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Full Chapter The Lion of Kashmir 1St Edition Gigoo Siddhartha PDF
Full Chapter The Lion of Kashmir 1St Edition Gigoo Siddhartha PDF
Siddhartha
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Siddhartha Gigoo’s books are The Garden of Solitude, A Fistful of Earth and
Other Stories (longlisted for the Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award
2015), A Long Dream of Home: The Persecution, Exodus and Exile of Kashmiri
Pandits (co-edited), Once We Had Everything: Literature in Exile (co-edited) and
Mehr: A Love Story. In 2015, he won the Commonwealth Short Story Prize (Asia)
for his short story, The Umbrella Man. His stories have been longlisted for Lorian
Hemingway Short Story Prize, Royal Society of Literature’s V.S. Pritchett Short
Story Prize, and Seán O’Faoláin Short Story Prize.
Siddhartha’s short films, The Last Day and Goodbye, Mayfly, have won several
awards at international film festivals. His writings appear in various literary
journals. He’s also the co-founder of Daalaan, a Hindi literary magazine.
For more, visit siddharthagigoo.com.
Also by the same author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to
any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-93-5333-817-6
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or
otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated, without the
publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which
it is published.
Here we are always late by a certain interval of time of which we
cannot define the length.
—BRUNO SCHULZ,
Sanatorium under the Sign of the Hourglass
Only two rivers flow here: Dead River and Red River.
—ARVIND GIGOO,
Gulliver in Kashmir
Contents
Book I
PENUMBRA
Book II
UMBRA
Book III
THE JOURNAL OF ABDUL AZIZ
Penumbra
When we are away from home, in new and strange places,
we get to know ourselves better.
—Jokha Alharthi,
Celestial Bodies
Home Away from Home
‘This is the final boarding call for Zooni Aziz booked on flight AI 112
to New Delhi. Please board the aircraft immediately. The doors of
the aircraft will close in exactly five minutes. I repeat. This is the
final boarding call for Zooni Aziz. Please board the aircraft
immediately. Thank you!’
I hear a whisper in my ear, ‘Are you Zooni? The announcement is
for you. You should hurry, else you will miss your flight…’
I gather myself and look around to make sense of my
surroundings. A woman standing next to me is looking at me with
mischief in her eyes. She seems to be either Japanese or Korean.
Her features give her away. She is fair complexioned and shorter
than I am. She sports a bobcut, and her hair is mostly black with an
odd streak of brown. Her nose is flat. Her unusual features set her
apart from the rest of the people in the lounge. A 4-wheeled trolley
case is moving in circles around her. It’s a nauseatingly slow rotation
like that of a devotee going around a sanctum or a satellite orbiting
a planet. In the woman’s hand is a remote control. Her finger
presses down firmly on a button. Somehow, she gives an impression
of not being a stranger here. She seems unruffled at the comings
and goings of people. Yet, unlike the others, she appears confused
and clueless as to why she is at the boarding gate in the first place
and what she must do. But then, the way she is looking at me, I get
a sense that she is there for a reason. She seems to have come out
of nowhere just to make me aware of something. No one else seems
to be aware of her. She appears to be waiting for me to make a
move. I can tell. She throws me a strange look which seems to say,
‘You too?’ It is some kind of a sign, like she is privy to everything
that has happened in my life so far, and as if she has a clear sense
of what I am thinking and going to do next. Maybe she knows
what’s going to happen. The expression on her face turns sly as she
sees me regain a sense of purpose. ‘You aren’t going anywhere’ is
what her expression conveys.
My name is called out again. The airline attendant at the
boarding gate looks at me, annoyed. Without saying a word, she
points at the clock on the wall and gestures to indicate that the New
Delhi-bound flight is about to take off with or without me and if I still
choose to not come to my senses, I will be stranded here forever.
That’s all she does. She has no interest in what’s happening around
us. She’s blind to the unfolding act. I’m just a vacant seat, 64-A.
I look at the clock on the wall. Someone is trapped in it. The
person is trying to stop the big hand from moving. He’s hanging off
the edge of the big hand. He’s about to fall. The big hand moves
two-and-a-half places and then stops, unable to climb any further.
The dial changes its appearance. The man falls and the hands of the
clock start moving, slowly at first, and then at a terrifying pace until
they can’t be seen at all. The clock is about to explode and there’s
no sign of Time.
The woman with the flat nose knows she has my attention now.
Success at last! But she’s unfazed. We stare at each other without
the slightest fear or embarrassment. I want to say goodbye and
good luck to her before boarding the plane. Just as a courtesy! What
if I strike up a conversation with her? Maybe she’s in distress. Maybe
she’s waiting for someone. Maybe she’s stranded. Maybe she has
missed her flight. Maybe she has dropped the idea of boarding her
flight and going away from here. Maybe she’s just killing time and
leering aimlessly at people like me to read minds for a lark. Maybe
she’s an aimless wanderer or a tourist or a vagabond. Maybe she’s a
contractor hired to do a job that she doesn’t really want to do.
Maybe she’s a secret agent whose only job is to keep tabs on people
in transit.
But then, what if I’m wrong and she’s none of these. What if she
turns out to be psychic? She might have been keeping me in her
sight for as long as I have been here. Even when I fell asleep and
dreamt a horrible dream in which I was plotting to get rid of Zubair
by pushing him into a frozen lake on the pretext of teaching him
how to swim. Maybe this flat-nosed woman is an interpreter of
dreams. What if she has seen everything? What if she knows things
I don’t know yet?
She keeps staring at me as I walk away from her and board the
plane. Her gaze follows me right inside the aisle of the plane. I can’t
stop thinking about the strange look on her face.
Why me? What have I done?
Has such a thing happened to you ever; at an airport or a train
station? Just when you’re about to leave, you chance upon a person
—a fellow passenger or a stranger—who looks at you suspiciously,
mystifyingly, as if she or he knows everything about you and the
inner workings of your mind. What do you do at such times? Ignore
the person thinking you might be reading too much into his or her
expressions or stop to confront the person and try to find out the
reason behind his or her fixation about you? Will you ever get to
know the real reason?
The stalker’s face seems familiar all of a sudden when I sit in the
plane and look outside the window. In the sky, float small reflections
of people familiar and unfamiliar. One such face is of a flat-nosed girl
looking intently at me with a strange expression and a desire to
make me remember her.