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2011.12.19

And my mother's face, rabbit-startled,  moncler jackets  watching the prophet in the check shirt as he began to circle, his eyes still egg-like in the softness of his face; and suddenly a shudder passing through him and again that strange high voice as the words issued through his lips (I must describe those lips, too - but later, because now ...) 'A son.'

Silent cousins - monkeys on leashes, ceasing their chatter - cobras coiled in baskets - and the circling fortune-teller, finding history speaking through his lips. (Was that how?) Beginning, 'A son... such a son!' And then it comes, 'A son, Sahiba, who will never be older than his motherland - neither older nor younger.' And now, real fear amongst snake-charmer mongoose-dancer bone-setter and peepshow-wallah, because they have never heard Ramram like this, as he continues, singsong, high-pitched: 'There will be two heads - but you shall see only one - there will be knees and a nose, a nose and knees.' Nose and knees and knees and nose ... listen carefully, Padma; the fellow got nothing wrong! 'Newspaper praises him, moncler sale  two mothers raise him! Bicyclists love him - but, crowds will shove him! Sisters will weep; cobra will creep ...' Ramram, circling fasterfaster, while four cousins murmur, 'What is this, baba?' and, 'Deo, Shiva, guard us!' While Ramram, 'Washing will hide him - voices will guide him! Friends mutilate him - blood will betray him!' And Amina Sinai, 'What does he mean? I don't understand - Lifafa Das - what has got into him?' But, inexorably, whirling egg-eyed around her statue-still presence, goes Ramram Seth: 'Spittoons will brain him - doctors will drain him - jungle will claim him - wizards reclaim him! Soldiers will try him -tyrants will fry him ...' While Amina begs for explanations and the cousins fall into a hand-flapping frenzy of helpless alarm because something has taken over and nobody dares touch Ramram Seth as he whirls to his climax: 'He will have sons without having sons! moncler jackets sale He will be old before he is old! And he will die ... before he is dead.'

Is that how it was? Is that when Ramram Seth, annihilated by the sage through him of a power greater than his own, fell suddenly to the floor and frothed at the mouth? Was mongoose-man's stick inserted between his twitching teeth? Did Lafafa Das say, 'Begum Sahiba you must leave, please: our cousinji has become sick'?

And finally the cobra-wallah - or monkey-man, or bone-setter, or even Lifafa Das of the peepshow on wheels - saying, 'Too much prophecy, man. Our Ramram made too much damn prophecy tonight.'

Many years later, at the time of her premature dotage, moncler jackets on sale when all k'nds of ghosts welled out of her past to dance before her eyes, my mother saw once again the peepshow man whom she saved by announcing my coming and who repaid her by leading her to too much prophecy, and spoke to him evenly, without rancour. 'So you're back ' she said, 'Well, let me tell you this: I wish I'd understood what your cousinji meant - about blood, about knees and nose. Because who knows? I might have had a different son.'

Like my grandfather at the beginning, in a webbed corridor in a blind man's house, and again at the end; like Mary Pereira after she lost her Joseph, and like me, my mother was good at seeing ghosts.

But now, because there are yet more questions and ambiguities, I am obliged to voice certain suspicions. Suspicion, moncler coats too, is a monster with too many heads; why, then, can't I stop myself unleashing it at my own mother? ... What, I ask, would be a fair description of the seer's mach? And memory - my new, all-knowing memory, which encompasses most of the lives of mother father grandfather grandmother and everyone else - answers: soft; squashy as cornflour pudding.

Again, reluctantly, I ask: What was the condition of his lips? And the inevitable response: full; overfleshed; poetic. A third time I interrogate this memory of mine: what of Ms hair? The reply: thinning; dark; lank; worming over his ears. And now my unreasonable suspicions ask the ultimate question ... did Amina, pure-as-pure, actually ... because of her weakness for men who resembled Nadir Khan, could she have... in her odd frame of mind, and moved by the seer's illness, might she not ... 'No!' Padma shouts, furiously. 'How dare you suggest?

About that good woman - your own mother? That she would? You do not know one thing and still you say it?' And, of course, she is right, as always. If she knew, she would say I was only getting my revenge, for what I certainly did see Amina doing, years through the grimy windows of the Pioneer Cafe; and maybe that's where my irrational notion was born, to grow illogically backwards in time, and arrive fully mature at this earlier - and yes, almost certainly innocent - adventure. moncler vest Yes, that must be it. But the monster won't lie down...

'Ah,' it says, 'but what about the matter of her tantrum - the one she threw the day Ahmed announced they were moving to Bombay?' Now it mimics her: 'You - always you decide. What about me? Suppose I don't want... I've only now got this house straight and already...!' So, Padma: was that housewifely zeal - or a masquerade?

Yes - a doubt lingers. The monster asks, 'Why did she fail, somehow or other, to tell her husband about her visit?' Reply of the accused (voiced by our Padma in my mother's absence): 'But think how angry he'd've got, my God! Even if there hadn't been all that firebug business to worry him! Strange men; a woman on her own; he'd've gone wild! Wild, completely!'

Unworthy suspicions ... I must dismiss them; must save my strictures for later, when, in the absence of ambiguity, without the clouding curtain, she gave me hard, clear, irrefutable proofs.

... But, of course, when my father came home late that night, with a ditchy smell on him which overpowered his customary reek of future failure, his eyes and cheeks were streaked with ashy tears; there was sulphur in his nostrils and the grey dust of smoked leathercloth on Ms head ... because of course they had burned the godown.

'But the night-watchmen?' - asleep, Padma, asleep. moncler down jackets  Warned in advance to take their sleeping draughts just in case ... Those brave lalas, warrior Pathans who, city-born, had never seen the Khyber, unwrapped little paper packets, poured rust-coloured powders into their bubbling cauldron of tea. They pulled their charpoys well away from my father's godown to avoid falling beams and showering sparks; and lying on their rope-beds they sipped their tea and entered the bittersweet declensions of the drug. At first they became raucous, shouting the praises of their favourite whores in Pushtu; then they fell into wild giggling as the soft fluttering fingers of the drug tickled their ribs... until the giggling gave way to dreams and they roamed in the frontier passes of the drug, riding the horses of the drug, and finally reached a dreamless oblivion from which nothing on earth could awaken them until the drug had run its course.

Ahmed, Butt and Kemal arrived by taxi - the taxi-driver, unnerved by the three men who clutched wads of crumpled banknotes which smelled worse than hell on account of the unpleasant substances they had encountered in the ditch, would not have waited, except that they refused to pay him. 'Let me go, moncler jackets men   big sirs,' he pleaded, 'I am a little man; do not keep me here ...' but by then their backs were moving away from him, towards the fire. He watched them as they ran, clutching their rupees that were stained by tomatoes and dogshit; open-mouthed he stared at the burning godown, at the clouds in the night sky, and like everyone else on the scene he was obliged to breathe air filled with leathercloth and matchsticks and burning rice. With his hands over his eyes, watching through his fingers, the little taxi-driver with his incompetent moustache saw Mr Kemal, thin as a demented pencil, lashing and lucking at the sleeping bodies of night-watchmen; and he almost gave up his fare and drove off in terror at the instant when my father shouted, 'Look out!' ... but, staying despite it all, he saw the godown as it burst apart under the force of the licking red tongues, he saw pouring out of the godown an improbable lava flow of molten rice lentils chick-peas waterproof jackets matchboxes and pickle, he saw the hot red flowers of the fire bursting skywards as the contents of the warehouse spilled on to the hard yellow ground like a black charred hand of despair. Yes, of course the godown was burned, it fell on their heads from the sky in cinders, it plunged into the open mouths of the bruised, moncler jackets women  but still snoring, watchmen ... 'God save us,' said Mr Butt, but Mustapha Kemal, more pragmatically, answered: 'Thank God we are well insured.'