Song of Kali

Chapter Seven

Krishna stopped translating. His voice had grown more and more hoarse until the croak of it perfectly complemented his toad-like eyes. It was with an effort that I looked away from Muktanandaji. I realized that I had become so absorbed that I had forgotten Krishna's presence. Now I felt precisely the same irritation at him for stopping that one would feel toward a balky tape recorder or a television that malfunctioned at an inappropriate time.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

Krishna tilted his head, and I turned to look. The white-stubbled proprietor was approaching us. Incredibly, the huge room had emptied without my noticing it. Bulky chairs were upended on all of the other tables. The fans had ceased their slow turning. I glanced at my watch. It was 11:35.

The proprietor — if that is what he was — grumbled at Krishna and Muktanadaji. Krishna flicked his hand tiredly, and the man repeated something in a louder, more petulant voice.

"What's the matter?" I asked again.

"He must close," croaked Krishna. "He is paying for the electricity."

I glanced at the few dim bulbs still glowing and almost laughed aloud.

"We can finish this tomorrow," said Krishna. Muktanadaji had removed his glasses and was rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

"The hell with that," I said. I flipped through the few bills of Indian currency I'd brought with me and handed the old man a twenty-rupee note. He remained standing and mumbled something to himself. I gave him ten more rupees. He scratched at his whiskery cheeks and shuffled back toward his counter. I had parted with less than three dollars.

"Go on," I said.

"Sanjay was confident that we could find two corpses before midnight. This was, after all, Calcutta.

"In the morning, as we rode to the center of the city, we asked the Harijan dead-animal transporters if they ever carried human bodies in their trucks. No, they answered, the City Municipal Corporation hired other men — poor men but men of caste — to go out in the mornings and retrive the bodies which inevitably littered the sidewalks. And that was only in the business and downtown sections. Farther out, where the great chawls began, there was no arrangement. Bodies were left to the families or dogs.

"'Where are the bodies taken after they are collected downtown?' asked Sanjay. To the Sassoon Morgue, was the reply. By ten-thirty that morning, after eating a breakfast of fried dough along the Maidan, Sanjay and I were at the Sassoon Morgue.

"The morgue took up the first floor and two basement levels of a building in the old English section of the city. There were stone lions still guarding the front steps, but the door there was locked and boarded, obviously unused for many years. All business went through the back entrance where the trucks came and went.

"The morgue was crowded. Sheeted bodies lay on carts in the hallways and even outside the offices. There was a very strong smell. This surprised me.

"A man carrying a clipboard and wearing a yellow-stained white uniform came out of his office and smiled. 'Can I help you?'

"I had no idea what to say, but Sanjay began speaking immediately, convincingly. 'We are from Varanasi. We have come to Calcutta because two of our cousins, unfortunately dispossessed of their lands in West Bengal, recently came to the city to find other work. Alas, it seems they have taken ill and died on the streets before finding dutiful employment. The wife of our poor second cousin informed us of this by letter before she returned to her family in Tamil Nadu. The bitch made no attempt to retrieve the body of her husband or our other cousin, but now we have come, at great expense, to return them to Varanasi for proper cremation."

"'Ahh.' the attendant grimaced. 'Those accursed Southern women. They have no sense of proper behavior. Animals.'

"I nodded agreement. It was so easy!

"'Man or woman? Old, young, or infant?' asked the morgue man in a bored voice.

"'Pardon?'

"'The other cousin. I presume the wife who left was married to a man, but what was the sex of the other family member? And the age of each? Also, on what day would they have been collected? First, what sex?'

"'A man,' said Sanjay.

"'Female,' I replied at the same time.

"The attendant stopped in the act of leading us into another room. Sanjay gave me a look that could have removed skin.

"'My apologies,' said Sanjay smoothly. 'Kamila, Jayaprakesh's poor cousin, is certainly female. I can think only of my own cousin, Samar. Jayaprakesh and I are related only through marriage, of course.'

"'Ah,' said the attendant, but his eyes had narrowed as he looked from one to the other of us. 'You would not, by any chance, be students at the University?'

"'No,' smiled Sanjay. 'I work at my father's rug shop in Varanasi. Jayaprakesh helps his uncle farm. I have some education. Jayaprakesh has none. Why do you ask?'

"'No reason. No reason,' said the attendant. He glanced at me, and I worried that he could hear the loud thudding of my pulse. 'It is just that on occasion medical students from our university here . . . ah . . . lose loved ones on the street. This way, please.'

"The basement rooms were large, damp, cooled by throbbing air conditioners. Water had streaked the walls and floors. Bodies lay naked on gurneys and tables. There was no order to their placement except for rough segregation by age and sex. The children's room we passed was quite crowded.

"Sanjay specified a date a week earlier as the time of our cousins' passing. It seemed that our cousin Samar had been in his forties.

"The first room we entered held about twenty men. All were in various stages of decomposition. It was not very cool in the room. Water dripped openly onto the corpses in a vain attempt to chill them. Both Sanjay and I lifted our shirts to our mouths and noses. Our eyes watered.

"'Damned power outages,' grumbled the attendant. 'Every few hours these days. Well?' He walked over and pulled sheets off the few covered forms. He extended his hands as if offering a bullock for sale.

"'No,' said Sanjay peering grimly into the first face. He went to another. 'No. No. Wait . . . no. It is hard to tell.'

"'Mmmm.'

"Sanjay moved from table to table, cart to cart. The terrible faces stared back at him, eyes filmed over, jaws locked open, some with swollen tongues protruding. A few grinned obscenely as if courting our choice. 'No," said Sanjay. 'No.'

"'These are all that came in during that week. Are you sure you have the dates right?' The morgue attendant did not try to hide the boredom and skepticism in his voice.

"Sanjay nodded, and I wondered what game he was playing. Identify someone and let us be gone! 'Wait,' he said. 'What about that one in the corner?'

"The cadaver lay alone on a steel table as if it had been tossed there absentmindedly. The knees and forearms were half raised, the fists clenched. The corpse was almost bald and had its face turned to the dank wall as if shamed by its own limp nakedness.

"'Too old,' muttered the attendant, but my friend had taken five quick steps to the corner. He leaned over to look at the face. The raised white fist of the corpse brushed against Sanjay's lifted shirt and bare belly.

"'Cousin Samar!' cried Sanjay with a half-sob. He clutched at the stiffened hand.

"'No, no, no,' said the morgue man. He blew his nose into the tail of his stained tunic. 'He came in only yesterday. Too new.'

"'Nonetheless, it is poor Cousin Samar,' said Sanjay in a choked voice. I saw real tears in his eyes.

"The morgue attendant shrugged and checked his clipboard. He had to look through several layers of forms. 'No identification. Brought in Tuesday morning. Found naked on Sudder Street . . . appropriate, yes? Estimated cause of death — broken neck resulting from fall or strangulation. Possibly robbed for his clothes. Estimated age, sixty-five.'

"'Cousin Samar was forty-nine,' said Sanjay. He dabbed at his eyes and returned the shirt to his nose. Again the attendant shrugged.

"'Jayaprakesh, why don't you look for Cousin Kamila?" said Sanjay. 'I will make arrangements for the transporting of Cousin Samar.'

"'No, no,' said the morgue man.

"'No?' Sanjay and I said together.

"'No.' The man frowned down at his clipboard. 'You cannot transport this body until it is identified.'

"'But I just identified him. It is Cousin Samar,' said Sanjay, still clutching the corpse's gnarled fist.

"'No, no. I mean officially identified it. That must be done at the post office.'

"'The post office?' I said.

"'Yes, yes, yes. The city administration has its Office of Missing Persons and Unclaimed Bodies there. Third floor. After proof of identification is made, there is a two-hundred-rupee fee to the city. Two hundred rupees for each identified loved one, that is.'

"'Ayeeh!' cried Sanjay. Two hundred rupees for what?'

"'For the official identification and certification, of course. Then you must go to the Municipal Corporation offices on Waterloo Street. They are open to the public only on Saturdays.'

"'That is three days away!' I cried.

"'Why must we go there?' asked Sanjay.

"'To pay the collection fee of five hundred rupees, of course. For their transporting service.' The attendant sighed. 'So, before releasing the body, I must have the identification certificate, the identification payment receipt, the collection payment receipt, and of course, a copy of your License to Transport Deceased Persons.'

"'Ahhh,' said Sanjay. He released Cousin Samar's hand. 'And where do we get such a license?'

"'From the Bureau of Licenses in the State Administrative Offices near Raj Bhavan.'

"'Of course,' said Sanjay. 'And it costs — '

"'Eight hundred rupees per deceased person you wish to transport. There is a group rate for more than five.'

"'Is that all we need?' asked Sanjay, and his voice held the edge to it that I often had heard just before he struck out at walls or kicked the little Burmese children who cluttered our courtyard and stairways.

"'Yes, yes,' said the attendant. 'Except the death certificate. I can make that out.'

"'Aghhh,' breathed Sanjay. 'The cost?'

"'A mere fifty rupees,' smiled the attendant. 'Then there is the matter of the rent.'

"'Rent?' I repeated, speaking through my shirt.

"'Yes, yes, yes. We are very crowded, as you can see. There is a fifteen-rupee per day rental fee for space provided.' He consulted the clipboard. 'Your cousin Samar's rent comes to 105 rupees.'

"'But he's only been here one day!' I cried.

" True, true. But I fear we must charge for the entire week because he received special facilities because of his . . . ah . . . advanced stage. Shall we look to your Cousin Kamila now?'

" This will cost us almost two thousand rupees!' exploded Sanjay. 'For each body!'

"'Oh yes, yes,' said the morgue man with a smile. 'I trust that the rug business in Varanasi is healthy these days?'

"'Come along, Jayaprakesh,' said Sanjay as he turned to leave.

"'But what about Cousin Kamila?' I cried.

"'Come along!' Sanjay said and pulled me from the room.

"There was a white truck outside the morgue. Sanjay approached the driver. "The bodies,' he said. 'Where do they go?'

"'What?'

"'Where do the unclaimed bodies go when they're taken from here?'

"The driver sat up and frowned. 'To Naidu Infectious Diseases Hospital. Most of them. They dispose of them.'

"'Where is that?'

"'Way out on Upper Chitpur Road.'

"It took us an hour to get there by streetcar through heavy traffic. The old hospital was crowded with people hoping to recover or waiting to die. The long hallways, overflowing with beds, reminded me of the morgue. Birds came in through the bars on the windows and hopped among the tousled sheets, hoping to find stray crumbs. Lizards skittered across the cracked walls and I saw a rodent scurry under a bed as we passed.

"A mustached intern suddenly blocked our path. 'Who are you?'

"Sanjay, taken by surprise, gave our names. I could tell that his mind was working furiously to concoct an adequate story.

"'You're here about the bodies, aren't you?' demanded the intern.

"We both blinked.

"'You're reporters, aren't you?' asked the man.

"'Yes,' agreed Sanjay.

"'Damn. We knew this would get out,' growled the intern. 'Well, it's not our fault!'

"'Why not?' asked Sanjay. From his skirt pocket he removed the battered old notebook in which he kept records of the Beggarmasters' payments, our laundry bills, and our market lists. 'Would you care to make a statement?' He licked the end of a broken pencil.

"'Come this way,' snapped the intern. He led us through a ward of typhoid patients, into an adjoining kitchen, and outside past heaps of garbage. Behind the hospital there was an empty weeded field that covered several acres. In the distance were visible the burlap lean-tos and tin roofs of a growing chawl. A rusting bulldozer sat in the weeds and against it leaned an old man with baggy shorts and an ancient bolt-action rifle.

"'Heeyah!' screamed the intern. The old man jumped and shouldered the rifle. 'There! There!' cried the intern and pointed out into the weeds. The old man fired and the sound of the shot echoed off the tall building behind us.

"'Shit, shit, shit!' yelled the intern and bent quickly to rise with a large stone in his hand. Out in the weeds, a gray dog with prominent ribs had raised its head at the sound of the gunshot and now stared at us. The scrawny beast turned and loped off with its tail between its legs and something pink in its mouth. The intern threw his stone, and it dropped into the weeds halfway between him and the dog. The old man at the bulldozer was wrestling with the bolt of the rifle.

"'Damn,' said the intern and led us out across the field. There were scars and mounds of dirt everywhere, as if the bulldozer had pawed at the earth here for years like a huge house cat. We stopped at the edge of a shallow pit where we had first seen the dog.

"'Ay!' I said and backed away. The rotting human hand that rose out of the moist soil had brushed against my sandal and touched my bare foot. Other things were visible. Then I noticed the other pits, the other dogs in the distance.

"'It was all right ten years ago,' said the intern, 'but now, with that industrial basti coming so close . . .' He broke off to throw another rock at another pack of dogs. The animals calmly trotted into the bushes. Behind us, the old man had succeeded in ejecting the spent cartridge and was levering another bullet in.

"'Were these Muslims or Christians?' asked Sanjay. His pencil was poised.

"'Hindus, most likely. Who knows?' the intern spat. The crematoria do not wish to have unpaying customers. But the damned dogs have been digging them up like this for months now. We were willing to pay until . . . Wait. You have heard about what happened today? That is why you're here, is it not?'

"'Of course,' Sanjay said blandly. 'But perhaps you would like to tell us your side.'

"I was barely listening. I was too busy looking around, noticing the other bits and pieces rising from the churned soil like dead fish rising to the surface of a pond. From what I could see, there seemed little hope that Sanjay and I could find an intact offering here. Ravens circled overhead. The old man had sat down on the metal tractor tread and appeared to be dozing.

"'There have been many complaints about today's business,' said the intern. 'But we had to do something. Make sure that you report that the hospital was prepared to pay for the cremations.'

"'Yes,' said Sanjay and wrote something down.

"We began walking back to the hospital building. Families of patients were camped in makeshift tents and huts near the mountains of garbage. 'We had to do something,' said the intern. 'The power outages, you know. And with the dogs we couldn't just go on as we've done over the years. So we paid the Municipal Corporation to transport them, and this morning we loaded thirty-seven fresh from the cooler to be taken to Ashutosh Crematorium Grounds. How were we to know that they would use an open truck and that it would be stuck in traffic for hours?'

"'How indeed?' said Sanjay and scribbled something.

"'And then, to make it worse, after the load was dumped on the cremation grounds, there was the festival crowd.'

"'Yes!' I said. 'The Kali Puja begins today.'

"'But how were we to know that the ceremony was to draw ten thousand people to that cremation park?' the intern asked sharply. I did not remind him that Kali was the goddess of all cremation grounds and places of deaths, including even battlefields and non-Hindu burial places.

"'Do you know how long it takes for a full and proper cremation, even with the new electric pyres in the city?' asked the intern. 'Two hours,' he answered himself. 'Two hours each.'

"'What happened to those bodies?' asked Sanjay as if the subject held little interest for him. It was already early afternoon. Ten hours until midnight.

"'Ahh, the complaints!' wailed the intern. 'Several of the worshipers fainted. It was very hot this morning. But we had to leave most behind. The drivers refused to return here or to the Sassoon Morgue through afternoon traffic with a full load again.'

"'Thank you,' said Sanjay and shook the man's hand. 'Our readers will be pleased to know the hospital's point of view. Oh, by the way, will your guard be here after dark?' Sanjay nodded toward the sleeping old man.

"'Yes, yes,' snapped the sweating intern. 'For all the damned good it will do. Heeyah!' He shouted and bent to find a stone to throw at the slavering dog dragging something large into the bushes.

"We drove to the Ashutosh Crematorium Grounds at ten o'clock that night. Sanjay had arranged to borrow one of the small Premiere vans that the Beggarmasters used to take out and collect their crippled charges. The narrow compartment in the back was windowless and it smelled very bad.

"I had not known that Sanjay knew how to drive. After our reckless, honking, light blinking, lane-shifting ride through evening traffic, I was still not sure.

"The gates to the cremation park were locked, but we went in through the laundry grounds which adjoined it. The water had ceased running through the open pipes, the concrete stalls and slabs were empty of wash, and the workers of the launderer caste had left at nightfall. There was a stone wall separating the crematorium from the laundry grounds, but unlike so many walls in the city, it had no broken glass or razor blades set atop it and was easy to climb.

"Once over the wall, we hesitated for a minute. The stars were out, but the new moon had not yet risen. It was very dark. The tin-roofed cremation pavilions were gray silhouettes against the night sky. There was another shadow closer to the front gates: tall, domed, a huge wooden platform resting on giant wooden wheels.

"'The godcart for the Kali Puja,' whispered Sanjay. I nodded. They had set tin shutters in place over the outer frame, but both of us knew the giant, angry, four-armed presence which waited within. Such a festival idol was rarely considered a jagrata, but who could know what power it gained at night, alone, in a place of death?

"'This way,' whispered Sanjay and headed for the largest pavilion, the one closest to the circular drive. We passed stacks of wood, fuel for the families with money, and stacks of dried cow-dung patties for the more common cremations. The roofless pavilion for the funeral band was an empty gray slab in the starlight. It seemed to me that it was a morgue slab, coldly awaiting the corpse of some huge god. I glanced nervously at the shuttered godcart.

"'Here,' said Sanjay. They lay there in rough rows. If there had been a moon, the shadow of the godcart would have fallen across them. I took a step toward them and turned away. 'Ayah,' I said. 'I will have to burn my clothes tomorrow.' I could imagine the effect on the crowd, in the heat of the day.

'"Pray there is a tomorrow,' hissed Sanjay and began stepping over the tumbled forms. A few had been covered by canvas tarpaulins or blankets. Most lay open to the sky. My eyes had adjusted to the faint starlight and I could make out pale glistenings and white glow of bones which had worked their way free of clinging flesh. Here and there a twisted limb rose above the indistinct heaps. I remembered the hand which had seemed to grasp my foot outside the hospital and I shuddered.

"'Quickly!' Sanjay chose a body in the second row and began dragging it toward the back wall.

"'Wait for me!' I whispered desperately, but he had already been swallowed by the shadows and I was alone with the dark obstacles underfoot. I moved to the middle of the third row and immediately regretted it. It was hard to put a foot down without it treading on something which yielded sickeningly to the touch. A slight breeze came up and a piece of tattered clothing fluttered a few feet from me.

"There was a sudden movement and noise in the row nearest the looming godcart. I stood upright, hands clenching into feeble fists. It was a bird of some kind — huge, too heavy to fly, black pinions fluttering. It hopped over the corpses and disappeared into the darkness beneath the goddess's shelter. Rattling sounds echoed from under the loose tin shutters. I could imagine the great idol stirring, its four hands reaching for the containing wooden frame, its blind eyes opening whitely to view its domain.

"Something grasped my ankle in an encircling grip.

"I let out a yell then, jumped sideways, tripped, and went down among the tangle of cold limbs. My forearm ended up resting on the leg of a corpse whose face was buried in the grass. The grip on my ankle did not relax. If anything, it was tugging me backwards.

"I pushed myself to my knees and brushed wildly at my right leg. My shout had been so loud that I expected guards to come running from the front gate. I hoped someone would come running. But there were no guards. I yelled for Sanjay but there was no response. My ankle burned where something gripped it tightly.

"I forced myself to quit straining, to stand. The grip relaxed. I dropped to one knee and peered at the thing which held me.

"The body had been covered by a silky tarpaulin with many nylon lines attached. I had stepped into one of these loose coils of rope and pulled it tight with my next step. It took only a few seconds to untangle the cord.

"I smiled. Only a pale hand, grub-white in the starlight, protruded from the silken shroud. I nudged the hand back under the sheet with the toe of my sandal. Perfect. Let Sanjay wrestle with the flesh of the dead like a Scheduled Class tenderer. Without actually touching the shape beneath the sheet, I rolled it deeper into the silky folds, used the dangling cords to bind it, lifted the soft mass to my shoulder, and was away, moving quickly past the dark pavilions. The noise in the godcart ceased as I moved away from it.

"Sanjay was waiting in the shadow of the wall. 'Hurry!' he hissed. It was after eleven. We were miles from the Kapalikas' temple. Together we hoisted the two bodies over the wall.

"The journey from the cremation grounds to the Kapalika temple was the stuff of nightmares — absurd nightmares. Our burdens rolled around in the back as Sanjay weaved in and out of traffic, forcing bullock carts off the road, causing pedestrains to leap into piles of garbage to escape being run down, and blinking his lights frantically to warn oncoming trucks that he would not surrender the right of way. Twice we had to bounce up on the sidewalks as he passed on the left. A wake of shouted obscenities marked our path through Calcutta that night.

"Finally, the inevitable occurred. Near the Maidan, Sanjay attempted to cross three lanes of oncoming traffic at an intersection. A metropolitan policeman jumped down from the giant tractor tire on which he was directing traffic and threw up his hand to halt us. For a mad second I was convinced that Sanjay was going to run him down. Then he slammed both feet on the brake and pulled back on the steering wheel as if he were trying to rein in a runaway bullock. Our van skidded broadside, almost tipped over, and came to a stop a foot from the policeman's outstretched palm. The engine stalled. One of the corpses in the back had tumbled forward until its bare foot protruded between the driver's seat and me. Luckily, the shroud was still tangled about both bodies. I hastily pulled the sheet over the foot just as the furious traffic policeman came around to Sanjay's side of the van. He leaned in the right window, and his face was almost rippling with outrage.

"'What in fuck do you fucking well think you're fucking doing?' The officer's broad helmet bobbed as he shouted. I thanked all of the gods that he was not a Sikh. He was screaming at us in a West Bengali dialect. He punctuated his shouts with blows to Sanjay's door with his heavy lathi stick. A Sikh — and most metropolitan police tend to be Sikhs — would have been using the club on our heads. They are strange people, Sikhs.

"Before Sanjay could frame an answer or restart the engine, the policeman took a step back and threw his hand to his face. 'Pah!' he yelled. 'What the fuck do you have in there?'

"I sank in my seat. All was lost. The police would arrest us. We would get imprisoned for life in the terrible Hooghly Prison, but that would be only a few days because the Kapalikas would kill us.

"Sanjay, however, grinned broadly and leaned out the window. 'Ah, most honorable sir, surely you recognize this truck, sir?' He banged on the dented door with his palm.

"The policeman frowned fiercely but took another step back. 'Hmmrr,' he said through his hand.

"'Yes, yes, yes,' cried Sanjay, still grinning stupidly. 'It is the very property of Gopalakrishna Nirendrenath G. S. Mahapatra, Chief Beggar-master of the Chitpur and Upper Chittaranjan Union! And in the back are six of his most profitable and pitiable lepers. Very profitable beggars, honored sir!' Sanjay started the engine with his left hand and indicated the dark rear of the van with a sweep of his right hand. 'I am an hour late returning Master Mahapatra's property to their feeding-sleeping hall, respectful sir. He will have my head. But if you arrest us, honorable constable, I will have, at least, an excuse for my unworthy tardiness. Please, if you wish to arrest us I will open the back for you. The lepers, sir, however profitable, can no longer walk, so you will have to help me carry them out.' Sanjay fumbled at the outer door latch as if to get out.

"'No!' cried the officer. He shook the lathi club at Sanjay's fumbling hand. 'Begone! Immediately!' And so saying, he turned his back on us and walked quickly to the center of the intersection. There he began waving his arms and blowing his whistle at the screaming mass of tangled traffic which had blocked three streets in the short time he had been absent from his tire.

"Sanjay wrenched the truck into gear, drove around the snarled pack of vehicles by driving across the grass of Plaza Park, and turned against oncoming traffic onto Strand Road South.

"We parked as close as we could to the warehouse. The street was very dark, but there was a lantern in the back of the truck. Sanjay had to light it so we could untangle our offerings from the cords of my corpse's shroud. By my watch, a gift from Sanjay, it was ten minutes before twelve. My watch often ran slow.

"I could see by the sudden leap of light from the lantern that Sanjay had carried what had once been an old man from the cremation grounds. The corpse had no teeth, only a wisp of hair, and cataracts on both eyes. It was tangled in a spiderweb of ropes from my corpse's covering.

"'Damn!' muttered Sanjay. 'It's like a stinking parachute. No, there's a fucking net tangled in with the tarp.' Sanjay finally had to use his teeth to bite through the cord.

"'Quickly,' he said to me. Take that cloth off yours. They will not want it covered.'

'"But I don't think . . ."

"'Do it, dammit,' snapped Sanjay in a full rage. His eyes seemed to leap out of his red face. The lantern spat and hissed. 'Shit, shit, shit!' he exploded. 'I should have used vow as I first planned. It would have been so damned simple. Shit!' Sanjay angrily lifted his corpse under the arms and started dragging it free of the severed ropes.

"I stood there, transfixed, numb. Even when I slowly began untying the final knots and tugging away the last cords, I was not aware of what my hands were doing. I tell you what, Jayaprakesh. You are a victim of social injustice. Your plight touches me. I will lower the rent from two hundred rupees a month to five rupees. If you need a loan for the first two or three months, I will be happy to advance it.

"Tears ran down my cheeks and fell to the shroud. From far away I heard Sanjay's cry to hurry, but my hands moved slowly and methodically to untie the last of the tangled lines. I remembered my tears of gratitude when Sanjay took me in as a roommate, my surprise and gratitude at his including me in his Kapalika initiation.

"I should have used you as I first planned.

"I wiped brusquely at my eyes, angrily pulled the shroud away, and threw it into the far corner of the van.

"'Ayeeeaa!' The scream was torn out of me. I leaped backwards and slammed into the wall of the van, almost pitching forward onto the thing revealed before me. The lantern tipped over and rolled along the metal floor. I screamed again.

"'What?' Sanjay had run back to the van. Now he stopped and clutched at the door. 'Arhhh . . ."

"The thing I had carried like a bride from the cremation grounds may once have been human. No longer. No trace remained. The body was swollen twice the size of a man — more a giant, putrid starfish than a man. The face had no shape, only a white mass with wrinkled holes and swollen slits where the eyes, mouth, and nose might once have been. The thing was a sick simulacrum of a human form, crudely molded of suppurating fungus and dead, distorted meat.

"It was white — all white — the white of the bellies of dead carp washed up from the Hooghly. The skin had the texture of bleached, rotted rubber, like something peeled and shaped from the underside of a poisonous toadstool. The corpse was bloated taut; inflated from the awful internal pressure of expanding gases and organs swollen to the bursting point and beyond. Fractured splinters of ribs and bones were visible here and there in the puffy mass like sticks embedded in a rising dough.

"'Ahh,' gasped Sanjay. 'A drowning victim.'

"As if to confirm Sanjay's statement, there came a whiff of foul river mud, and a sluglike thing appeared in one of the black eyeholes. Glistening feelers tasted the night air and then withdrew from the light. I sensed the movement of many other things in the swollen mass.

"I pressed back against the side of the van and slid my way to the rear door. I would have pushed past Sanjay and run into the welcoming night, but he blocked me, pushed me back into the narrow chamber with the thing.

"'Pick it up,' Sanjay said.

"I stared at him. The fallen lantern threw wild shadows between us. I could only stare.

"'Pick it up, Jayaprakesh. We have less than two minutes until the ceremony begins. Pick it up.'

"I would have jumped Sanjay then. I would have happily choked him until the last gasps of life rattled out of his lying throat. Then I saw the gun. It had appeared in his fist like the lotus flower suddenly popping into the palm of a clever traveling magician. It was a small pistol. It hardly looked large enough to be real. But it was. I had no doubt of that. And the black circle of the barrel was aimed right between my eyes.

"'Pick it up.'

"Nothing on earth could have made me pick up the thing on the floor behind me. Nothing except the absolute certain knowledge that I would be dead in three seconds if I did not comply. Dead. Like the thing in the van. Lying with it. On it. With it.

"I knelt, set the lantern upright before it sputtered out or set fire to the shroud, and put my arms under the shape. It seemed to welcome my grasp. One arm moved against my side like the furtive touch of a timid lover. My fingers sank deep into the white. The flesh felt cool and rubbery, and I was sure that my fingers would break through at any second. Soft things shifted and stirred inside it as I backed out of the van and took a step. The thing sagged against me, and for a second I felt the terrible certainty that the corpse would deliquesce and flow down over me like moist river clay.

"I raised my face to the night sky and stumbled forward. Behind me, Sanjay shouldered his own cold burden and followed me into the Temple of the Kapalikas.