Full Moon on the Ganges

I am floating down the river with Ganga Din, now fifty years old or
more, who is moving our boat with a practiced, splashless rowing,
while I eat saltbeef and pickled limes. I wonder if the smell of the
meat offends him. He hasn't ever eaten any of our food though we've
offered it. I don't know if he is concerned about contamination, or he
just doesn't have enough curiousity. The old man has been our boatman
and gardener for as long as I can remember. His rough hands with dark
cracks in the palms, his sculptured face, his watery eyes which are
the colors of smoky topaz, are all familiar to me. He is like a great
uncle to me, or even a grandfather.

The last time I was here on the river for a boat picnic, my family was
along with me and we went downriver to the burning ghat, where Hindus
cremate their dead. My sisters suddenly spotted some bones and a skull
glowing in the moonlight on the riverbank and started screaming for
Ganga Din to turn the boat around. Most likely, a family too poor to
buy enough wood had set a pyre too weak to burst the skull. (If the
skull does not burst Hindus believe the soul is not freed.) So, along
with a few long bones, the skull was now left for jackals to gnaw. Or
demons to haunt ...

Anyway, I wanted Ganga Din to pull up onto the bank so that I could
get a closer look --maybe even pick up the skull-- but my mother
refused and ordered Ganga Din to turn back. I cursed out at my sisters
a little too loudly, I guess. My father finally shut us up by
challenging me to spend a night alone on the burning ghat. He said I
could do all the exploring I wanted to, as well as prove to my sisters
that I was as brave as I wanted them to believe. Of course my sisters
squealed with delight at the idea and my mother, the usual doomsayer,
rebuked my father for such a preposterous and evil suggestion. I don't
think any of them really thought that I'd accept the dare, but an idea had
suddenly come to me. My girlfriend, Radha, and I would soon be saying
goodbye because my final semester at a school in Mussoorie was starting
in a week and I'd be leaving Allahabad for good. My father's dare
would be the perfect opportunity for us to be alone together all
night!...

The moon is beautiful tonight, slung low like a close friend, and on
the quiet river its corrugated reflection floats alongside of our
splintered boat. Ganga Din stops rowing to light a beedi, offering me
one. I've never smoke a beedi before --just a few cigs at school, in
the "john" after lights out. I tell Ganga Din about my friend David
who caught his long hair on fire trying to light a damp one. He
chuckles and the river seems to ripple in mirth as well. Tonight I
accept his offer.

Ganga Din doesn't talk too much. He knows our American ways as well as
his own Indian ones. He comes when we call. He spreads dung under the
roses, and every evening sweeps the driveway. And he takes us out on
the river as many times as we ask. We live on the river. Not close to
the burning ghat where we are headed now, but a few miles up the river
to the east. The Ganges flows past our walled compound and we feel at
times it belongs as much to us as it does to the Hindus. We have seen
the river in all her moods, dry and faceless in the drought, thick and
raging in the monsoon. She cradles the poor who don't have enough money
to arrange a cremation. She provides water for cooking and drinking, just as she
provides a swiftly moving sewage system, carrying away to the ocean
all filth and disease. She buries dead animals and broken trees along
the way, keeping India in some sort of an amazing state of beauty and
grace. She brings green to the rice paddies and yellow to the mustard
fields. She washes clean the vilest sinner, the
Hindus say and I've heard it said that she even answers prayers.

I wonder if Radha and her brother, Arun, will get to the ghat before
us. I swore them both to secrecy. Ganga Din will be surprised when
they show up but I'll promise him that there'll be no mischief, and
encourage him to go to sleep. Arun is an obliging chap: he won't mind
leaving Radha and me to ourselves while he smokes and composes his
ghazals. In fact, he might even sing some for us.

I'll admit it was hard to get them to agree to meet me here, in such a
place. I managed to convince them by pointing out it would be the last
place anyone, family or friend, would suspect a rendezvous to
occur. Besides, what could there be to really frighten or threaten us?
The jackals can be chased away with stones and any stray bones we can
toss into the river. So what if there's an unblown skull lurking on
the sand? The dead can't and won't tattle. So, Arun and Radha agreed
to tell their parents they were going to their cousin Kishore's house
for the night. And my family expects me to be here all night, with
Ganga Din not far off, (and sleeping, I hope!)

As for Radha, let me tell you, she's a beauty. We've had fun hanging
out together, (Arun always part of the scene) for these three months
of winter vacation. Nothing serious. But as I will not be returning to
Allahabad after I graduate, it is time to break things off. She won't
like it. Arun told me recently that she thinks I am going to marry
her! And to be honest, I didn't exactly say I wouldn't. Foolish of me,
maybe ...

I'm not really looking forward to returning to America. I mean, I
consider India to be my home, most of the time. But my parents insist
I need to go to college in the States so I can acquire a "decent"
education and get married to a nice (meaning "white") girl who won't
mind coming back to India with me should I feel so inclined. (If you
ask me, it makes more sense for me to marry an Indian girl --and Radha
would be good as any ...) But that's all a long way off, and right
now I'm here to be with her one last time --fool around a little,
perhaps-- and say goodbye to her and Arun. After all, they have been
good friends and we've had a lot of fun together.

Our boat has arrived at the burning ground finally. Ganga Din is
making some offerings and prayers to his gods. I hadn't noticed the
marigolds and incense he had brought along with him until now. Seeing
the roses I have in a basket, and the box of sweetmeats from the Lucky
Sweet Mart, he asks me if I am going to do the same. I ask him to
please offer prayers for me as well, not telling them who they are
for, and he agrees. The night has gotten nippy. He has brought an old
dhurrie to sit on and the red wool blanket we gave him last
Christmas. Good thing I have an extra sleeping bag because that
blanket alone will never keep the cold out. It's not unusual to read
in the morning paper this time of the year about the poor people who
die from the cold in these north Indian winters.

And the temperature must be going down by the minute out here on the
riverbank. Ganga Din is squatting by the boat which we pulled up onto
the sand, hunkered down under his blanket and having another
smoke. Radha and Arun haven't arrived yet. The river is quiet, asleep
like a mother slumbering beside her children. The moon looks smaller,
but still just as beautiful, and shining with the intensity of a
spilled drop of mercury. While the river sleeps, the night birds and
insects are noisy. Bats are swooping from branch to branch and owls
keep screeching throughout the neem trees. I hear jackals around me,
but I can't spot any. What is taking Arun and Radha so long? It
wouldn't be like them to stand me up. Maybe their parents discovered
our plans and forbade them from going.

Why didn't I bring a warmer jacket? Even with a sleeping bag around my
shoulders I can't help shivering. I keep seeing things that aren't
really there. Did the beedi Ganga Din gave me have something else in
it? Vague objects (like skittering rats) jump in and out of the
shadows; when I turn to really look at them they vanish. Despite the
moonlight, there are flashes of darkness at the boundaries of my
vision, like black lightening. Radha says she has never loved any
other boy, which I find hard to believe. She is a beautiful girl, and
I can't imagine that there have never been any schoolboys running
around offering her Cadburys and smudgy love letters. Still, I have to
believe her. Thinking about her wakes my whole body and I feel the
rush of blood making my limbs seem larger than life. And when I close
my eyes I can smell her black hair which she braids with jasmine
flowers.

Ganga Din has fallen asleep. I wish I knew what was taking them so
blasted long.

Wait! I see someone coming: Arun on his bicycle. Alone!

Why hasn't he brought his sister?

"I was getting worried about you. Where's Radha?"

"My parents found out what we were planning and they became very
angry, and have punished her. I only came to give you this letter she
has written."

"But how could they have? It was just between the three of us, wasn't
it?"

He lets his bicycle fall onto the cold sand, then reaches into his
pocket for the letter. He is wearing only a thin jacket, and he is
starting to shiver.

"What's wrong, Arun? Tell me!"

"Yes, something is wrong ...", he begins. He fumbles for a cigarette
and the box of matches falls to his feet. "Just hurry up and read the
letter, then you'll see. She has been crying for a week now but hadn't
said anything to my parents, until today. They finally dragged it out
of her that she is in love with you, and wants to leave home. They
have been planning a marriage for her to some chap from Srinagar, a
distant cousin of ours, or something. Of course, she never mentioned
it to you."

"What? I can't believe it!"

"Are you going to call me a liar? The poor girl has stopped eating and
won't talk to anybody but me. She wants me to bring back a response
from you. I'll sit and have a couple of cigarettes while you read."

I invite him to sit beside me on one of the sleeping bags, close
together, with the other two bags over our shoulders. He is rigid and
I can feel his body shake with the cold. Ganga Din is snoring
comfortably. He's wrapped in his red blanket from head to toe, looking
disturbingly like a corpse ready for cremation.

I manage to read Radha's letter by the light of the moon, and I stay
silent once I am done thinking of a response. My heart is pounding and
I'm sure Arun can tell it sitting next to me.

I read it over again, five or six times, stalling for time. Arun has
gone through half a pack of cigarettes I see. The peace and stillness
of the evening now seem loaded with tension and there are pockets of
night here and there that seem to implode around me into a wet
stinking darkness. I am shivering violently.

While my heart thumps and shakes inside of me, I turn to look at Arun
for some sense of his mood, and I see immediately that his face has
taken on a very different aspect, one I can hardly recognize. No
longer is he the fun-loving, novel-reading, cricket-playing friend. It
hits me then just how much he has felt like an older brother to me
these past months and that it won't be only his sister I'll miss when
I return to school.

He looks mad as hell. And before I can say something he throws off the
sleeping bags and jerks me to my feet.

"You damn fool! How could you do this to us? Inviting us to such an
evil place so you can have a little fun with my sister -- How could
you treat her like this? Is she just a toy to please you? Or worse, a
slut? Someone to come and dance for you, then leave as you command?
Until tonight we both thought of you as a brother. But now we see you
really must despise us."

I try to tell him I didn't mean in any way to hurt them but my words
get lodged in my throat because he looks ready for a fight.

"God forbid you should ever come near my sister again!", he shouts.

That wakes up Ganga Din, who thrashes out of the blanket looking like
maybe his dreams had taken him to the edge of hell.

"Go back to sleep, old man!" In his anger, Arun shoves Ganga Din who
had taken a few steps towards us, and I can see the fleeting confusion
on his face.

In his defense I push Arun away, but regret it immediately. In his
hand flashes a knife and I freeze. What has become of Arun suddenly? A
glance at Ganga Din assures me he is as puzzled and frightened as I
am.

I raise my hand as a gesture of conciliation, but Arun takes it as a
threat and lunges. I fall back towards Ganga Din and he catches me. He
starts to shout at Arun in Hindi but Arun ignores him. Instead, Arun
jerks me out of Ganga Din's grasp.

Suddenly I am on him, trying to twist his hand that holds the knife up
behind his head. To my surprise, it works, but it takes a slice of
skin off of the left side of his face, close to his eye. He drops the
knife, clutching his wound.

Ganga Din makes a dive for the knife, but I kick it out of his way so
I can get ahold of it myself. But I miss, kicking his hand instead. He
withdraws it and casts a bewildered glance at me.

Arun jumps towards the knife just ahead of me and picks it up again. I
feel sluggish, and groggy like I want to go to sleep. My body won't
move. My mind is numb. I become confused and I look at the boatman's
face, then Arun's, wanting so desperately for this nightmare to
stop. But I find no relief in their faces.

Then I remember the boat: I can make an escape, if I'm quick. I run to
it, but it seems too heavy, like it has turned to stone, and I can't
get it to budge.

Before I know it, Arun has the knife at my throat. His breath is hot
and sour from the cigarettes. I can feel his taut body next to mine. I
can feel him mash his hips against me.

"If you ever come near my sister again, I'll kill you!"

Then everything passes in front of my eyes like a hideous parade: all
the conversations we had about Lady Chatterly's Lover and Women in
Love; the bliss of friendship; the sweat of a good badminton match;
the perfume of the English bookstore and fresh gulab jamun; the taste
of cardamom in hot tea; the laughter of hours spent reading aloud
Right Ho, Jeeves and A House for Mr. Biswas. It all dances past me in
mockery. The memories --all turned to sugar-coated thorns-- the
memories rise up to choke me until I don't know which is worse --the
blood on Arun's knife, or our fouled friendship? Which will hurt me
more --losing Radha, or losing him?

Somehow, and I don't know how long it takes, or what exactly is
involved, Ganga Din separates us and manages to get the boat off of
the blood-spattered sand and into the river. He keeps staring at my
neck, and acts as if I need to wipe something away. Arun's knife is
lying in the bottom of the boat, next to the roses and the box from
the Lucky Sweet Mart.

But where is Arun? To turn and look behind me makes my neck ooze with
blood and my eyesight blurs.

I watch in disbelief as Ganga Din picks up the knife, takes out
Radha's letter in his pocket, and stabs the knife through it, then
tosses them into the river. He balances his oars across his lap
carefully and bends over the side to wash his hands in the cold river.
She is flowing swiftly now, as if to help carry us away as quickly as
possible.

Then Ganga Din reaches for the basket of roses and the Lucky Sweet
Mart box and tosses them over the side as well. I watch the roses sink
briefly then rise to the surface and get left behind. I try to read
his face but he turns it away from me, rowing at a pace I've never
seen before. Even under the light of the moon, his familiar face is
dark and full of shadows.

I can see nothing along the banks of the Ganges river. I hear only the
splash and drip of the oars in the water. I feel light-headed and nauseous.

Where can we spend the night, I ask him, and where's Arun?

He doesn't reply.

He must know we can't go home now. Not with blood on our hands.