The Storyteller by Adib Khan Read Free Book Online Page A

her face, and the defenceless silence with which she accepted her husband’s accusations and abuses, threw me into a worse state of turmoil than I had experienced earlier at school.
    The day had been agonisingly long. Hysterical children and agitated parents. Stern-looking policemen, uncertain about the nature of the danger that warranted their presence. Someone grabbed me by the neck and dragged me away. I became a showpiece locked up in a classroom. The windows were soon crowded with adult faces. High-pitched voices and raised fists declared the communal intention. I shouted back. Fragments of the day remained pasted in my memory. Maji sat next to me in a police jeep, her arm around my shoulders. She spoke sparingly, her voice trembling as she endeavoured to console me. We were driven to the central police station where I was kept waiting among strangers while she filled out forms and spoke to khaki-clad men. Vijay hovered in the background, talking to his former colleagues and glowering at me.
    Then I was driven to a large building where men and women, dressed in white, moved purposefully in the quiet corridors. Were they angels on earth? No one bothered toanswer my question. I fell asleep on a chair and dreamed of a wedding. My wedding to Miss DeSouza. I didn’t know what a wedding was meant to do. At that stage in my life it betokened an uninterrupted togetherness. We would be the only ones in the entire school. She was exclusively my teacher, encouraging me to do whatever I pleased.
    A hand gently rubbed my chest and invaded my state of bliss. A room with white walls. An electric fan whirred overhead. I did not have to move to see the ceiling. I was almost convinced that I had passed into a life beyond death. The face of an elderly man, with a long nose and bushy eyebrows, appeared over me. For an instant I thought that God was visiting me.
    ‘Good! You are awake now. Did you sleep well?’ He sneezed and blew noisily into a handkerchief.
    I wasn’t in Heaven after all. He began to ask all kinds of silly questions.
    ‘Do you have a favourite toy? Vamana? Is there a toy you like very much?’
    The walls became transparent. People fought and clawed their way to reach me. There was Mrs Prasad, demanding that I be punished. She had a tail and…talons.
    ‘My stuffed giant.’
    ‘A giant? Does it have a name?’
    ‘Ravana.’
    ‘Ah! You have heard the story of The Ramayana. Why do you like Ravana?’
    ‘He is my friend. I can talk to him at night.’
    ‘What do you say to him?’
    I closed my eyes and did not answer. That was a secret of the night. It happened inside, a special place where only my friends were allowed to enter. The noise again, from out there. My right eye saw him seated on a chair. He was staring at me.
    ‘Vamana, what would you like to be when you…er…later in your life?’
    I didn’t understand what he meant. Mrs Prasad had disappeared behind the wall. Its blankness was comforting.
    ‘Is there anything special that you like doing?’
    ‘Telling stories.’
    ‘Who do you tell your stories to?’
    ‘My friends.’
    ‘Do you tell happy stories?’
    ‘I don’t know…No.’
    ‘Don’t you want to make your friends happy?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I want them to feel like I do.’
    The chair squeaked. He leaned forward, watching me intently. ‘Who are your other friends? What are their names?’
    He was threatening me, like a dark hand trying to break a door. He wanted to reach inside to confront me with the tangled confusion I had learned to avoid. I felt as if he were trying to untie the knots that I did not wish to be touched. I retreated among the murky alleys and lanes that meandered endlessly inside me. I was swallowed by the shadows. Soon his footsteps could not be heard, only the faint echo of his voice repeatedly calling my name. He would never catch me. My smile must have prompted him to plead with me.
    ‘Vamana? Vamana! Please listen to me! I am told you can read