Dahanu Road: A novel by Anosh Irani

Author:Anosh Irani
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
ISBN: 9780307374738
Publisher: Doubleday Canada
Published: 2010-03-29T22:00:00+00:00

The next afternoon, Zairos sat in the blue swivel chair outside the Big Boss Hair Salon, awaiting the arrival of an important guest. The guest was not a member of Parliament or a religious man. The man Zairos was waiting for was a bona fide bandit from Bihar, the most lawless state in the country.

The dacoit’s name was Chambal—not a very original name, since most dacoits had terrorized the Chambal Valley. Zairos had met him a year before through Santosh, the unofficial singer-poet of Dahanu. Santosh was a wholesaler of chickoos who, while weighing his fruit, sang old Hindi songs and recited his own poetry.

Santosh’s cousin was a part-time prostitute. Chambal, apart from being a former dacoit—he was now in retirement— was a truck driver. He passed through Dahanu on his way to Bombay and slept with Santosh’s cousin. When Zairos first met Chambal, he had parked his truck outside Santosh’s wholesale shed. About six foot three, with a handlebar moustache so typical of his ilk, each half twirled to perfection, the tips pinpointed to enter the smallest hole, Chambal wore a dhoti and a white shirt, and was talking with great pride about how ruthless he was. “But after retirement, I have slowed down,” he said. “After retirement, I have done only two murders. One with my sword and one with my gun.” The long-haired Santosh continued weighing his chickoos on a large scale and recited a poem under his breath. Chambal did not seem to mind that Santosh was not paying attention. He was more interested in having Zairos as an audience. “This man in my village,” continued Chambal, “he courted my sister, slept with her, and did not marry her, so I killed him. That was the honour killing with the sword. I cut his head off in front of his brother. The other killing I did as a contract. A landlord paid me to get rid of a man who refused to sell his land. So I shot him and then his wife had to sell the land. Apart from these two murders, I have done a few more but they were during my days as a dacoit and I do not want to talk about that.”

Then Chambal climbed into his truck and got his shotgun. The truck was at a height, so he towered above Zairos. All of a sudden, he aimed the gun at Zairos. Santosh stopped reciting his poem. “I could kill you just now and feel nothing,” said Chambal. Santosh stepped out from under his shed. “Chambal, my friend,” he said. “You should wear some underwear.” Zairos could not believe his ears. Was this a poem? Was it symbolic of his death, of his getting shot?

“What are you talking about?” asked Chambal.

“This truck is very high,” said Santosh. “I can see your spare parts beneath your dhoti. You should wear underwear.”

Chambal roared with laughter. He jumped off his truck and thumped Santosh on the back. That night, the three of them had drinks together.

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