Djinn City Read online

  “I wish I could go,” he said sadly one day to Butloo, his confidant and advisor. “What do you think they do there all day?”

  “I never went to school, Choto Sahib.”

  “What did you do then?” Indelbed asked, momentarily distracted.

  “I came from the village straight over here when I was a little older than you. My father worked here then. I used to run errands for your grandfather. Judge Sahib, they called him. Everyone in the neighborhood knew him. They used to come all hours of the day to get his opinion on things.”

  “Must have been nice,” Indelbed said. “But I’m sure the Judge went to school!”

  “Don’t worry. Those dullards at the school don’t know half as much as your father,” Butloo said. “You’re better off without them. God knows what upside-down things they are teaching over there.”

  “You think my father knows anything?” Indelbed asked dubiously.

  “Dr. Sahib was the best student!” Butloo said. “Didn’t he win awards when he was young? Didn’t he go to the best universities abroad? He was the youngest doctor in the city. Judge Sahib was so proud of him.”

  Two years rolled by. His father, under increasing pressure from Indelbed, declared that he was going to homeschool him. This entailed sitting down at some unspecified hour during the day and receiving very garbled lessons from the Doctor, who himself had attended schools in Dhaka, Karachi, and finally England. To be fair, Indelbed could see that his father was trying to help. Under the fugue of cheap alcohol there remained some semblance of intellect, enough, actually, to impart a very creditable amount of math, history, philosophy, and physics. He was taught to read the old-fashioned way, by the twin pillars of memorization and the rod. Any mistakes were punished with a whack across the shoulders.

  This shameful secret of non-schooling continued for a few years, until it dawned on the family that ten-year-old Indelbed was not attending any kind of institution at all. It was his cousin Rais who first brought this to light, and it is here the saga of Indelbed really begins.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Wrath of Sikkim

  Rais was the son of his father’s elder cousin. This branch of the family had gone into the diplomatic service. Rais’s father was an ambassador; they had lived in Cairo, Moscow, and Bhutan during the last three postings. Rais was ten years older, but of a bookish, kindly disposition. He had never bullied Indelbed as a child, and in the past few years he had treated him with regular, albeit flaky, consideration.

  Indelbed himself made a point of trying to attend most family gatherings for a number of reasons. One, his presence always created an awkwardness among the elders, particularly as he came alone most of the time, and he enjoyed their consternation and various deliberations on what terrible future awaited him, how his life was being wasted, and, more immediately, who exactly was going to take him home. Two, the food was always good, and any change from home fare was welcome. Three, he often netted a monetary reward from some uncle or other, which he correctly labeled as guilt money.

  On this occasion, they were celebrating the Ambassador and his wife’s wedding anniversary. Rais, back from some foreign university, casually confirmed that Indelbed was already ten, a fact not easily discernible given his slight stature, before asking, just as casually, about school. Indelbed, caught by surprise, blurted out the truth. He did not expect this to create any great effect. Rais, however, grew incensed. He started waving his hands and feet around, shouting loudly for his father. Soon they were surrounded by family. There was a heated argument, with wild accusations being fired off by Rais, who, it seemed, was some sort of champion for education, while also holding alarming, revolutionary ideas about overthrowing the family hierarchy.

  Indelbed was getting scared. In his experience, garnering too much notice was a sure way of inviting trouble. Finally, the Ambassador took him aside and extracted the details about his daily schedule. It was too late to lie. The case was referred to the patriarchal chief of the Khan Rahman clan, the august Grand-Uncle Sikkim.

  Nobody knew why GU Sikkim was named after an Indian state. In fact no one knew why he was so powerful either; the dynamics of the Khan Rahman clan were convoluted. He was a retired businessman who had accumulated a quantity of wealth, tied up mostly in real estate, and with the astonishing rise in land prices, he was making more money in retirement than he ever had in active life. His various alliances tentacled throughout the clan and across the city; he had a keen eye for human faults, possessed an inherent bossiness, and had at his disposal acres of free time.

  “Uncle, it is not right that this boy is ten years old and not yet a day in school,” Rais’s father, the Ambassador, said grudgingly, all the while glaring at Rais.

  In principle everyone agreed that this was wrong, and the Ambassador was assigned to take the Doctor to task. This was done immediately by telephone, putting the party on hold. Indelbed, quite terrified now, could hear one side of the conversation and easily imagine the rest:

  “Kaiko, really, the boy needs to go to school,” said the Ambassador.

  I’m better educated than ninety-nine percent of the teachers in this damn country. Whash more, I’ve got no money to throw away on school fees.

  “Kaiko, it’s not that much.”

  Tell the boy to work for it, if he’s so keen…

  The phone call was inconclusive, and the family sat down to properly dissect the situation.

  “This school business is well and good, but who is going to pay for it all?” GU Sikkim, with his usual perspicacity, got to the root of the matter. Indelbed took this as a clue as to why the family tolerated the bossiness of GU. He had the ability to save a lot of time during family powwows by cutting straight to the money. His great age shielded him from accusations of crassness or insensitivity.

  The Ambassador looked around uncomfortably and murmured something about low government wages. His younger brother, a barrister, said that elementary school was okay, but what about high school and college? That was going to be a hefty bill. With all the consummate skill of his profession, he also simultaneously managed to imply that he certainly was not going to pay.

  GU Sikkim took a poll of the thirty-odd “mature heads” present, men and women who carried weight and might make a contribution. Everyone had kids, worthless in-laws, bad loans, unlikely dependents. Most of them lobbed insults at Indelbed, accusing him and his father of wasting an incredible legacy. Astonishment too that all that money had been drunk or gambled away, without a single morsel being kept for a rainy day.

  The family storm was now reaching frightening proportions. Indelbed, seated firmly in the middle of the drawing room, held in place by GU Sikkim’s cane, was barely able to keep his tears in check. Tears of shame, mostly, and not a little bit of fear, for he had seen his father in black rages before, when the senile amiability leeched away from his face and something demonic and violent peeped out. In his more lucid moments, the Doctor held his family in contempt equal to what they bore for him, and he would not take kindly to this intrusion.

  Who would pay? Even if the money were found, who would take the awful responsibility of finding a school, etc.? What about books, uniforms, all the extra crap schools extorted out of you? The money couldn’t be given to the Doctor; he would surely drink it away.

  “And look at this whelp.” GU Sikkim prodded Indelbed. “He’s undernourished. Has iodine deficiency, I think. Probably a stutterer. It’s a disgrace. I say we send him to the village.”

  Terror struck Indelbed. He knew about the village. It was where the family sent people who were retarded, mad, or terminally ill. Funnily, there was a fair quantity of these. Madness ran in the genes from multiple sides, apparently.

  The Ambassador leaned forward and whispered something in GU Sikkim’s ear.

  “What?!” GU exclaimed. “That nonsense again? Are you sure?”

  The Ambassador nodded gravely.

  “We must keep it secret at all costs! Will Kaikobad bring no end of t
rouble to us?”

  This lamentation had enough genuine merit to elicit a general wail of agreement. Various people remembered anew how the Doctor had embarrassed or inconvenienced them in the past. Indelbed, attuned to public opinion, could feel something sinister at work, however. What had the Ambassador said that needed to be whispered? What new horror was in store for him? He couldn’t imagine anything worse than the village, yet it seemed like the clan had even more hideous repositories for the graceless.

  GU dragged him into one of the bedrooms and the Ambassador followed, clearly in discomfort. The door clicked shut. Indelbed stood in the corner, tears flowing freely now. Even his nose was blubbering.

  “Stand straight,” GU said, rather meanly.

  “Indelbed, beta, has your father ever said anything about why you don’t go to school?” the Ambassador asked.

  “No, of course not,” Indelbed said, thinking, Isn’t it obvious? He’s a raving lunatic.

  “Does he ever pray or chant things at you?”

  “Ye-es,” Indelbed said. “Every night he comes to my room, stands at the doorway, and mumbles things. I pretend to be asleep. He’s drunk all the time, you know that, right?”

  “Indelbed, do you have any brands or tattoos or anything?”

  “No!” Indelbed knew where this was going, and he certainly was not going to admit to anything.

  “Oh, the boy is lying!” GU glared at the Ambassador. “Any fool can see that.”

  “Uncle, please.”

  Indelbed was terrified now. He stared at the Ambassador, who seemed to be the most likely adult to help him. The Ambassador looked grim. Tears spurted from Indelbed’s eyes. He had never felt so alone.

  “All right, fine,” the Ambassador said to GU Sikkim. “It’s late. I’ll take him home.”

  “Have a word with Kaikobad while you’re at it,” GU Sikkim said.

  “At this hour?” the Ambassador scoffed. “I’ll drop in tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Make sure about the other thing. We don’t want to have any more of that kind of trouble,” GU Sikkim said. He glared at Indelbed and lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “I have my eye on you, you sterile, mongoloid freak. You’ve got tainted blood. Any more trouble and I’ll personally lock you up forever.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Sleeping Beauty

  As the Ambassador’s car made the long trek to Wari, Indelbed sat in the back with Rais and listened politely to Aunty Juny’s stony silence. Rais squeezed his arm once in quiet sympathy, and it made Indelbed feel a little bit better about the whole evening.

  Finally, when she couldn’t hold it in any longer, Aunty Juny started venting: “Why are we in charge of him? Kaikobad is such a weird drunk. I hate going to that house, it smells funny. Oh god, the car won’t even fit in that road. Why do we have to drop him off?”

  The Ambassador, himself in a foul mood, said, “It’s your precious son’s fault. He brought up the whole thing.”

  Whereupon Aunty Juny clamped her pale lipsticked mouth shut and glared at Indelbed through the side-view mirror. He was terrified of Aunty Juny. She was younger than the Ambassador by almost ten years, haughty and fashionable. Her perfectly coiffed skull protected a brain like a rabid German U-boat loose in the Atlantic. No nuance of character or action escaped her, and everything was turned to advantage with the rapidity and precision of an active field marshal. It was said in hushed corners of the clan that if she had been the Ambassador instead of, well, the Ambassador, then the Khan Rahmans would once again have had one of their number sitting as the foreign minister.

  As it were, Aunty Juny’s genius was parked firmly in the corner of the Ambassador, propelling him from posting to lucrative posting, deftly sidestepping the wiles of lecherous junior wives, guiding him inexorably into the favor of powerful men while stamping down on the pretensions of lesser aspirants. Most intimidating to Indelbed, however, was that she was one of the few members of that generation of aunties who wasn’t fat, frumpy, or maternal. Oh no. With her glossy leather purses and polished nails, her dangerously high heels, her thin, rangy body, and her razor-sharp tongue—she was like a very pretty raptor. She filled his mind with excitement and dread at the same time. He was normally unflappable with adults, but she always reduced him into a stammering, uncouth wreck.

  Rais, with the easy confidence of a university student, glanced at his parents contemptuously and ruffled Indelbed’s head in support.

  “I think I’ll stay over for the night,” he said, leaning toward the front seat.

  “What?” Aunty Juny’s voice, normally a kind of low growl, always jumped an octave whenever her son provoked her with some foolhardy plan. “Whatever for? You’ve only been back a few days. I’ve hardly seen you…”

  “It’s been a week, beloved Mummy dearest,” Rais said. He delighted in calling his mother outlandish, mocking names. People said Rais was smart, but Indelbed could see in him only an insane kind of bravado that was the fair opposite of smart.

  “What are you up to, boy?” the Ambassador asked.

  “Just want to help out my cousin,” Rais said. “Indelbed could use some company, right? I can talk to him about schools.”

  “Are you some kind of communist?” the Ambassador asked suspiciously. He could not keep track of all the youthful fads. In the past year he had seen the various scions of the extended family imitating Goth rock stars, Mohawked red Indians, and, incredibly, some kind of wimpy floppy-haired vampire. Rais didn’t have earrings or tattoos or dyed purple hair. It figured that his son’s debaucheries must be mental in nature. Rais had a distressing habit of reading everything except for what he was supposed to study. It was very likely he was infected by some aberrant philosophy.

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you experimenting with boys?” the Ambassador asked.

  “Vulu!” Aunty Juny glared in shock and anger.

  “No, guys, I’m not gay,” Rais said, laughing. “I have a girlfriend in school.”

  “What?” Aunty Juny screamed, apparently finding this worse.

  “Hehe, good for you,” the Ambassador said. “I remember when I was in—”

  “I don’t think the boy needs to hear about your conquests, Vulu,” Aunty Juny said. Her tone made it quite clear that there were no such conquests to speak of, and had she not deigned to take him on, he would be withering away to a lonely death.

  “Quite right, quite right.” The Ambassador gave Indelbed a glance through his mirror. “Still, let Rais stay with the boy. I’ll have to come here in the morning anyway to talk to Kaiko.”

  Aunty Juny declined to argue further. When the car could go no more, they let the boys out and drove off. The alleyway was still crowded even this late at night. On either side of the lane were hole-in-the-wall shops hosting food vendors grilling kebabs, tailors sitting on mattresses, ISD phone operators, rice wholesalers, and even an enterprising gentleman who sold stolen signboards. The smell of cigarettes and food was undercut by the rich, bubbling broth from the open drains. This was a far cry from what Rais was no doubt used to in his posh Baridhara apartment, but he wasn’t complaining, so Indelbed shrugged off his nascent embarrassment.

  Normally he would have cringed a bit, walking his cousin through this maze, but right now he was too worried about his father’s temper. By the time they had reached the front door and negotiated entrance, he was in fact quite relieved that Rais had so magnanimously offered to help him. They were met in the hallway by Butloo, who informed him that the master was in a rare rage. Indelbed turned to Rais to confer, just in time to see the back of his traitorous cousin as he slinked off toward the stairwell, cell phone in his left hand and a rolled-up joint clamped between the long fingers of his right. Rais winked back at him.

  “I really needed to get away from them, man. I’m going to your room for a smoke. Same place, right?”

  Indelbed nodded.

  “I’ll see you later then.”

  “Thanks,” Indelbed replied, trying to inje
ct as much awful sarcasm as possible into his voice. It came out sounding sulky and immature instead.

  Indelbed went to the study, bracing himself for a torrent of abuse. Automatically he checked for the saber and saw that it was hanging from its usual hook on the wall. While his father had never actually stabbed him with it, he had felt the flat of the blade more than once. (The Khan Rahman family was very much in favor of corporal punishment for young children, and the Doctor was one of the preeminent champions of this philosophy. The saber was the worst, but the belt wasn’t too nice either, and the Doctor’s hands, long and bony, were also deadly weapons of retribution.) The Doctor was sprawled in his armchair, muttering incoherently. He was for once dressed decently, in a white kurta. It even looked fairly clean. He must have unearthed it in some remote closet. His whiskey bottle was rolling on the floor, his glass cradled protectively against his bony chest. The man’s head lolled sideways, and a thin line of drool connected his chin to his shoulder.

  Indelbed tidied his father up a little bit, taking care not to wake him and trying not to let his relief get the best of him. The armchair and footstool, joined together, could form a sort of couch-bed, which was not an unusual place for the Doctor to sleep on drunken nights. Tomorrow the hangover would be terrible, and the punishments might be further enhanced by this. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but like any little boy, Indelbed was an optimist at heart, and on the whole preferred a delayed punishment to an immediate one.

  He reflected on the hints made by the Ambassador and GU Sikkim, and tried to imagine this wretched creature—this whiskey-pickled flop—harboring some dangerous secret. It made no sense to him. He tried to dismiss this as hearsay, but could not conceive why such lofty members of the clan would bother playing a prank on him.

  He stood in front of the mirror and pulled up his T-shirt. It wasn’t a tattoo so much as a brand, a rough circle of raised flesh between his shoulder blades, with hardly any details. He didn’t remember getting it. He had always thought the Doctor had injured him by accident somehow. Why were they asking about it? How did they know?