Govinda and Nitesh walked through the shadows of the trees in the direction of the school gate and asked the bhelpuri man for a serve: puffed rice, potato, red onion, tomato, coriander, lemon, chilli, curry powder, salt, and tamarind sauce. The bhelpuri vendor, who stood under the peepal tree near a putrid puddle of water, was enthusiastic. The crows were still harassing the pigeons. One of the squabs had fallen from its perch and was being attacked, eaten alive.

As they ate the tangy chaat, Govinda looked at the tamasha. Suddenly, Nitesh recited a verse he learned at school:

Beside the ancient river

I will sing you a song

Tra la la tra la la

Beside the ancient river,

I will sing you a song

Tra la la tra la la.

Beside the ancient river

Let me take you there.

Tra la la tra la la.

Govinda loved songs. He let his mind go vacant until the school alarm-system reminded him of the burning elephant and Kali looking down on him with her terrifying gaze.

Blessings and Curses

Blessings And Curses

The days seemed longer and warmer, the territorial crows and mynas more aggressive, the air more polluted, the sky a shade darker. During the boiling summer months the evenings were humid and seemed slothful and grim. Black crows and brown vultures gorged on a dog’s carcass. Mangoes softened. Papayas ruptured. Blue-bottle flies and aggressive mosquitoes hummed belligerently in the fiery air. Govinda was crouching behind a crumbling wall on the balcony not far from the kitchen. From there through a tiny hole he could see over the wall at the back of the school compound which troubled him. It was quiet and filthy there. It was a rubbish pit. The elephant and the image of Kali burned in his memory, his mother sometimes said omens came in threes and he wondered what would come next. He stared through the hole at the back of their apartment overlooking a large pile of rubbish more than two metres high. From where he crouched he could hear the tap flowing in the kitchen. The little hole had obviously been bored for spying through and commanded a unique view.

The mound of rubbish was full of a confusion of little critters. In the overgrown pile a shaggy, grey bandicoot rummaged in a sparkling bag. A mongoose flashed across the leaf-strewn pavement. It amused him to watch the life and doings of the people in the lane, but Govinda didn’t want the people below to know that they were being watched. That was how he liked it. The pile of rubbish served him better than television.