She went back home, and, later that same day, wrote ‘I know the taste of sperm! The juice from tender green shoots of wheat, sliced and grated ten days after being planted in soft earth, tastes exactly like sperm. Just as the beating heart of the wheat seedlings throbs in that juice, the spirit of life can be clearly discerned when drinking sperm. When the liquid slides down the tongue, its effervescence spreads all the way to the windpipe.’ Dying without ever having known this extraordinary taste means failing as a woman. It is the duty of a man to help a woman experience this unique taste. This helping hand is known as love.

3

‘Do you now understand what your nation is?’

Yes. One day I woke up very early and went out onto the balcony … the rain that had fallen overnight had washed the streets clean. The water dripping from the leaves was so clear that I wanted to open my mouth and drink it. That was when I saw a sanyasi walking along the road from the east.

That dawn, he passed along the pavement muttering incantations I couldn’t hear, waking all of those who were sleeping there. He had a large bag slung over his shoulder – the young sanyasi carried it with ease. I expected him to take food, clothes and medicine out of this bag and distribute them amongst the pavement dwellers. But all he did was wake them up – he never offered them anything. There wasn’t the slightest sign of kindness, love, affection or sympathy in his eyes – all they held was a steely, cruel rejection of every human expectation. They gave out a one-word invitation – ‘Come.’ If you felt it was impossible to join him, no explanation would suffice – such was the language of his eyes. No one joined him, only offered their respects. That dawn, it was he whom I identified as my nation.

Accusing others, complaining, using my heart to sear another’s heart, searing it with memory, using my body to set theirs on fire – such activities had been my main occupation for a long time now. Even the previous day had been saturated with feelings of hurt. Plants and trees have no front or back, but I still hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that they had turned their faces away from me – that they had spread out their branches and leaves in the opposite direction. But this following dawn had turned out completely different. I could sense no lingering grievances – a different emotion oozed out of me. All these plants and trees felt like my fathers, my ancestors.

How had this happened? The wet black tree trunks seemed to be dripping with love – just for me.

Late that afternoon I went for a walk by the river. Near the ghat, I stopped, catching sight of the young sanyasi from that morning. An elderly woman was resting her head against his chest, weeping, and the sight confused me. It felt as though I was seeing my own future. How terribly tragic those sobs were – like water flowing over marble.