Gold and Datura: In the Beginning Is the End

By Lasya Shashimohan

The Cons:-
* A complex loco-motor disability
* A habitual sponge and punter for a father
* A chronically depressed mother
* A predatory, incestuous cousin
* Atrociously bad infrastructure in small-town India that makes day to day living an ordeal
* Dubious treatments and medical negligence
* A base, subhuman society that mocks, ridicules, belittles, disparages, heckles, tyrannizes, rejects and alienates her just because she has a disability.

The Pros:-
* She is an ethereal beauty, blessed with a Super- high IQ.

Will our beauteous genius of a protagonist, Kanak, be able to stand up to all the herculean cons stacked against her or will the scorching heat of atrocities lead to the untimely withering of a rose that could blossom into something phenomenal?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Dec 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482842371

Lasya Shashimohan

Lasya Shashimohan (b. 1983) is a multi-genre Indian writer, writing regularly for the better part of a decade now. She is the author of 1) The Search and Other Stories (Short Fiction) Dec 2013 2) Nemesis and Multi-facets (Poetry) Jan 2013. As a freelance contributor, she has been widely published in leading Indian dailies like The New Indian Express, The Deccan Herald, The Hindu and a few e-zines like Indian Ruminations, Fried Eye et al. Three of her poems won an honorable mention in a competition conducted on the online forum of e-zine Muse India and her poem ‘Pier of Dreams’ won the YS Poetry prize in September 2012. The hard-hitting Gold and Datura which she calls ‘a semi-autobiography laced with unreigned flights of fantasy’ is her first full-length fiction novel by the means of which she aspires to entertain and also bring to the attention of the world the various malaises scourging India, especially the lamentable plight of its differently -able citizens.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Repudiating avowals of the 2011 census, the WHO asserts that 2-10 % of the Indian population, suffer from disabilities. These people, with visual, auditory, speech, loco-motor and mental disabilities (activists to the cause are crusading that cerebral palsy and autism too be categorized in the catalogue of disabilities), are combating on a day to day basis- for right to admissions in schools, colleges and universities, for admittance into suitable jobs and reception in the marriage market. All this while battling diabolically atrocious infrastructure, which makes one wonder if civilization edified by visionaries like Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru et al touched the nation at all.

The Equal Opportunities, Full Participation and Protection of Rights Act was passed in 1995, but a huge discrepancy remains between what it purported to do and what it has in actuality, done. At the time this piece is being written, many broadcasts are being made about ‘Equal Opportunities’- a (IMO) patronizing efforts to make jobs made available for the disabled. Sling a job at them, and consign the issue to oblivion and a nagging pricking collective conscience is satisfactorily taken care of! And yes, one recently read about a particular company that took the ‘singular’ initiative to custom-make accessible vans for the mobility challenged. Only one company after 66 years of being a developing independent economy! Kudos!

Oh yes, there is always the much promulgated will-power for the differently-able to fall back on. Will-power- that something that entails putting mind over matter or ‘overcoming the man’,resulting in the superhuman- ‘Overman’, as Friedrich Nietzsche’s Zarathustra put it. And apparently, the concept of Overman appertains merely and solely to the disabled, not to those worthies who go around spewing lip sympathy and giving trite, pathetically obvious gratuitous advice to those sailing in the disability boat. And while the disabled are ceaselessly harangued, thusly or otherwise, those with power to change situations sit pretty on their high chairs without moving a sinew.*

There are many physically and mentally challenged Indians living in India, who have transcended obstacles and by laudable tenacity and dedication, excelled in many spheres of life. Sure, there are individuals with loco-motor problems who have conquered peaks, sprinted marathons and snagged medals in Para Olympics, putting India on the world map germane disability sports. These people definitely serve as inspirational figures and role models for the disabled and should ideally do so, for the entire country’s population. However, they have had the effect of eliciting uncalled for analogies and comparisons (if he/ she could do it, why can’t you?) to the random disabled, without taking into consideration, variables like the degree and severity of disability, social and economic background, familial support and most fundamentally- the factor of individuality- the simple truth that each person is unique and varies from another in personality and genetic make-up! So what if disability is a constant? Should men and women, with different aptitudes, inclinations and interests be clubbed together just because they have the factor of disability in common?

And all the time while turning in the gyre of trysts and trials, the differently able are stereo (typically) expected to exhibit unflagging spirit which entails perpetually having a smile plastered on their faces and an unfaltering sparkle in the eye. Like infallible Gods. As if groaning and carping is the prerogative of just the ‘normals’. While pressures are perennially put on the disabled to remain positive ‘no matter what’, the ‘normal world’ goes about cribbing and sobbing over a pinprick. Isn’t this sort of an attitude inequity in itself?

Isn’t there any way the disabled can give in to their existential angst at all? (Yes, the time-worn ‘while standing at the edge of the cliff’ dichotomy. Does one jump or desist? - The epoch immemorial illustration of free will). This especial issue has been addressed in Gold and Datura, wherein the protagonist Kanak (An eponym with two conotations- one meaning gold, another a lethal poisonous fruit), born with the boon of a Mensa IQ and the bane of a disability, maintains her intrinsic purity of heart, while scrambling and exerting to win (During the Gold Phase), herculean tribulations notwithstanding. Eventually, the successively piling encumbrances take a toll on the young woman, and she is gradually sucked in the quagmire of mental and spiritual putrefaction (During the Datura Phase). Kanak ultimately gives in to her existential angst- (her frailty or franchise, whichever way one chooses to look at it)-crashing, burning, igniting and combusting, raising contentious questions on the anathema that is the system - which persecutes, inadvertently or otherwise, those who are a little different from itself. The novel also queries the brink to which the human spirit can take exigencies before the safety valves give away for good, unleashing mad chaos and mass destruction.

KANAK- A VICTIM OF VARIABLES

Kanak’s disability and the variables affecting it

As has been delineated in the prologue, Gold and Datura is the tale of physically challenged Kanak, possessing a super high IQ, who gives in to her existential angst, thereby transmogrifying the golden goodness inherent in her to the lethal poison that is datura. The protagonist’s physical condition- the ‘disability’- is influenced by wily, conniving variables, so stacked against her, perennially plotting and scheming, leading to the crashing and burning of the basically noble individual. Having been dealt with a tough set of cards, that get trickier with each passing year, the young woman, incidentally as beauteous as a fay, regal as a Regina, fights to preserve her intrinsic goodness, before slumping and disintegrating to ash dust.

Kanak is born in a country with a Hindu multitude- a factor that affects her disability. Hinduism, according to the Bhagvat Gita, the holy book of the Hindus, is a supernal religion that espouses the ideal that all its followers must devote themselves, wholly and single-mindedly, to full and complete union with the Brahman or supreme truth. Indisputably, there may be an optimum number of rituals involved in spanning this goal. However, in the truancy of disciplined reading of the religious text in order to imbibe the quintessence of it, and the absence of auspices of a spiritual guru to interpret it in its true divine spirit, Hinduism has become a continual protracted act of ritualism rather than a way of life. The Muslims read the Quran frequently and faithfully; most of them pray five times a day during which they indoctrinate various verses or chapter of the holy book. It is imperative to commit it to memory during childhood itself, so that altruistic principles like the spirit of austerity/ purification and charity gets irrevocably etched in the young person’s mind. The Christians read the Bible customarily; attend the Sunday mass regularly, hence these two other major religions prevalent in India, play a significant role in chaperoning and shepherding the Almighty’s flock.

However, are all Hindu youngsters introduced to the Bhagvat Gita? Is it mandatory for them to memorize it? Even if Bhagvat Gita reading sessions are held, does anyone but the elderly attend it? Most likely not.

Given this situation, Hinduism becomes a religion that could go gravely askew, where gross materialism and umpteen convoluted rituals to solicit wealth, become the primary preoccupation and concern of many, with an abject neglect of ‘sense objects’ which is the purpose of the religion according to the holy text. There is much scope for Damba and Darpa (pride and arrogance), in the garb of pomposity and ostentation, to creep in, parting the deceptive veils of religiosity. ‘Tolerance and inclusiveness’ which are traditionally supposed to be the motto of the faith, give way to bigotry and prejudice, wherein the society baits, hectors, tyrannizes and beleaguers those a little different from itself as seen in the case of Kanak, who belongs to a rigidly orthodox Brahmin dominated fictitious town, Pattina, and her transgender friend, Julie. The Bhagvat Gita preaches that all of us are a part and parcel of the same supreme self, hence are very much chunk and quantum of one another, echoing the sentiments of American poet Dylan Thomas who expresses that- ‘The hand that whirls the water in the pool, stirs the quicksand, that ropes the blowing wind, hauls my shroud sails’ in his poem ‘The Green Fuse that Drives the Flower Drives my Green Age’. Likewise, God in Bhagvat Gita states- ‘I am the sweet fragrance in the earth and the brilliance in the fire, the life in all human beings, and I am the austerity in the austere’. The Lord, the Paramatman or the supreme spirit says that, that He is the prevailing factor in all forms of the universe. He holds us all intact as the string holds the pearl in the necklace. We forget that the common divine thread runs through us all. Thus the society alienates Kanak, and with the thrust of double marginalization hitting her in full steam for a long period of time, she who undergoes inner dissension, fissure and fracture, retaliates by withdrawing and estranging mainstream society. The soul, born perfectly good and benevolent, sunders the world as she has hitherto known it, and along with four other individuals at the periphery of the society, gets sucked into a quagmire of drugs, arson, vandalism and guns. In a paradoxical twist, the diametrically opposed concepts of maternity (giving life) and murder (taking away life) have been juxtaposed in the same literary collage.

So, this is primarily a concept in which a girl faultless for the first twenty years of her life- pure, unadulterated gold with all the incandescence of the Satwa Guna, due to the brunt of long accumulated unconscious Rajas-repressed anger, Rajasic agitations- what I choose to call ‘Animus’ and existential angst that offers her the power of choice, changes form and putrefies, at the mental and spiritual level, pushing her into Tamas- an abyss of abominable tenebrosity. However, in spite of becoming dissipated in many ways, the heroine, fixated on the idea of ‘immaculateness’, remains sexually chaste, and opts for artificial insemination to satisfy her maternal urges. It is worthy of note, that in a culture where the erotic appeal of even deities and divinities is highlighted, and Hindu Goddesses are depicted as married women, the young lady in the tale, who has an abhorrence for anything ‘crass -to do with flesh’ opts to be an ‘Immaculata’ and chooses to conceive without the physical act of sex.

It is vital to examine the role of the socio-economic landscape of the country and the personal pecuniary situation of Kanak’s family in the transmutation of Gold into Datura, suffused with toxicity. India has a unique economic system- in spite of having the tenth largest nominal GDP in the world, the per capita income- ie. The mean income per person- is abysmally low due to various reasons like rampant corruption in all sectors, the general ineffectiveness of schemes and ineffectiveness in their execution, inequity in the distribution of wealth, illiteracy- leading to a massive unorganized sector and so on. An English daily one read today ie 27th June 2014 states that India is the 15th wealthiest country in the world and also portends that it will be the 7th richest by the end of 2018, thanks to all the illegal lucre stashed by a niche section of people in Swiss banks. Ironically however, the average Indian is a casualty of a system where the cost of living is soaring by the day, and the standard of living grievously low (and progressively plummeting). As of 2010, according to World Bank statistics, about 400 million people in India live on less than $ 1.25 PPP per day. This is diametrically the opposite of first world countries where people have low costs and higher standards of living. And so for the average Indian, it is a beastly struggle to make two ends meets that may be responsible for concocting an ambience grossly lacking in sensitivity and compassion. On similar lines as the above concept, one recalls Jane Austen’s very genial heroine Emma saying something to the effect of- if you have plenty, you can afford be kind, affable and good-natured, but penury makes ones sour, bitter and uncharitable. Though one cringed at the perceived shallowness of the character when one first read the lines, it doesn’t, on second thoughts, seem too far removed from truth, as seen in the light of my own ruminations of the above.

Many in India have to work their fingers to the bone for two square meals a day, manage with makeshift houses, leaking roofs, water scarcity, improper sanitation facilities, houses in low lying areas that suffer a deluge if there is more than the expected nominal amount of rainfall and a homeless population freezes to death, when the cold wave hits and temperatures in certain regions touch 2 degree Celsius perhaps the reason many vent their feelings by heckling and marauding their own species. Economic development in India is also influenced by the highly undemocratic partisan growth process where infrastructural and other facilities, deviate widely from state to state and town to town. One sometimes comes across glaring inegalitarian growth where the capital of a state is turned out magnificently, but small towns, much like Pattina, the fictitious economic unit that is the dwelling place of Kanak, suffer abject neglect, thereby, influencing the minds of its denizens to no favorable effect.

In the case of the prime mover of our saga, the strained financial situation of the family owing primarily, to the father being a wastrel, who squanders money from the family cache on alcohol, casinos and the racing-tracks, a severe depression- impaired mother who didn’t go out to work either, but scrimps, saves and is obligated to her brother-in-law’s charity to pay her daughter’s school and college fees, has been a major vacillating factor affecting the highly proficient Kanak. Had the economic condition of the family been better and support system greater, Kanak may have had access to a more superior education, enhanced health-care and nutrition. She might also have had an opportunity to study and work abroad, thereby, building a better life for herself.

Poor Infrastructure- Professedly, India has the world’s largest road network covering more than 4.3 kms and carrying more than 60% freight and 87% passenger traffic. Also, it is supposed to have the 4th largest railway network in the world. To quote an overused (and slightly sexist, in my humble opinion) quote- "Statistics are like a bikini- what they reveal is suggestive, but what they conceal is vital’, for the roads are sometimes ribbon narrow, cobbled, uneven and full of potholes. The footpaths are virtually non-existent making it an ordeal for pedestrians, particularly the differently able and the elderly to walk. Long stretches of road are dug up for ‘renovation’ and the work is stalled for weeks if not months, leaving traffic in disarray and causing great inconvenience to pedestrians. As for the railways- the reality is nightmarish. The area between platforms and bogies, combined with precipitous steps, makes it tremendously labourious for the differently able to manage, apart from being highly perilous to all passengers. In a shocking, highly tragic incident in the recent past, a young woman became a victim of an accident caused due to the great distance between the platform and a bogey and lost a leg. The passengers in railway stations, are forced to traverse several flights of steps, walk over the over bridge and descend many more flights, to get from one platform from another, making it an extremely ardous activity for those with loco-motor disabilities. And this among uncouth, jostling, perpetually harried crowds (India has a population of a whopping 1.27 as of today- 2014- remember?) who think nothing of pushing and shoving to grab a choice seat. Today, June 9th 2014, a few weeks after one has worked on this particular section, one reads about a proposal for battery operated cars for the differently able and senior citizens at major railway stations, in the maiden budget presented by union minister for railways, DV Sadananda Gowda. Finally! - And it might take some time before the prototype becomes practice. Again- like many a promise made by many a centre, it could be forgotten and relegated to deep marginalized crevices of the budget- who knows? The buses have steps that scrape the sky, and there is no ramp either, that could slide out at the driver’s command as they do in developed countries. As you might be guessing by now, there are certainly no seats classified as ‘Priority’ for persons with limited mobility or encumbrances (If there are, one hasn’t seen them, probably because they are concealed behind backs of able bodied people occupying them). Of course, in the absence of a ramp, there is no way a wheel-chair or a perambulator could be wheeled in, ruling out the option of public transport for a category of citizens.

Lack of wheel-chair facilities at heritage and other prominent sites, inaccessible approach, steep steps, buildings without lifts echo the non-inclusive mindset. The absence of suitable bathroom facilities also pose a colossal problem for those with limited mobility. Many public places are bereft of the western style commode and possess only the Indian style lavatory-where one is, excuse the brazenness, required to squat- an impossibility for those with loco-motor disabilities. ‘Priority’ restrooms for wheel-chair users, which have wide doors and other convenient facilities are a rarity in India, and if by some mammoth miracle one does come across such a privilege- it is under lock and key, either with the key or the attendant or both missing. If by some unbelievable fortune, one happens to locate them both, the bathroom is so filthy that using it is impossible.

Given the above hitches, the disabled are often circumscribed within four walls of the house- even if they are able to pursue studies by correspondence or work from home courtesy the ubiquitous internet, they suffer a grievous lack of social life- the prerogative of every human being.

Orthotics and Prosthetics- Admittedly, with organizations like Mobility India et al, orthotics and prosthetics seem to have come of age here as well. However, sketchy sophomoric know-how isn’t quite the same as exhaustive, uncondensed knowledge on a subject, and can in fact, prove to be quite hazardous. Also, very often, there happens to be a schism between theoretical knowledge and the proper practical application of it, keeping in mind the requirements of each individual case, leading to problems. Often the knee locks are unproficiently crafted, leading to accidents to many a caliper user. There are problems in fitting as the recommended leg-brace doesn’t take into consideration factors like the age, weight, and life-style of the client. Accompanying treatments like physiotherapy to improve muscle tone and for gait-correction are often not suggested. The crutches prescribed often worsen the gait rather than corrects it. This could have happened to Kanak too.

In remote rural areas, there is still no access to orthotics and prosthetics leading people to make amateurish calipers at home, which, if used over a prolonged period of time could induce problems in fitting, worsening the orthopedic condition in question. In many cases, even homemade calipers are not bothered with, leaving the disabled sitting in a corner, helpless, dependent and unproductive. A case in point is the heart-rending one of nine year old Lakhan Kale from Mumbai, suffering from cerebral palsy and additional problems that has affected his speech and hearing. Following the demise of his father and desertion by the mother, Lakhan was left orphaned. His only relative was his elderly paternal grandmother who responsible for earning a living for herself and her grandson, was forced to keep him chained to a post in a bus-stop to keep him from getting himself into trouble. It took quite a while before this case came to the notice of child welfare groups. Young Lakhan couldn’t be rehabilitated immediately as the residential facilities for abandoned children were already over-crowded.

People as products of the environment: A very liberal-minded Scottish friend of mine, who incidentally has never had a ‘real brush’ with the third world, expressed an opinion. He said that people were so engrossed in their day-to-day combat with survival, that they hardly had any time to notice, leave alone appraise and judge another human being. As a person with a loco-motor disability, my experiences were somewhat contrary. I narrated certain experiences that had been my staple during three decades of my existence on this planet, all of which have been spent in India. What I am going to tell you I said to him, ‘is going to come as an epiphany of sorts to you- and to poet WH Davies if he could read this"- for people in India, it seems, have the time (in between the toil, O yeah), to stand and stare, as it were, longer than sheep and cows, beneath the boughs, on crowded roads, buses, trains, and even in the middle of a life-threatening stampede if it came to that. They have the leisure to flagrantly gawk at lower limbs, check out one’s gait for an excruciatingly long time, speculating and making loud uncivil remarks, and come up and plague one with highly pesky questions. And of course, the time to mete out the same old unsolicited often quack-y remedies. My friend was shocked in the face of this revelation. He said he was sorry to hear about how ‘inquisitive’ (I would have used ‘ill-mannered’, but of course, he couldn’t say that to my face – about my compatriots) people in Indian were. Folks in the UK never stared, I learned. At first, he attributed it to the nature of time and how they used it in the West. On more profound contemplation, he came up with another theory- one which was in accord with what I have been expostulating hitherto. He said that ‘people are products of their environment’ and that ‘environment feeds emotions’ and that folks behaved in quadrate with the physical environment they found themselves in. Needless to say, he had hit the nail on the head, in my opinion at least.

Musing further on this theory, it is indeed lamentable that the country is so backward so as to be transfixed by such ‘problems’, prosthetics and assistive devices that are as old as evolution, with evidence of Egyptian mummies being found with fiber prosthetics and a 500 BC French painting depicting a man with a wooden leg working in the field. Considering times and science have advanced to a degree to make anything possible- cloning, computers doing anything they are instructed to do, robots taking the role of chefs and waiters,life on another planet, et al, the ‘fascination’ with something so basic is so pathetic!

Also, a political system, from time immemorial, that is based on caste and vote-bank politics and is self-seeking and mercenary, is likely to sideline substantial issues, including ones of the disabled is a mutable yo- yo that could have had an effect on Kanak.

Illiteracy- That India has the malaise of illiteracy is no concealed point. With the gross numbers employed in the unorganized sector, the general ethos and values of the populace tends to be paltry, with many displaying a sub-human attitude with those who are evidently ‘different’. The so-called ingenuity of signing one’s name is sometimes accounted for literacy- a statistic that can be very misleading- a veritable red-herring.

With the meteoric rise of the BPO industry and to some extent the IT sector, the purchasing power of a section of people has perceivably escalated. It is not uncommon for young people- the ‘yuppies’- to have their ‘own house’ (God, ain’t that a real huge obsession in India?) and a big sprawling car all within a few years of landing a job- with their colossal salaries perhaps they can afford a down payment; if not obtain loans and pay EMIs for a specific number of years. The BPO Industry which doesn’t demand exalted qualifications employed 2.8 million people at work as of 2012. It contributes to 1% of the GDP and is portended to contribute a significant percentage in the succeeding years. Similarly, the IT sectors employs an umpteen percentage of the population and contributes perceptibly to the country’s GDP- of course, it is common knowledge that one need not always have an engineering degree to be called a software engineer or techie- a computer course will sometimes do. The remuneration that employees in both these arenas receive is markedly higher than in most other fields- a trend that is wrenching people away from other perceptible areas like medicine, pure sciences, academia, literature, the arts, for instance. The nature of work in the aforementioned fields is often mechanical and repetitive, rather than creative and innovative, creating a whole new generation of human androids, who breathe, eat and program (there may be no time for sleep and exercise- just guessing). Except for a specific set of skills required to earn a good living, many of these people, constituting multitude of the Indian population, lack decent reading and writing prowess; their general knowledge and awareness often border on the zilch. Except for expertise in technology, many are as good as illiterates. Hence, though there maybe a manifest increase in green leaves flowing into the economy courtesy the above two sectors, it would be fair to say that the growth in the economy is lopsided, slowly putting it off balance because for all the lucre and technical sleight, the general quality of the masses, very frankly, is quite dismal. These people- have nothing to contribute in terms of sensitivity, sensibility, refinement (One is not talking about ‘etiquette’ or superficial gloss, the former of which is imparted by the corporate world and the latter relatively easily acquired on one’s own) and culture-rule, while the writers, artists, poet, scholars and intellectuals- ‘the seers of the society’- folks who can dream and shape utopias and give direction to them-languish, without enough funds to finance and float their ideas and ventures. In the face of such a turn of events, the already marginalized, disabled included continue to be bullyragged, harassed, persecuted and alienated. Our prime mover, Kanak, unfortunately happens to be a child of such an epoch.

Disability and Aesthetics- It is widely believed that disability per se and the assistive devices that the person in question uses for locomotion be it be leg-braces, prosthetics, crutches or the wheel chair take away from his or her cosmetic appeal. One strictly objects- problems, of whatever kind, accentuate one’s personality and add that extra something to it- one chooses to call it the Z factor (The’Z’ standing for zing!)- be it be graceful, shy, demure, bold or spunky! There is a whole motley faction of people in the West who believe that orthotics and prosthetics are ‘hot’ and enhance the glamour quotient of a person! Having hitherto lived in a society that perceives leg-braces to be ‘ugly’ and needs to be kept perennially covered and out of sight of mainstream society, this trend comes as a breath of fresh air! Double amputees like Aimee Mullins have revolutionized the world of fashion- having modeled, endorsed brands and graced magazine covers and celluloid screens. Wonder if any Indian fashion guru would think of putting differently able people on the haute couture incline plane and let them strut their stuff? http://www.deccanherald.com/content/117022/people.html (DH)

In the West, disability erotica (fiction) is becoming a reality. It is emblematic of inclusion, even if one personally doesn’t particularly care for the trend, not because it involves disability, but because of one’s displacency for erotica in general. At the other end of the spectrum is India, where even dusky skin hasn’t ‘arrived’ in conventional society, leave alone more convoluted concepts like the aesthetics of disability. And so, the disabled person is, by some skewed sorry association, seen as a cosmetically challenged person, making it especially challenging for young girls like the prima donna of our story to thrive, feel good and enjoy life like any other citizen of the country.

References- The Holy Gita.

Statistics- Taken from Wikipedia

CHAPTER 1

In the Beginning is the End

She was suspended in a near delicious emulsifying of hot and cold sensations- smouldering red coals of fury in contact with the icy cold pistol she was aware of gripping in her right hand. She was also conscious of having shifted the bulk of her weight to the comparatively stronger right leg, of the angle of her body which adhering its innate tendencies had tilted slightly to the right, sentient also to the curvature of her spine, the angle of the right crutch as it nestled snugly in the cranny of her waist and the thrilling strained position of her right hand that gripped her black paramour, pointing it at a whole lot of people already spectral in her life.

The living corpses flickered at her. She took in Eeshwar and Savitha- her parents- her progentitors- the reasons for her life. Excuses for this vital fury? They were looking at her as they had never before. Really looking- attentively. It’s funny- but she had never felt as vital before. Her heart was passionately throbbing, dynamically pumping blood to all parts of her body. The oxygen was barging into her nostrils, and infusing her eyes, ears, head in a potent blast. Had she never been alive before this? Was that why they were beholding her the way they were- her mother and father? Or perhaps they were looking at her in all glory of her authentic self- her real self- for the first time?

A whole lot of random human bodies were stirring now, like molecules in disarray. They were dragged into a restive rest by two words compelled from Kanak’s mouth. It’s interesting, the dynamics of subversion. The very race that had been too ready to mock, taunt and pick on a harmless young girl with a disability were now blanched to death by the same girl. Just because she was holding a lethal weapon. How ironic! Oh the pathetic human race! Those classified as ‘animals’ probably showed more character! Kanak’s mouth curled in disdain.

And her index exerted pressure on the trigger. The firing pin discharged a cartridge. And three others in speedy succession. Then there were too much sensory stimuli- the human particles had dispersed and were screaming, yelling and wailing. In a final display of the sub-standard stuff they were made of, they were pushing each other and stamping on the prone and the supine to save their own skins. There were rivulets of blood.

Kanak fired yet again- her fifth bullet. There was a cataclysmal cry as another human animal came crashing to the ground. Chaos reigned afresh. Somewhere far away, a dog or something caterwauled.

Kanak’s life force was at its prime now. It fiercely pulsated in every cell, tissue and pore of her body. She couldn’t bear it any longer- the intensity of this exhilaration that was getting to her core, searing her insides like cheap potent whiskey gulped down neat. This was a moment of revelation.

She put the pistol against her abdomen. Suddenly, a memory stirred- of something tiny, miraculous, idealistic. The gunwoman crumbled to the ground. She gently stroked her belly, humming ‘Rock a bye, baby, on the tree top…’. Snatches of an old forgotten rhyme. Remnants of past idyllic LSD induced world.

Jerkily, without prelude, she put the pistol to her head. People heard an ultimate deafening blast. And then silence.

GOLD

CHAPTER 2

A Town Called Pattina

The weather was arid, but not unpleasant. The sun was blistering and prickly, and came down with such staunch vengeance that it seemed determined to age anyone- even a lad or lass in the first flush of youth- overnight (or rather, in a day- to be more veracious). Utterly abandoned to the soporofic of the afternoon, a homeless man snoozed noisily on a culvert. Leaning on a side of a stony surface were battered doddering Fiats and rickety motorbikes- their spirit akin to that of people who had been dealt many a beating and drubbing by life- yet by a miraculous show of fate had managed to survive. On either side of the narrow main road, rows of areca nut trees stood, imperial and stately against the beryl yellow skies. At every crossroad, a cut and dry eucalyptus, banyan or pine stood- chilling in their impersonality. And in the midst of all the dryness, the metaphorical iciness, a single beautiful Tabebuia aurea tree, burst forth splendiferous golden blossoms.

Kanak walked at a slack pace, feeling the full animosity of the sun. The heavy leg braces weighed her lifeless limbs down with all their weight. The various contraptions- the rods, knee cap, ankle buckles and raw untreated leather boots- purportedly designed to support her weak legs- bit viciously into her tender flesh. Yet, even in this somewhat unpleasant situation, her golden skin glowed. And the filly black of her hair shimmered like the midnight sun.

She was, by the way, accompanying her mother, Savitha, to a rather far-flung temple. They passed huge, pompous banners, promoting some esteemed political party or leader. Mirthful schoolgirls, on their lunch break, bought chikki (a local confectionary made of peanuts and jaggery or unrefined sugar) from little wooden roadside kiosks. As the nibbled on them and chattered noisily, cable towers, tall and imposing like school principals, watched over. There seemed to be a plethora of wires everywhere, knit and interwoven like close-knit family,…probably etched in their affiliated complexities as well. Kanak heaved a wistful little sigh. How she wished they were like that- she and her parents- affable, snug and …functional. There may not have been pleasures of being tight-knit, but no one could refute the presence of accompanying intricacies. Beneath the monotonous drab simplicity of the Eeshwar household, there were undercurrents, conflicting and of labyrinthine complexity.

They had, by now reached the entrance of Pattina, where loomed a towering statue of Lord Anjaneya (or Hanumanta as he was popularly called in these parts- the powerful monkey God in Hindu mythology) while two narrow lanes meeting the main road, flanked him. The benevolent Lord, armed with His trademark gadha (mace) in one hand, seemed to be bestowing lavish blessings on whoever entered the town, with the other. The local populace, mostly on two-wheelers or on foot, hustled and bustled about Him, in an obvious scramble to reach their destinations on time. Typically, Kanak would also have been a part of this bewildering rush, except that particular day, the professors of the college she attended, had cancelled all classes for they were to attend a teaching seminar. However, a few certainly seemed to be exceptions to the rule, and seemed to be in no hurry. Unemployed men, dhoti clad, bespectacled and ostentatiously leaning on a stick in an obvious attempt to look like Mahatma Gandhi, pathetically looked at the mother-daughter duo, mutely beseeching them to drop a coin into their palms. As to why they were doused in glittering silver paint from head to toe, Kanak didn’t quite understand. ‘Probably to catch more eyeballs’, she rationalized in her mind. She walked on, carefully evading a dirt poor family that slept peaceably beside a trio of street dogs by the side of the road. Gargantuan anthills, ornamented with cottony garlands, laced with turmeric and vermillion of bhakti were aplenty in Pattina. Kanak, blessed with an exceptional IQ and an awareness and sensitivity rare in a small-town girl, noted that no animal rights activists or groups had hitherto raised a hullaballoo against this blatant torture of snakes. ‘Probably’, she reflected, ‘Their concerns are limited to creatures confined to city-scapes, non-descript towns and villages are of no consequence to them!’

‘Pattina’ (not to be confused with Patna, the capital of the Bihar state), is an eponym one has given this particular fictitious suburb, a sample representative of any small town you’d come across in Karnataka. There is bound to be some speculation about this Smartha Brahmin dominated abode, but whether you are on the mark or not, one refuses to commit! All one will venture to say that it is a predominantly industrial town, where agriculture flourishes as well- millets, oilseeds, rice and pulses are grown apart from areca nut. The manufacturing industry churns out cotton cloth, watches, woollen blankets and ropes and has a market for intricately chiseled gold jewelry.

Savitha was disdainfully eyeing the public buildings, most of them run-down. The houses were a huge riot of colour- either orange, or a garish violet with contrasting patterns painted on it in red or white, reflecting a tendency towards vulgar display of wealth among the denizens of Pattina. They reminded Savitha of dalda (The Indian margarine) laden pastries on display behind glass counters in local bakeries, an utter foil to the refined villas of Bangalore city- the classy cakes of an elite delicatessen. But ‘Shravanti’, her father Shrinivas Shastri’s house (which incidentally was located in Pattina) had an unrivalled charm of its own….nostalgia engulfed, then threatened to choke her. ’but what am I thinking of!’, Savitha quickly checked her thoughts and distracted herself by looking once more, at the decrepit structures.

The economic revolution had touched Pattina enough for most families to own a car. There were a few hotels and lodges, surprisingly none of them could boast of a western style toilet which was a mandatory requirement for Kanak, other people with loco motor disabilities or for that matter, the arthritis- afflicted elderly. One could catch sight of a ‘Pattina Club’ of sorts, houses with shingled roofs with their paints running down, sea green cornice crowned structures that served as offices, Kattes or platforms under shady trees where the townsfolk could be seen chatting, relaxing or simply whiling time away (Yes, even in this day and age when the world moved as fast as a laser beam!). A stone etched Nandi (the holy bull- the gatekeeper cum vehicle of Shiva-Parvati) sat resting under a canopy, with a little bell suspended over his head. The local girls’ school boasted of a huge playground. Behind it, a huge old water tank shaped like the Globe theatre, with a quaint little cupola on top came into view.

Finally, the ladies reached the cool precints of a particular temple. This is where Savitha came in perpetuum- festival or fast- either to offer a drone like thanks for whatever had fallen into her lot (in the typical Hindu Karmic way!) or to put in a petition for a better life. Not perhaps for drastic amelioration, but for little deductions and additions in life- For instance- ‘God, let my husband give up drinking; let my daughter’s legs become stronger et al. Lately, the last above to requests weren’t made as fervently, because Eeshwar showed no signs of giving up his time-tested bacchanalia. Secondly, young Kanak had completed eighteen years of age and there was no significant (none, to be candid) improvement in her condition. So Savitha often came to ask for little indulgences for herself- like a new saree or Mysore pak (a local sweet made of gram flour, sugar and ghee) from ‘JL Sweets’- the best sweet shop in Pattina- the luxury of eating which she hadn’t had since marriage.

Today was her ‘Sankastha Chaturthi’ fast, observed on the fourth day after the full moon. She had come to the Lord Ganesha temple to observe the occasion. She had, in her customary tepid manner, asked her daughter to come along and since Kanak didn’t have classes that day, she had acceded.

The Sanctum Sanctorum was incandescent with lights, holy flames, the invigorating aroma of incense and camphor. Ladies in their finest sarees and yards of fragrant jasmine in their hair carried trays laden with fruit and coconut- to be offered as oblations to the deity. A few gentlemen were present too, in their tidiest shirts and trousers or dhotis. Quite a few devotees were dropping rupee notes of variegated denominations into the temple hundi or the cash cache- perhaps with hopes of attaining moksha or salvation in their next birth.

From the entrance, Kanak could