Read Online The Song of Kahunsha by Anosh Irani - Free Book Online Page A

these three steps remain. And we got a bathroom out of that. Now crouch on these steps and let it land.”
    Sumdi limps away, and as Chamdi lowers his shorts, Sumdi turns and looks at him.
    “Be careful of your jewels,” he shouts. “Therats might steal them.” He slaps himself on the thigh and limps away.
    Chamdi tries to finish quickly. Not that he believes Sumdi about the rats, but he is uncomfortable. He thinks of Mrs. Sadiq. If she were to see him in this position, she would be shocked. If the Koyba Boys were to see him relieving himself on the street, they would tell the world. He thinks of the toilets in the orphanage, and an afternoon two years ago when Mrs. Sadiq went to the market and Raman passed out in the toilet. When Chamdi bent down to wake him up, he could not believe how powerful the smell of alcohol was. He threw water on Raman’s face and Raman got up suddenly and flailed his arms about and screamed. Chamdi ran out of there.
    As Chamdi finishes, he does not know how he will wash himself. Still on his haunches, he looks around. If he were at the orphanage, he might have used a leaf. But the only tree in sight is the one sheltering the kholi, and the tree’s leaves are too high anyway.
    A round stone saves him. He spots it only a foot away, so he stretches his arm towards it. As he wipes himself with the stone, he thinks of theKoyba Boys again. Maybe they should play koyba with this stone.
    He pulls his shorts up and walks back to the tree. Sumdi and Guddi are already sipping their tea. They share the same glass, pass it back and forth.
    “Did you empty your tank?” asks Sumdi.
    “Yes,” says Chamdi.
    “Have some tea then.”
    “No, I’m okay.”
    “Maybe our tea is not good enough for the raja,” says Guddi.
    “It’s not that. I can see there’s not enough because you two are sharing.”
    “We’re sharing the glass,” says Sumdi. “We have enough tea, but only one glass. So you also have.”
    He offers the glass to Chamdi. Chamdi hesitates.
    “Are you shy?” asks Sumdi. “Are you feeling shy that her lips have touched the glass and if your lips also touch the glass then …”
    Guddi hits Sumdi on the wrist and mutters, “Early in the morning …”
    “Don’t mind her,” says Sumdi.
    Chamdi watches as Guddi pours some milk from an open vessel into the round cap of abottle. It looks like the cap of the liquor bottle Raman used to drink from. She then moves towards the baby, which is in Amma’s lap, and pours a little milk into its mouth.
    “What’s she doing?” asks Chamdi.
    “Feeding the baby.”
    “Why is Amma not feeding it herself?”
    “Amma is sick.”
    “Oh …”
    “She does not have any milk in her. Now stop asking questions.”
    Chamdi takes one more sip of tea and passes the glass to Sumdi, who pours some more tea from the bowl into the glass. Amma begins to moan again, and although she looks directly at her child, it seems that she is seeing right through it. Chamdi glances at Sumdi.
    “She’s our mother,” says Sumdi abruptly, as he stares at the steaming bowl. “She wanders off with the child all the time. Now we are tired of worrying. She can hardly understand what we say to her. She just sits in a corner and tears her own hair off her head. I hate it when she does that.”
    “Where’s your father?” asks Chamdi.
    “Dead.”
    Chamdi wants to hit himself on the head for asking that question.
    “You see that Irani bakery over there?” asks Sumdi.
    Chamdi looks at the bakery opposite them. There is an advertisement for Pepsi above a board that says Rostamion Bakery and Stores. Below the board, a man with a large moustache dusts the glass display case in which the bread is stored. The first few buttons of his shirt are open to reveal a dense layer of black chest hair. Next to the bakery is Café Gustad, where a young boy sweeps the floor, stopping occasionally to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Black chairs are stacked on top of each other, and tables