A fire engine blared down the street. King Vikram waited for the din to die down. He reached into the canopy of my tree and hauled me on to his back. He expressed an active interest in putting an end to the pestilence that was my very existence.
I too dispensed with small talk.
-Let me tell you a story, I said . At the end of the story, I will ask you a question. If you answer the question correctly, I will escape, and fly, fly, fly away. However, if you know the answer to the question and remain silent, then your head will burst into a thousand pieces and in such a state, you will find it difficult to look good in your family photographs.
In the early 1970's when disco was a figment of our collective imagination, there broke out a war between India and Pakistan
- In the early nineteen seventies O’ King, I began, when disco was just a shining figment of our collective imagination, there broke out a war between India and Pakistan.
As you well know, the worst affected in a war are the people that don’t have to watch it on TV — I refer to the people near the field of battle. One such person was an old man who lived in a village near the border between India and Pakistan. The man was renowned for being amicable towards the people of both countries, a true internationalist. But the first casualty of war is individuality. No sooner than the first bomb hit the ground, he ceased to be anything but a Pakistani, for the maps said that it was in Pakistan that his village lay.
During that summer of war, the planes droned louder than the mosquitoes in the monsoon. The rat-a-tat of the machine guns were as incessant as rain drops on a tin roof. Death loomed darkly over the land, thirstier than a vampire.
One day the man stepped out of the roof of his home under the uncertain roof of the sky.
He went to the market and purchased a bag of tomato seeds. The people in his village thought he was crazy to be thinking of planting tomatoes during such tumultuous times. Some of them asked him, What are you thinking? while others simply said, Ha ha!
Undettered by their criticisms, the man planted the seeds in the garden. Soon enough, tomatoes began to grow and prosper. But one day, a bomb fell from the sky. All of them in the garden, they were all squashed like…like tomatoes.
Poor man, some people tsk tsked, while others simply said Ha Ha!
-Tell me O’ King, I said to King Vikram. Why did the man purchase tomato seeds even in the midst of such a terrible war. Speak if you know the answer, or your head will explode like a tempestuous tomato.
-Shut your mouth you Vile Devil! said King Vikram. Shut it so that you can listen! Living through a war can jolt the senses tremendously.
Day after day, a person has to see the war, hear the war, smell the war, and if she or is unfortunate, even has to touch the war. When the senses are jolted so badly, they reach for the reassuring handrail of normality.
By undertaking normal day to day actions such as buying new furniture or even planting tomato seeds, people who live in a war zone are not denying the present – they are reaffirming their faith in the future. In fact, they are making themselves believe that there will be a future. This is why the man planted the tomato garden; so that he could think of times when tomatoes grow round, look red and do all the things tomatoes do in times of peace.
-Well said, O’ King! I said. You know how it goes. In your wisdom lies my liberation. Since you have spoken, I must now fly away. See you later!
I cackled like a particularly malicious seagull and flew back to my tree. I knew King Vikram would be back. But I breathed deeply and rolled my tongue over my lips. When I can, I like to savor the taste of my victory.
