I was obliged to come to the conclusion that Shiva, my rival, my changeling brother, could no longer be admitted into the forum1 of my mind; for reasons which were, I admit, ignoble2. I was afraid he would discover what I was sure I could not conceal3 from him - the secrets of our birth. Shiva, for whom the world was things, for whom history could only be explained as the continuing struggle of oneself-against-the-crowd, would certainly insist on claiming his birthright; and, aghast at the very notion of my knock-kneed antagonist4 replacing me in the blue room of my childhood while I, perforce, walked morosely5 off the two-storey hillock to enter the northern slums; refusing to accept that the prophecy of Ramram Seth had been intended for Winkie's boy, that it was to Shiva that Prime Ministers had written, and for Shiva that fishermen pointed7 out to sea ...
placing, in short, a far higher value on my eleven-year-old sonship than on mere8 blood, I resolved that my destructive, violent alter ego9 should never again enter the increasingly fractious councils of the Midnight Children's Conference; that I would guard my secret -which had once been Mary's - with my very life.
There were nights, at this time, when I avoided convening10 the Conference at all - not because of the unsatisfactory turn it had taken, but simply because I knew it would take time, and cool blood, to erect11 a barrier around my new knowledge which could deny it to the Children; eventually, I was confident, I would manage this ... but I was afraid of Shiva. Most ferocious12 and powerful of the Children, he would penetrate13 where others could not go ... At any rate, I avoided my fellow-Children; and then suddenly it was too late, because, having exiled Shiva, I found myself hurled14 into an exile from which I was incapable15 of contacting my more-than-five-hundred colleagues: I was flung across the Partition-created frontier into Pakistan.
Late in September 1958, the mourning period for my uncle Hanif Aziz came to an end; and, miraculously16, the dust-cloud which had enveloped17 us was settled by a merciful shower of rain. When we had bathed and put on newly-washed clothes and switched on the ceiling-fans, we emerged from bathrooms filled, briefly18, with the illusory optimism of freshly-soaped cleanliness; to discover a dusty, unwashed Ahmed Sinai, whisky-bottle in his hand, his eyes rimmed19 with blood, swaying upstairs from his office in the manic grip of djinns. He had been wrestling, in his private world of abstraction, with the unthinkable realities which Mary's revelations had unleashed20; and owing to some cockeyed functioning of the alcohol, had been seized by an indescribable rage which he directed, neither at Mary's departed back, not at the changeling in his midst, but at my mother - at, I should say, Amina Sinai. Perhaps because he knew he should beg her forgiveness, and would not, Ahmed ranted22 at her for hours within the shocked hearing of her family; I will not repeat the names he called her, nor the vile23 courses of action he recommended she should take with her life. But in the end it was Reverend Mother who intervened.
'Once before, my daughter,' she said, ignoring Ahmed's continuing ravings, 'your father and I, whatsitsname, said there was no shame in leaving an inadequate24 husband. Now I say again: you have, whatsitsname, a man of unspeakable vileness25.
Go from him; go today, and take your children, whatsitsname, away from these oaths which he spews from his lips like an animal, whatsitsname, of the gutter26.
Take your children, I say, whatsitsname - both your children,' she said, clutching me to her bosom27. Once Reverend Mother had legitimized me, there was no one to oppose her; it seems to me now, across the years, that even my cursing father was affected28 by her support of the eleven-year-old snotnosed child.
Reverend Mother fixed29 everything; my mother was like putty- like potter's clay! - in her omnipotent30 hands. At that time, my grandmother (I must continue to call her that) still believed that she and Aadam Aziz would shortly be emigrating to Pakistan; so she instructed my aunt Emerald to take us all with her - Amina, the Monkey, myself, even my aunty Pia - and await her coming. 'Sisters must care for sisters, whatsitsname,' Reverend Mother said, 'in times of trouble.' My aunt Emerald looked highly displeased31; but both she and General Zulfikar acquiesced32.
And, since my father was in a lunatic temper which made us fear for our safety, and the Zulfikars had already booked themselves on a ship which was to sail that night, I left my lifelong home that very day, leaving Ahmed Sinai alone with Alice Pereira; because when my mother left her second husband, all the other servants walked out, too.
In Pakistan, my second period of hurtling growth came to an end. And, in Pakistan, I discovered that somehow the existence of a frontier 'jammed' my thought-transmissions to the more-than-five-hundred; so that, exiled once more from my home, I was also exiled from the gift which was my truest birthright: the gift of the midnight children.
We lay anchored off the Rann of Kutch on a heat-soaked afternoon. Heat buzzed in my bad left ear; but I chose to remain on deck, watching as small, vaguely33 ominous34 rowing boats and fishermen's dhows ran a ferry service between our ship and the Rann, transporting objects veiled in canvas back and forth35, back and forth. Below decks, the adults were playing housie-housie; I had no idea where the Monkey was. It was the first time I had ever been on a real ship (occasional visits to American warships36 in Bombay harbour didn't count, being merely tourism; and there was always the embarrassment37 of being in the company of dozens of highly-pregnant ladies, who always came on these tour parties in the hope that they would enter labour and give birth to children who qualified38, by virtue39 of their seaborne birth, for American citizenship). I stared through the heat-haze40 at the Rann. The Rann of Kutch ... I'd always thought it a magical name, and half-feared-half-longed to visit the place, that chameleon41 area which was land for half the year and sea for the other half, and on which, it was said, the receding42 ocean would abandon all manner of fabulous43 debris44, such as treasure-chests, white ghostly jellyfish, and even the occasional gasping45, freak-legendary figure of a merman. Gazing for the first time upon this amphibian46 terrain47, this bog48 of nightmare, I should have felt excited; but the heat and recent events were weighing me down; my upper lip was still childishly wet with nose-goo, but I felt oppressed by a feeling of having moved directly from an overlong and dribbling49 childhood into a premature50 (though still leaky)
old age. My voice had deepened; I had been forced to start shaving, and my face was spotted51 with blood where the razor had sliced off the heads of pimples52 ...
The ship's purser passed me and said, 'Better get below, son. It's the hottest time just now.' I asked about the ferrying boats. 'Just supplies,' he said and moved away, leaving me to contemplate54 a future in which there was little to look forward to except the grudging55 hospitality of General Zulfikar, the self-satisfied preening56 of my aunt Emerald, who would no doubt enjoy showing off her worldly success and status to her unhappy sister and bereaved57 sister-in-law, and the muscle-headed cockiness of their son Zafar ... 'Pakistan,' I said aloud, 'What a complete dump!' And we hadn't even arrived... I looked at the boats; they seemed to be swimming through a dizzying haze. The deck seemed to be swaying violently as well, although there was virtually no wind; and although I tried to grab the rails, the boards were too quick for me: they rushed up and hit me on the nose.
That was how I came to Pakistan, with a mild attack of sunstroke to add to the emptiness of my hands and the knowledge of my birth; and what was the name of the boat? What two sister-ships still plied58 between Bombay and Karachi in those days before politics ended their journeys? Our boat was the S.S. Sabarmati; its sister, which passed us just before we reached the Karachi harbour, was the Sarasvati. We steamed into exile aboard the Commander's namesake-ship, proving once again that there was no escape from recurrence59.
We reached Rawalpindi by hot, dusty train. (The General and Emerald travelled in Air-Conditioned; they bought the rest of us ordinary first-class tickets.) But it was cool when we reached 'Pindi and I set foot, for the first time, in a northern city... I remember it as a low, anonymous60 town; army barracks, fruit-shops, a sports goods industry; tall military men in the streets; Jeeps; furniture carvers; polo. A town in which it was possible to be very, very cold.
And in a new and expensive housing development, a vast house surrounded by a high wall which was topped by barbed wire and patrolled by sentries61: General Zulfikar's home. There was a bath next to the double bed in which the General slept; there was a house catch-phrase: 'Let's get organized!'; the servants wore green military jerseys62 and berets; in the evenings the odours of bhang and charas floated up from their quarters. The furniture was expensive and surprisingly beautiful; Emerald could not be faulted on her taste. It was a dull, lifeless house, for all its military airs; even the goldfish in the tank set in the dining-room wall seemed to bubble listlessly; perhaps its most interesting inhabitant was not even human. You will permit me, for a moment, to describe the General's dog Bonzo. Excuse me: the General's old beagle bitch.
This goitred creature of papery antiquity63 had been supremely64 indolent and useless all her life; but while I was still recovering from sunstroke she created the first furore of our stay - a sort of trailer for the 'revolution of the pepperpots'. General Zulfikar had taken her one day to a military training-camp, where he was to watch a team of mine-detectors at work in a specially-prepared minefield. (The General was anxious to mine the entire Indo-Pak border. 'Let's get organized!' he would exclaim. 'Let's give those Hindus something to worry! We'll blow their invaders65 into so many pieces, there'll be no damn thing left to reincarnate66.' He was not, however, overly concerned about the frontiers of East Pakistan, being of the view that 'those damn blackies can look after themselves'.) ... And now Bonzo slipped her leash21, and somehow evading67 the frantically68 clutching hands of young jawans, waddled69 out into the minefield.
Blind panic. Mine-detecting soldiers picking their way in frenzied70 slow-motion through the blasting zone. General Zulfikar and other Army brass71 diving for shelter behind their grandstand, awaiting the explosion ... But there was none; and when the flower of the Pakistan Army peeped out from inside dustbins or behind benches, it saw Bonzo picking her way daintily through the field of the lethal72 seeds, nose to ground, Bonzo-the-insouciant, quite at her ease. General Zulfikar flung his peaked cap in the air. 'Damn marvellous!' he cried in the thin voice which squeezed between his nose and chin, 'The old lady can smell the mines!' Bonzo was drafted forthwith into the armed forces as a four-legged mine-detector with the courtesy rank of sergeant-major.
I mention Bonzo's achievement because it gave the General a stick with which to beat us. We Sinais - and Pia Aziz - were helpless, non-productive members of the Zulfikar household, and the General did not wish us to forget it: 'Even a damn hundred-year-old beagle bitch can earn her damn living,' he was heard to mutter, 'but my house is full of people who can't get organized into one damn thing.'
But before the end of October he would be grateful for (at least) my presence ... and the transformation73 of the Monkey was not far away.
We went to school with cousin Zafar, who seemed less anxious to marry my sister now that we were children of a broken home; but his worst deed came one weekend when we were taken to the General's mountain cottage in Nathia Gali, beyond Murree. I was in a state of high excitement (my illness had just been declared cured): mountains! The possibility of panthers! Cold, biting air! - so that I thought nothing of it when the General asked me if I'd mind sharing a bed with Zafar, and didn't even guess when they spread the rubber sheet over the mattress74 ... I awoke in the small hours in a large rancid pool of lukewarm liquid and began to yell blue murder. The General appeared at our bedside and began to thrash the living daylights out of his son. 'You're a big man now! Damn it to hell! Still, and still you do it! Get yourself organized! Good for nothing! Who behaves in this damn way? Cowards, that's who! Damn me if I'll have a coward for a son ...' The enuresis of my cousin Zafar continued, however, to be the shame of his family; despite thrashings, the liquid ran down his leg; and one day it happened when he was awake. But that was after certain movements had, with my assistance, been performed by pepperpots, proving to me that although the telepathic air-waves were jammed in this country, the modes of connection still seemed to function; active-literally as well as metaphorically75, I helped change the fate of the Land of the Pure.
The Brass Monkey and I were helpless observers, in those days, of my wilting76 mother. She, who had always been assiduous in the heat, had begun to wither77 in the northern cold. Deprived of two husbands, she was also deprived (in her own eyes) of meaning; and there was also a relationship to rebuild, between mother and son. She held me tightly one night and said, 'Love, my child, is a thing that every mother learns; it is not born with a baby, but made; and for eleven years, I have learned to love you as my son.' But there was a distance behind her gentleness, as though she were trying to persuade herself ... a distance, too, in the Monkey's midnight whispers of, 'Hey, brother, why don't we go and pour water over Zafar - they'll only think he's wet his bed?' - and it was my sense of this gap which showed me that, despite their use of son and brother, their imaginations were working hard to assimilate Mary's confession78; not knowing then that they would be unable to succeed in their re-imaginings of brother and son, I remained terrified of Shiva; and was accordingly driven even deeper into the illusory heart of my desire to prove myself worthy79 of their kinship. Despite Reverend Mother's recognition of me, I was never at my ease until, on a more-than-three-years-distant verandah, my father said, 'Come, son; come here and let me love you.' Perhaps that is why I behaved as I did on the night of October yth, 1958.
... An eleven-year-old boy, Padma, knew very little about the internal affairs of Pakistan; but he could see, on that October day, that an unusual dinner-party was being planned. Saleem at eleven knew nothing about the Constitution of 1956 and its gradual erosion; but his eyes were keen enough to spot the Army security officers, the military police, who arrived that afternoon to lurk80 secretly behind every garden bush. Faction81 strife82 and the multiple incompetences of Mr Ghulam Mohammed were a mystery to him; but it was clear that his aunt Emerald was putting on her finest jewels. The farce83 of four-prime-ministers-in-two-years had never made him giggle84; but he could sense, in the air of drama hanging over the General's house, that something like a final curtain was approaching.
Ignorant of the emergence85 of the Republican party, he was nevertheless curious about the guest-list for the Zulfikar party; although he was in a country where names meant nothing - who was Chaudhuri Muhammad Ali? Or Suhrawardy? Or Chundrigar, or Noon? - the anonymity86 of the dinner-guests, which was carefully preserved by his uncle and aunt, was a puzzling thing. Even though he had once cut Pakistani headlines out of newspapers - FURNITURE HURLING88 SLAYS89 DEPUTYE-PAK SPEAKER - he had no idea why, at six p.m., a long line of black limousines91 came through the sentried walls of- the Zulfikar Estate; why flags waved on their bonnets92; why their occupants refused to smile; or why Emerald and Pia and my mother stood behind General Zulfikar with expressions on their faces which would have seemed more appropriate at a funeral than a social gathering93. Who what was dying? Who why were the limousine90 arrivals? - I had no idea; but I was on my toes behind my mother, staring at the smoked-glass windows of the enigmatic cars.
Car-doors opened; equerries, adjutants, leaped out of vehicles and opened rear doors, saluted94 stiffly; a small muscle began to tic in my aunt Emerald's cheek.
And then, who descended97 from the flag-waving motors? What names should be put to the fabulous array of moustaches, swagger-sticks, gimlet-eyes, medals and shoulder-pips which emerged? Saleem knew neither names nor serial98 numbers; ranks, however, could be discerned. Gongs and pips, proudly worn on chests and shoulders, announced the arrival of very top brass indeed. And out of the last car came a tall man with an astonishingly round head, round as a tin globe although unmarked by lines of longitude99 and latitude100; planet-headed, he was not labelled like the orb101 which the Monkey had once squashed; not MADE AS ENGLAND (although certainly Sandhurst-trained) he moved through saluting102 gongs-and-pips; arrived at my aunt Emerald; and added his own salute95 to the rest.
'Mr Commander-in-Chief,' my aunt said, 'be welcome in our home.'
'Emerald, Emerald,' came from the mouth set in the earth-shaped head - the mouth positioned immediately beneath a neat moustache, 'Why such formality, such takalluf?' Whereupon she embraced him with, 'Well then, Ayub, you're looking wonderful.'
He was a General then, though Field-Marshalship was not far away ... we followed him into the house; we watched him drink (water) and laugh (loudly); at dinner we watched him again?saw how he ate like a peasant, so that his moustache became stained with gravy103 ... 'Listen, Em,' he said, 'Always such preparations when I come! But I'm only a simple soldier; dal and rice from your kitchens would be a feast for me.'
'A soldier, sir,' my aunt replied, 'but simple - never! Not once!'
Long trousers qualified me to sit at table, next to cousin Zafar, surrounded by gongs-and-pips; tender years, however, placed us both under an obligation to be silent. (General Zulfikar told' me in a military hiss104, 'One peep out of you and you're off to the guardhouse. If you want to stay, stay mum. Got it?' Staying mum, Zafar and I were free to look and listen. But Zafar, unlike me, was not trying to prove himself worthy of his name ...)
What did eleven-year-olds hear at dinner? What did they understand by jocund105 military references to 'that Suhrawardy, who always opposed the Pakistan Idea' - or to Noon, 'who should have been called Sunset, what?' And through discussions of election-rigging and black-money, what undercurrent of danger permeated106 their skins, making the downy hairs on their arms stand on end? And when the Commander-in-Chief quoted the Quran, how much of its meaning was understood by eleven-year-old ears?
'It is written,' said the round-headed man, and the gongs-and-pips fell silent, 'Aad and Thamoud we also destroyed. Satan had made their foul107 deeds seem fair to them, keen-sighted though they were.'
It was as though a cue had been given; a wave of my aunt's hands dismissed the servants. She rose to go herself; my mother and Pia went with her. Zafar and I, too, rose from our seats; but he, he himself, called down the length of the sumptuous108 table: 'The little men should stay. It is their future, after all.'
The little men, frightened but also proud, sat and stayed mum, following orders.
Just men now. A change in the roundhead's face; something darker, something mottled and desperate has occupied it... 'Twelve months ago,' he says, 'I spoke109 to all of you. Give the politicians one year - is that not what I said?' Heads nod; murmurs110 of assent111. 'Gentlemen, we have given them a year; the situation has become intolerable, and I am not prepared to tolerate it any longer!'
Gongs-and-pips assume stern, statesmanlike expressions. Jaws112 are set, eyes gaze keenly into the future. 'Tonight, therefore,' - yes! I was there! A few yards from him! - General Ayub and I, myself and old Ayub Khan! - 'I am assuming control of the State.'
How do eleven-year-olds react to the announcement of a coup113? Hearing the words, '... national finances in frightening disarray114 ... corruption116 and impurity117 are everywhere ...' do their jaws stiffen118, too? Do their eyes focus on brighter tomorrows? Eleven-year-olds listen as a General cries, 'The Constitution is hereby abrogated119! Central and Provincial120 legislatures are dissolved! Political parties are forthwith abolished!' - how do you think they feel?
When General Ayub Khan said, 'Martial121 Law is now imposed,' both cousin Zafar and I understood that his voice - that voice filled with power and decision and the rich timbre122 of my aunt's finest cooking - was speaking a thing for which we knew only one word: treason. I'm proud to say I kept my head; but Zafar lost control of a more embarrassing organ. Moisture stained his trouser-fronts; the yellow moisture of fear trickled123 down his leg to stain Persian carpets; gongs-and-pips smelled something, and turned upon him with looks of infinite distaste; and then (worst of all) came laughter.
General Zulfikar had just begun saying, 'If you permit, sir, I shall map out tonight's procedures,' when his son wet his pants. In cold fury my uncle hurled his son from the room; 'Pimp! Woman!' followed Zafar out of the dining-chamber, in his father's thin sharp voice; 'Coward! Homosexual! Hindu!' leaped from Punchinello-face to chase his son up the stairs ... Zulnkar's eyes settled on me. There was a plea in them. Save the honour of the family. Redeem124 me from the incontinence of my son. 'You, boy!' my uncle said, 'You want to come up here and help me?'
Of course, I nodded. Proving my manhood, my fitness for sonship, I assisted my uncle as he made the revolution. And in so doing, in earning his gratitude125, in stilling the sniggers of the assembled gongs-and-pips, I created a new father for myself; General Zulfikar became the latest in the line of men who have been willing to call me 'sonny', or 'sonny Jim', or even simply 'my son'.
How we made the revolution: General Zulfikar described troop movements; I moved pepperpots symbolically126 while he spoke. In the clutches of the active-metaphorical mode of connection, I shifted salt-cellars and bowls of chutney: This mustard-jar is Company A occupying Head Post Office; there are two pepperpots surrounding a serving-spoon, which means Company ?has seized the airport. With the fate of the nation in my hands, I shifted condiments127 and cutlery, capturing empty biriani-dishes with water-glasses, stationing saltcellars, on guard, around water-jugs. And when General Zulfikar stopped talking, the march of the table-service also came to an end. Ayub Khan seemed to settle down in his chair; was the wink6 he gave me just my imagination? - at any rate, the Commander-in-Chief said, 'Very good, Zulfikar; good show.'
In the movements performed by pepperpots etcetera, one table-ornament remained uncaptured: a cream-jug in solid silver, which, in our table-top coup, represented the Head of State, President Iskander Mirza; for three weeks, Mirza remained President.
An eleven-year-old boy cannot judge whether a President is truly corrupt115, even if gongs-and-pips say he is; it is not for eleven-year-olds to say whether Mirza's association with the feeble Republican Party should have disqualified him from high office under the new regime. Saleem Sinai made no political judgments128; but when, inevitably129 at midnight, on November 1st, my uncle shook me awake and whispered, 'Come on, sonny, it's time you got a taste of the real thing!', I leaped out of bed smartly; I dressed and went out into the night, proudly aware that my uncle had preferred my company to that of his own son.
Midnight. Rawalpindi speeding past us at seventy m.p.h. Motorcycles in front of us beside us behind us. 'Where are we going Zulfy - uncle?' Wait and see. Black smoked-windowed limousine pausing at darkened house. Sentries guard the door with crossed rifles; which part, to let us through. I am marching at my uncle's side, in step, through half-lit corridors; until we burst into a dark room with a shaft130 of moonlight spotlighting131 a four-poster bed. A mosquito net hangs over the bed like a shroud132.
There is a man waking up, startled, what the hell is going ... But General Zulfikar has a long-barrelled revolver; the tip of the gun is forced mmff between the man's parted teeth. 'Shut up,' my uncle says, superfluously133. 'Come with us.' Naked overweight man stumbling from his bed. His eyes, asking: Are you going to shoot me? Sweat rolls down ample belly134, catching135 moonlight, dribbling on to his soo-soo; but it is bitterly cold; he is not perspiring136 from the heat.
He looks like a white Laughing Buddha137; but not laughing. Shivering. My uncle's pistol is extracted from his mouth. 'Turn. Quick march!' ... And gun-barrel pushed between the cheeks of an overfed rump. The man cries, 'For God's sake be careful; that thing has the safety off!' Jawans giggle as naked flesh emerges into moonlight, is pushed into black limousine ... That night, I sat with a naked man as my uncle drove him to a military airfield138; I stood and watched as the waiting aircraft taxied, accelerated, flew. What began, active-metaphorically, with pepperpots, ended then; not only did I overthrow139 a government - I also consigned140 a president to exile.
Midnight has many children; the offspring of Independence were not all human.
Violence, corruption, poverty, generals, chaos141, greed and pepperpots ... I had to go into exile to learn that the children of midnight were more varied142 than I - even I - had dreamed.
'Really truly?' Padma asks. 'You were truly there?' Really truly. 'They say that Ayub was a good man before he became bad,' Padma says; it is a question. But Saleem, at eleven, made no such judgments. The movement of pepperpots does not necessitate143 moral choices. What Saleem was concerned with: not public upheaval144, but personal rehabilitation145. You see the paradox146 - my most crucial foray into history up to that moment was inspired by the most parochial of motives147. Anyway, it was not 'my' country - or not then. Not my country, although I stayed in it - as refugee, not citizen; entered on my mother's Indian passport, I would have come in for a good deal of suspicion, maybe even deported148 or arrested as a spy, had it not been for my tender years and the power of my guardian149 with the Punch-like features - for four long years.
Four years of nothing.
Except growing into a teenager. Except watching my mother as she fell apart.
Except observing the Monkey, who was a crucial year younger than me, fall under the insidious150 spell of that God-ridden country; the Monkey, once so rebellious151 and wild, adopting expressions of demureness152 and submission153 which must, at first, have seemed false even to her; the Monkey, learning how to cook and keep house, how to buy spices in the market; the Monkey, making the final break with the legacy154 of her grandfather, by learning prayers in Arabic and saying them at all prescribed times; the Monkey, revealing the streak155 of puritan fanaticism156 which she had hinted at when she asked for a nun's outfit157; she, who spurned158 all offers of worldly love, was seduced159 by the love of that God who had been named after a carved idol160 in a pagan shrine161 built around a giant meteorite162: Al-Lah, in the Qa'aba, the shrine of the great Black Stone.
But nothing else.
Four years away from the midnight children; four years without Warden163 Road and Breach164 Candy and Scandal Point and the lures165 of One Yard of Chocolates; away from the Cathedral School and the equestrian166 statue of Sivaji and melon-sellers at the Gateway167 of India: away from Divali and Ganesh Chaturthi and Coconut168 Day; four years of separation from a father who sat alone in a house he would not sell; alone, except for Professor Schaapsteker, who stayed in his apartment and shunned169 the company of men.
Can nothing really happen for four years? Obviously, not quite. My cousin Zafar, who had never been forgiven by his father for wetting his pants in the presence of history, was given to understand that he would be joining the Army as soon as he was of age. 'I want to see you prove you're not a woman,' his father told him.
And Bonzo died; General Zulfikar shed manly170 tears.
And Mary's confession faded until, because nobody spoke of it, it came to feel like a bad dream; to everyone except'me.
And (without any assistance from me) relations between India and Pakistan grew worse; entirely171 without my help, India conquered Goa - 'the Portuguese172 pimple53 on the face of Mother India'; I sat on the sidelines and played no part in the acquisition of large-scale U.S. aid for Pakistan, nor was I to blame for Sino-India border skirmishes in the Aksai Chin region of Ladakh; the Indian census173 of 1961 revealed a literacy level of 23.7 per cent, but I was not entered in its records. The untouchable problem remained acute; I did nothing to alleviate174 it; and in the elections of 1962, the All-India Congress won 361 out of 494 seats in the Lok Sabha, and over 61 per cent of all State Assembly seats. Not even in this could my unseen hand be said to have moved; except, perhaps, metaphorically: the status quo was preserved in India; in my life, nothing changed either.
Then, on September 1st, 1962, we celebrated175 the Monkey's fourteenth birthday. By this time (and despite my uncle's continued fondness for me) we were well-established as social inferiors, the hapless poor relations of the great Zulfikars; so the party was a skimpy affair. The Monkey, however, gave every appearance of enjoying herself. 'It's my duty, brother,' she told me. I could
hardly believe my ears ... but perhaps my sister had an intuition of her fate; perhaps she knew the transformation which lay in store for her; why should I assume that I alone have had the powers of secret knowledge?
Perhaps, then, she guessed that when the hired musicians began to play (shehnai and vina were present; sarangi and sarod had their turns; tabla and sitar performed their virtuosic176 cross-examinations) , Emerald Zulfikar would descend96 on her with callous177 elegance178, demanding, 'Come on, Jamila, don't sit there like a melon, sing us a song like any good girl would!'
And that with this sentence my emerald-icy aunt would have begun, quite unwittingly, my sister's transformation from monkey into singer; because although she protested with the sullen179 clumsiness of fourteen-year-olds, she was hauled unceremoniously on to the musicians' dais by my organizing aunt; and although she looked as if she wished the floor would open up beneath her feet, she clasped her hands together; seeing no escape, the Monkey began to sing.
I have not, I think, been good at describing emotions - believing my audience to be capable of joining in; of imagining for themselves what I have been unable to re-imagine, so that my story becomes yours as well ... but when my sister began to sing, I was certainly assailed180 by an emotion of such force that I was unable to understand it until, much later, it was explained to me by the oldest whore in the world. Because, with her first note, the Brass Monkey sloughed181 off her nick-name; she, who had talked to birds (just as, long ago in a mountain valley, her great-grandfather used to do), must have learned from songbirds the arts of song. With one good ear and one bad ear, I listened to her faultless voice, which at fourteen was the voice of a grown woman, filled with the purity of wings and the pain of exile and the flying of eagles and the lovelessness of life and the melody of bulbuls and the glorious omnipresence of God; a voice which was afterwards compared to that of Muhammed's muezzin Bilal, issuing from the lips of a somewhat scrawny girl.
What I did not understand must wait to be told; let me record here that my sister earned her name at her fourteenth birthday party, and was known after that as Jamila Singer; and that I knew, as I listened to 'My Red Dupatta Of Muslin' and 'Shahbaz Qalandar', that the process which had begun during my first exile was nearing completion in my second; that, from now on, Jamila was the child who mattered, and that I must take second place to her talent for ever.
Jamila sang - I, humbly182, bowed my head. But before she could enter fully87 into her kingdom, something else had to happen: I had to be properly finished off.
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2
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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3
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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4
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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5
morosely
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| adv.愁眉苦脸地，忧郁地 | |
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6
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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7
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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8
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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9
ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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10
convening
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| 召开( convene的现在分词 )； 召集； （为正式会议而）聚集； 集合 | |
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11
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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12
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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13
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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14
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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15
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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16
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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17
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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19
rimmed
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| adj.有边缘的，有框的v.沿…边缘滚动；给…镶边 | |
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20
unleashed
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| v.把（感情、力量等）释放出来，发泄( unleash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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22
ranted
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| v.夸夸其谈( rant的过去式和过去分词 )；大叫大嚷地以…说教；气愤地)大叫大嚷；不停地大声抱怨 | |
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23
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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24
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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25
vileness
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| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
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26
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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27
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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28
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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29
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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30
omnipotent
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| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
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31
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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32
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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34
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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35
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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36
warships
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| 军舰，战舰( warship的名词复数 )； 舰只 | |
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37
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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38
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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39
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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40
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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41
chameleon
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| n.变色龙，蜥蜴；善变之人 | |
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42
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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43
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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44
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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45
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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46
amphibian
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| n.两栖动物；水陆两用飞机和车辆 | |
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47
terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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48
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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49
dribbling
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| n.（燃料或油从系统内）漏泄v.流口水( dribble的现在分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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50
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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51
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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52
pimples
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| n.丘疹，粉刺，小脓疱( pimple的名词复数 ) | |
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53
pimple
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| n.丘疹，面泡，青春豆 | |
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54
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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55
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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56
preening
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| v.（鸟）用嘴整理（羽毛）( preen的现在分词 ) | |
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57
bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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58
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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59
recurrence
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| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
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60
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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61
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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62
jerseys
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| n.运动衫( jersey的名词复数 ) | |
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63
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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64
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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65
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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66
reincarnate
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| v.使化身，转生；adj.转世化身的 | |
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67
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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68
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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69
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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71
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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72
lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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73
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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74
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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75
metaphorically
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| adv. 用比喻地 | |
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76
wilting
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| 萎蔫 | |
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77
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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78
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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79
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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80
lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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81
faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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82
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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83
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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84
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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85
emergence
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| n.浮现，显现，出现，（植物）突出体 | |
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86
anonymity
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| n.the condition of being anonymous | |
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87
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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88
hurling
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|
| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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89
slays
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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90
limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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91
limousines
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| n.豪华轿车( limousine的名词复数 )；（往返机场接送旅客的）中型客车，小型公共汽车 | |
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92
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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93
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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94
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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95
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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96
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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97
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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98
serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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99
longitude
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| n.经线，经度 | |
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100
latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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101
orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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102
saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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103
gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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104
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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105
jocund
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| adj.快乐的，高兴的 | |
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106
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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107
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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108
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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109
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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110
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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111
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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112
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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113
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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114
disarray
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| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
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115
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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116
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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117
impurity
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| n.不洁，不纯，杂质 | |
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118
stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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119
abrogated
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| 废除（法律等）( abrogate的过去式和过去分词 )； 取消； 去掉； 抛开 | |
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120
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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121
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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122
timbre
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| n.音色，音质 | |
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123
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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124
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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125
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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126
symbolically
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| ad.象征地，象征性地 | |
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127
condiments
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| n.调味品 | |
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128
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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129
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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130
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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131
spotlighting
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| v.聚光照明( spotlight的现在分词 )；使公众注意，使突出醒目 | |
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132
shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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133
superfluously
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| 过分地； 过剩地 | |
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134
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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135
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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136
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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137
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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138
airfield
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| n.飞机场 | |
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139
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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140
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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141
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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142
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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143
necessitate
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| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
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144
upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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145
rehabilitation
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| n.康复，悔过自新，修复，复兴，复职，复位 | |
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146
paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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147
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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148
deported
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| v.将…驱逐出境( deport的过去式和过去分词 )；举止 | |
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149
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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150
insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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151
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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152
demureness
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| n.demure（拘谨的，端庄的）的变形 | |
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153
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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154
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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155
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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156
fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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157
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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158
spurned
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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160
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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161
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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162
meteorite
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| n.陨石；流星 | |
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163
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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164
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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165
lures
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| 吸引力，魅力（lure的复数形式） | |
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166
equestrian
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| adj.骑马的；n.马术 | |
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167
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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168
coconut
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| n.椰子 | |
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169
shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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170
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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171
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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172
Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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173
census
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| n.(官方的)人口调查，人口普查 | |
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174
alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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175
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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176
virtuosic
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| adj.艺术名家的，艺术品收藏家的；乐器演奏能手的 | |
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177
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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178
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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179
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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180
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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181
sloughed
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| v.使蜕下或脱落( slough的过去式和过去分词 )；舍弃；除掉；摒弃 | |
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182
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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