When Gopu first learned to pronounce ‘enemy’, his fingers were still stubby. His mother thought that they smelled of milk. She lived in a tent house down the roads at Kalimpora Camp. And there, Gopu was taken three times a month since he learned to speak. It was on one of those visits when Gopu sat on the dirty rag, pinching a few threads that were sticking out, trying to unravel the flimsy thing, that his mother turned to look at him and said, Them enemy, Gopu! Them keep you away.
His mother had a small mirror encased in plastic hanging on the wall and when she would be busy lining her eyes with dark kohl, Gopu would frequently think of the clouds heavy with rain.
Did the clouds give you the colour, Muku? He would ask.
No call me that name, Gopu. She would say. Muku was not her real name. Muku was her work name and Muku hated it when Gopu called her by that name.
They teach you to call me that? She asked. Her hands were working at the corners of her eyes.
Yes. Gopu said, his voice small. He wanted to think of the clouds, the ones that collect water from one place, grow fat on them in the sky and rain them somewhere else.
A few months ago, Gopu saw a grey goose in the courtyard. Raja, the guardian of the service boys, told him all about that grey goose.
Why do you think it is so fat, Gopu? He asked, pointing at the goose.
It doesn’t work. Gopu had said.
No, Gopu. It is fat with its children.
Where are the children? Gopu had asked, very puzzled.
In the belly, silly. All mothers eat their kids.
Gopu had felt terrified.
Raja, is that really so?
Absolutely, Raja had laughed, his teeth red with the betel leaf sticking out in bits in the gaps of his teeth.
That is why we keep the children here. Raja patted him on the head.
When Gopu came and told Muku the grey goose story, Muku was furious.
She slapped him on his cheek when Gopu kept asking her if she would eat him too. When she saw the red mark it left on Gopu’s cheek, she grabbed his tiny head and pressed it in the cave of her chest. If she could, she would fit it there, in that deep, dark cavity where they would not be able to take him away. The government handed these visits out like mercies. Be thankful, be silent and do your work, or else… She peered at Gopu who had his eyes shut tight. She wanted so much more of him.
She kissed the spot on his cheek. You a big boy Gopu! It alright, babi.
Muku had a broken tongue so her words were all wrong. Raja said that this was how all worker women spoke.
Why do they speak like that, Raja? Gopu had asked.
Because their tongues are broken, Gopu. They are not born right, you see. Our women of the Holy land speak differently, their voice is like music.
Am I born right, Raja? Gopu had asked.
This took Raja a few moments and the silence had weighed heavily on Gopu. Every second that he waited, he thought that Raja would say he was not born right. How does one fix that? He wondered. He had nothing to do with it, did he? Surely, they won’t send him to the lowlands. He had heard of men who were sent to lowlands. Men who disagreed with His Holiness. Then Raja opened his mouth and Gopu’s heart almost stopped.
Boy, you did have problems, I won’t lie. But His Holiness saved you, didn’t he? He found you on the street and brought you to the castle. Just like me. And now you will serve his sons for all your life. What a great gift, Gopu! You can erase your birth. In our lands, everything can be fixed. Love His Holiness and all wrongs are made right.
Muku, Raja told me I am not born right. But I got saved, Muku. Can’t they save you too? Gopu asked.
The words fell on her ears like molten wax to the skin. Her hands trembled. The cavity in her chest was closing. Those words were like boulders closing all that vast space, that hollow castle. And that small head that she held in her hands would take up too much space. It would not fit there. She moved away. She wanted to scold him.
No call me that name. She wanted to say but her voice broke midway. The sobs were coming. There was no stopping them now. Then she doubled over, as one after the other rolled in and she gave in to them, hesitant but helpless. Please do not let them take him away, she thought.
Gopu felt embarrassed when Muku cried. He didn’t know what to do. For a second, he wanted to stretch out his hands. With his fat, little fingers, he wanted to lightly trace the creases on Muku’s forehead. He wanted to smooth them out but the sparrow in his heart fluttered. So many fears had formed in his little mind.
It was illegal for mothers to cry in front of the children.
The tears are sly, Gopu. They are there to make you fall in love with them. Raja had warned.
You report to me if your mother ever cries. We will teach her that you are not a boy to be trifled with. Raja’s words played out in his mind. Gopu did not know why the thought of reporting Muku made his heart feel heavy. The sparrow in his heart seemed to have been replaced with a stone. He had watched Muku get up, rub the tears on her face and aggressively line her eyes. Meanwhile, Gopu tugged at the threads on the rug.
When Muku turned back and told him they were enemies, it was the first time Gopu had heard the word.
What does it mean? He had asked.
It means them bad people, Gopu. Them keep you away. Muku said, her face scrunched up with disgust.
They say the same about you. Gopu said.
Their visit ended soon. His holy guards came to take Gopu away. When Gopu stepped inside the gates of the pearly white castle, the thought of reporting his mother made the stone in his heart alive. It shrunk and shook and Gopu felt a tightening, an ache, not as painful as a tooth ache but one that remained, slow and steady. It haunted him at dinner and it sprang upon him when he went to the kitchen to pocket some cakes.
In the pearly white castle, trust is everything. Raja had told him. We are strong because we do not lie. We are strong because we have nothing to hide.
And yet Gopu had hid the fact that Muku had cried. For a week, he saw her in her dreams, sobbing on the floor. He thought he saw her when he looked at the goose. He saw her in the kitchen too, on the cakes he wanted to steal, on the faces of all the women who cooked, on the doors that stood like giants, on the windows that squeezed in light. Muku was everywhere.
And it made Gopu falter in his morning prayers. It made him miss his step. When Gopu was called to massage Raja’s feet, his fingers felt limp.
You don’t seem yourself, Gopu. Raja said. What are you thinking, boy?
I am thinking about that goose. Gopu lied.
Careful, little man. We will know if you lie. Is it something to do with Muku? Raja asked.
Gopu’s heart stilled. His fingers started to work at the taut muscles in Raja’s calves. A sigh of pleasure emerged from Raja’s mouth and he reclined on the sofa, his eyes half closed.
Those who lie, get sentenced to die. Gopu said. This was one of the first poems that he had learned.
Good boy. Raja told him.
A month passed and Gopu declined to visit Muku. Raja could not be happier.
You are learning the ways of this world, Gopu. Raja told him.
The pebble in Gopu’s heart had turned into a fly. He was alarmed easily. It kept buzzing at odd moments of the day.
Then one day, Tarik, one of the older boys came to the stable where Gopu was playing. In the corner of the stable was a wooden coop where the grey goose was kept.
Gopu, look at those eggs. He said.
What are they? Gopu asked.
They have the little duckies in them. Tarik said.
Beautiful. Gopu smiled, taking in the soft blue hue on the egg shells.
Yeah, they are no good, Gopu. Tarik said.
What do you mean?
They are not born right. He said. Won’t be good little duckies and won’t be good to eat either.
What will happen now? Gopu asked. Somewhere in his chest, the fly buzzed. Be still, Gopu told himself but he felt so alarmed. The tips of his fingers were turning cold. Is this growing up? Gopu wondered. Raja had said that Gopu was finally learning the ways of the world. If this was the world inside the castle, was this really fun? Was this what he wanted? He wanted one sign, from His Holiness who watches over all. One sign, father and I will believe you. He thought.
Then it happened before he could stop it. Tarik took the eggs and dropped them on the floor. Gopu felt himself go cold and limp.
That is what happens to eggs which are not born right, Gopu. He was saying.
But, Tarik, Raja said…he said, everything is fixable. Gopu said. His voice felt dry. He thought of the little duckies. Little duckies no more.
No, Gopu. What is born wrong can never be made right. Do you really believe everything that’s told to you? He asked. He was preoccupied with dropping the eggs. He liked the mess they made.
The fly in Gopu’s heart had grown humongous eyes. It could see everything all at once.
The next month when Gopu stepped outside the castle and went to his mother’s tent house, he did not stay far from her.
Instead, he wrapped his little arms around her very tightly and said, I will get us out of here.
Muku pressed her palms on Gopu’s mouth, for fear the walls would hear.
But Gopu said it again.
I will get us out of here. He kept saying.
When Muku touched his forehead, Gopu had a fever. They lay on the dirty rag and Muku wanted to fit him in that little empty hole in her chest.
If this was a dream, then they were free. She told herself.
How? She asked, her voice a whisper.
Did you know that the rain clouds take water from a place and rain them somewhere else? Gopu asked.
No. Muku said.
I have spoken to them. Gopu said. His fingers were now tracing the lines on Muku’s forehead. They will take us and rain us somewhere else. He said.
Muku laughed between tears. Mad Gopu! She said.
I have eyes now, Muku. I see them now. He pressed his ears on her chest. He could feel her heartbeats.
E-nuh-mi. He said. Broken tongue, broken word. Like mother, like son.
His fever was soaring. The fly was buzzing. The rain clouds would come.
Muku took his hand and kissed the tips of his fingers. They still smelled of milk.
Outside, the rain clouds swooped down on the pearly white castle, a glaring grey, heavy with vengeance.
This story was written as a mark of protest against the increasing aryanisation of India and the detention centres constructed in Assam and seeks to draw parallel between India’s treatment of its muslim citizens and China’s attempt at erasing Uighur culture.
Illustration : Suman Mukherjee