out. Everybody looked at me and said woooww. I wanted to turn around like the Nirma girl. Her legs are so nice and her skirt flies so nicely. But it’s ok, this dress is not that nice.

We played normal Antakshari itself. It was nice. I wanted to cut the cake but Vedha’s parents hadn’t come still, and Akshay’s parents. Then they came. Mummy brought out the cake. Vedha was not looking happy itself but when I cut the cake, everyone said woooww and Vedha became so happy looking at the Gems. She said, “This is a rainbow cake only!”

My mom and Vedha’s mom chatted so much. Aunty said the veg biryani was really nice. Even Vedha’s dad and my dad were laughing so much- I didn’t understand about what. So it’s ok, everything was nice.

*

Vedha’s dad and Moira’s dad have both tested positive today. They don’t want to tell their landowners, who will tell the municipality- that is if they don’t kick them out. Aziz wonders if Moira should be sent to his nephew’s place with her mother. She was sure to insist on going to Vedha’s, which was not a good idea. Mallanna was similarly immersed in gloomy contemplation about what to do when he suddenly remembered the man under the flyover. He asked Vedha to ask Aziz to call the corporator again, which Aziz did on his neighbour’s phone, insisting that the man be tested. Wondrously, two officers arrived with a testing kit. The man was awake, which was most irregular, and his suspicions about the day were confirmed when an alien in puffy, blue costume and helmet swooped down on him and made him stand, grabbing hold of his arms, while another assaulted his nasal dignity.

The tyre shop assistant came rushing to the spot just as the officers were getting ready to fly back to their world, and humbly requested one of them for their number. He gave this to Aziz, who put it to use after five days, and then the next day and the next till he got a reply. Aziz thanked the officer, called Mallanna directly and told him the stranger’s test had come back negative. Mallanna was about to reach home when he received the call and stopped near the flyover. He looked to his right, but the dreadful man who had unjustly ducked the blame was nowhere to be seen.