Seen though the eyes of Lobsang, 'To Kill a Snow Dragonfly' is an evocative journey through revolutions and disruptions, desires and memories, friendships and exile, as the narrative moves from a tranquil Tibetan village to a boarding school in south India and eventually to Bombay. The book is published by Harper Collins India.
Here's are two excerpts from the book:
Lobsang and Bhunchung return from school by midday. Grandfather notices Bhunchung looking troubled.
'What's the matter, my little snow monkey?' he asks gently.
'This math - I'm really struggling,' replies the little girl. 'Today the teacher taught us subtraction - but he gave us really big numbers.'
'Everything is easy if you believe in Buddha,' says Grandfather. 'Right from Vedic times, people realized that the key to unlocking mathematics is belief in God.'
Lobsang interrupts. 'Grandfather, how can Buddha help us solve math problems?'
'You must always grant Buddha an extra piece - the holy numeral - here, let me explain,' says the tantric lama. 'You must learn the sutra: "All from nine and the last from ten".'
'Why does the last one have an extra?' puzzles Lobsang.
'For Buddha,' answers Grandfather. 'For example, if you wish to subtract 564 from 1,000, you must simply apply the sutra "all from nine and the last from ten". Each figure in 564 is subtracted from nine and the last figure is subtracted from ten, yielding 436.
'This can easily be extended to solve problems such as 3,000 minus 467,' Grandfather continues. 'You simply reduce the first figure in 3,000 by one and then apply the sutra to get the answer 2,533. This will always work - provided of course you do not forget the allowance for Buddha.'
'Grandfather is good at everything, including math!' shouts an excited Bhunchung.
'Shhh…' admonishes Lobsang. 'Someone is at the front door.'
Suleiman has arrived in their village. He is a Muslim from Turkistan and travels from village to village slaughtering yaks and goats. He is indispensable up here in the Tibetan mountains, as no Tibetan will stoop to slaughtering animals. That is considered to be as dastardly as murder.
Suleiman has his long hair tied into a ponytail. On his head, he wears the traditional cap of his people. He has a slender face and a pointy chin with a small beard and a stubbly moustache. He expertly cuts the meat into strips and hangs them out to dry in the icy wind. He counts the strips - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight - and hangs them in sets of eight. He can't remember exactly why he started this fetish, but it is now a habit.
I am getting more superstitious than these Tibetan folk, he thinks ruefully.
In the Himalayan freeze, the meat dries rapidly. These strips of jerky will be eaten along with tsampa throughout the year.
Tibetan memories. Every year, Suleiman carries these images back to his village in Turkistan. Barren landscape with snow and more snow. Yaks that make zigzagging tracks across frozen paddocks. Houses with walls that are grey and low. Daylight which doesn't come out until the afternoon, and sometimes not at all.
Every autumn he comes to Tibet, making his long trek across the Himalayas. None of the other butchers from his province in Turkistan venture this high up. They walk along the silk route and prefer to go to villages in the lower reaches of Tibet or to a city like Lhasa. They say they don't like heights.
Suleiman relishes heights. Standing on snow makes him feel like a child riding a huge rocking horse - except this horse is made of white shiny powder. And he pretends to be a prince. As he climbs up the treacherous passes, he shows off his climbing skills - albeit only to himself and the snow. Many times, the snow tries to knock him off, but he doesn't fall. The snow sometimes makes his legs hurt, but he doesn't cry. He thinks the snow respects that. Today, the sky seems to reflect the snow, making it appear strangely blue. Coming to Tibet gives him a sense of purpose - if he did not slaughter their animals these people would starve, as they simply will not kill animals themselves.
Times are changing in Turkistan, especially in the eastern province where Suleiman lives. Mao has sent the Red Army into his village to 'communize' the people. It won't be long before the Chinese army comes here too, he thinks. He wonders if he must warn the Tibetan villagers, but decides against it. There is no need to alarm them. In any case, where can they go? It is not as if there are a lot of hiding places in the mountains. When the Chinese invaded Turkistan, Suleiman and his family had hidden in the jungles on the country's western border. He remembers that the trees were covered with snow but that there was enough foliage to hide amongst - unlike this barren landscape. He has no illusions about the Tibetans' prospects. To begin with, they have no weapons to speak of - unless you count ceremonial swords with snow lions carved on them. How long could they defend themselves against the Chinese with those? What does a population too scared to kill a yak know about defence? This thought makes him even more certain: there is no need for him to tell the people here of the impending Chinese invasion.
But even Suleiman does not know that the Chinese had already entered Tibet in 1959 - although the troops had been confined to the lower cities. However, it would only be a matter of time before the army decided to spread its arms over the villages in the upper reaches of the Himalayas.
Suleiman drives piles of wood into the snow. He unfurls a large ball of linen rope and hangs it across the posts. In the beginning the children here thought that he was making a giant clothesline, until they saw him hang the meat off the line, to dry in the Himalayan glace. Then he opens the door to the slaughterhouse. The abattoir feels more like an apartment than a workplace to him - his own personal retreat. Everything is as he left it last year. The room feels as warm as the belly of a yak, even though it is cold outside. He can hear the dull hooves of the yaks and the mountain goats rattling their chains. The large table in the middle of the room is clean and ready for the animals to lie on.
He looks out the small window and sees the house next door to the shed. A couple of kids are playing some sort of a dice game in there. Grown-ups are walking about looking solemn. The curtains are clean and he can see the Tibetan ceremonial sword hanging proudly from the wall. The last time he was here, the grandfather of the house had shown him the sword. It is a fine weapon, with a snow lion carved on its wooden handle.
******
A young man with a bulky camera is getting ready to start filming the wedding. There is a video being shot as well. People are posing at various places about the hotel. The light is harsh and the smiles rather artificial - or maybe it is the other way around. Guests talk in short sentences, and silence hangs between the exchanges. All hotels are the same, Lobsang thinks - even if this one is called 'Lucky'.
The family gathers in the hotel's reception hall for the wedding. The Tibetan ceremony with its preordained scripts and cues is like a local Hindi movie. It makes complete sense - why would a different dramaturgical scenario apply to a commoner's wedding in Bombay? Mother has gone to great effort with her screenplay:
Act 1, Scene 1: The Arrival
The bridal party arrives. Bhunchung is atop a white mare called Tashi, which means good luck. Truly, one can never have too much luck, even if one is ensconced in the Lucky Hotel. The reins of the white mare are held back by two turbaned attendants. Their turbans are gold and the reins are as red as blood. The men help Bhunchung dismount. Bhunchung refuses to dismount and is finally persuaded by Father to get down from the horse. This choreographed inveiglement takes several minutes. Finally, Bhunchung alights but tries to flee and is caught by the two turbaned guards. (At this point, Lobsang is getting a little worried that Bhunchung might really be having second thoughts, but Mother assures him that everyone is being true to the script - a bride is not supposed to look overly eager, especially during a betrothal, or risk ill luck.)
The turbaned captors carry a kicking and screaming Bhunchung towards the reception hall. Mother places a stainless steel pot of milk and butter at her daughter's feet. Father whispers to Lobsang that this is to signify her arrival at the bridal chamber. Bhunchung does not seem to care much for this ritual and kicks the pot of milk away. Some of the liquid splashes onto the carpet and one or two drops end up on Father's face. Father slaps her and Bhunchung wails loudly.
Mother assures Lobsang that a bride has to cry at a wedding to bring good fortune - Bhunchung has no real reason to cry and hence a slap has been incorporated into the screenplay. This touch of scriptwriting brilliance is all for Bhunchung's own good, Mother says. Besides, Bhunchung had been told to get some glycerine from the nearby movie studio to help her shed some crocodile tears but had forgotten to do so.
Act 1, Scene 2: The Reception Hall
The reception hall is long and rectangular like a ballroom. It has a yellow carpet with a paisley pattern - the words Lucky Hotel are inscribed in one corner. A huge yak-hair quilt, dyed into a bright blue, is in the middle of the room (this has been brought all the way from the village - never mind that it had filled up virtually Mother's entire suitcase).
'The dog's marking the carpet,' someone yells, as Bhunchung's dog cocks his leg over the new carpet. Someone chases the Vallhund who now has someone's shoe in his mouth.
Father places a large wooden trunk on the floor. With the flourish of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat, he proceeds to remove each article from the trunk - six sets of silk clothing, four cooking utensils, two kilos of butter, and the pièce de résistance: the jewellery - a twenty-two-carat gold necklace that features thinly veined leaves. This design, which has been named 'snow jewellery', has been especially created by a Hong Kong-based designer for a local jeweller, Sangam Chains; Mukesh had operated on the jeweller's son, who was born with a cleft lip. Bhunchung especially likes the reference to snow. After all, snow is conspicuous by its absence at this particular Tibetan wedding.
'I miss the snow,' Lobsang whispers to Father. Almost on cue, an uncle produces a thermos flask. This uncle has just arrived from Tibet. Within the flask is unmelted pure Tibetan snow. Beaming broadly, Bhunchung takes some snow and playfully throws it at Lobsang before it melts in the Bombay heat. Everyone laughs heartily.
Act 1, Scene 3: The Groom
The set shifts to the road outside Lucky Hotel, a thoroughfare away from suburban trains and busy markets. Mukesh arrives riding an elephant. He sits behind the mahout on a cushioned seat reminiscent of a maharaja. He wears a golden kurta pajama and a white, gold-encrusted turban. The white turban contrasts against his brown skin. Drummers walking behind the elephant beat a heady rhythm. The mahout ducks as people standing on the side of the road shower the elephant with rose petals (even though most of the petals only make it as high as the elephant's legs). Under the elephant's feet, the poorly laid tar road seems rather sad. A drummer stumbles in a hole made by the elephant's foot. He shouts for help as he falls, clutching his arm. His drum rolls away. The elephant strays from its path to drink water from a nearby fountain. Mother shrieks, 'The elephant does not want to come to the wedding. What have we done to deserve this?' The scent of jasmine and lotus is heavy in the air. The drummers (except for the injured one) now strike a wild, frenzied nuptial staccato sequence. The audience cheers. Hordes of urchins rush to join the procession, hoping for a free meal. Someone is playing the harmonium. They are playing the latest hits from Hindi films, although the music sounds different from that in the cinema.
'Who's playing the harmonium?' Lobsang asks. No one seems to know. The mysterious musician keeps on playing and Lobsang continues listening.
Finally, Mukesh descends from the elephant - a large white sheet is held beside the creature like a hammock and he slides off the elephant's back into the embracing folds of the cassock. The invisible instrument grows louder. The groom has arrived.
Act 1, Scene 4: The Groom's Parents
Mukesh's father is handed a copy of the script. Not attuned to Tibetan customs, he nervously memorizes his lines with the keenness of a lunchtime soap star.
'Could somebody please tell me the cost of the snow necklace?' he asks, pleadingly.
Bhunchung's father replies, 'The cost does not matter as we shall never take even a rupee from you. Neither a rupee nor a paisa do we want. But please take our daughter as yours - after all, she has been brought up on goat meat and yak butter.'
He hands over a yak-leather flask of beer and another flask of tsampa to Mukesh's father. Both men embrace.
A priest mutters a few prayers in celebration of the union.
Act 1, Scene 5: The Honeymoon
Bhunchung and Mukesh wait for the clock to strike an auspicious hour. Then they both beg the goddesses of their respective homes (never mind the fact they have been living together) to let them leave singledom and enter a marital union. Bhunchung carries a bag of wool and a spinning wheel to symbolize liberation of their spirits.
'What's the time?' Mukesh asks, yawning.
'It's past three in the morning,' Bhunchung replies, staying outside the mosquito curtain that surrounds the bed. A plate of fruit and a jug of milk adorn the bedside table.
'Come in here,' he beckons.
She undoes her long hair and puts out the light. 'My husband,' she says.
He gazes at her but cannot see her clearly in the dark. He pulls her close, lays her down and rises up above her, resting on his elbows. His lips open a little and moisten hers. Her eyes are wide with surprise beneath her eyelids. Sure, they have done this many times before, but they have never wanted each other so much. A dog barks in the distance, followed by the clanging of the wheels of a passing train.
'My wife, come closer to me,' he says.
The mosquito curtain is stretched over the mattress and seems to be getting untucked. A mosquito hovers, trying to distract the moving bodies.
They are holding each other and their bodies are combining with one another, their feet entwining in mutual reassurance. Waves upon waves overcome Bhunchung, reddening her face.
'We better not make too much noise,' she says, moving her pillow as if to stifle the bed from emitting too much sound. Marriage is a strange institution, she thinks. Mukesh and I have known each other for a year, yet today we both feel the wonderful simplicity of merging into a single surname.
The mosquito net rubs against the sheets as the bed moves, creating a rustling sound. Springs creak in the dust. The joy of their eyes blends brown and white. Inquisitive fingers and hot unclothed bodies mingle. The movement of the ceiling fan cools the air and dries their sweat.
Afterwards, Mukesh struggles to get to sleep. He seeks clarity - the reasons that have made him love this woman and take her as his wife. Her eyes twinkle in the night and her feet move with the geometric agility of a dancer. She in turn wonders if she is worth it - after all, she had seduced this kind-hearted Indian plastic surgeon with the express intention of forgetting the sadness caused by a mole she had to remove and with a steadfastness to leave the path of loneliness and seclusion behind. He had not resisted, though. She wonders if he is amused at getting hitched. Impervious to her thoughts, he leans over and opens a drawer in the bedside table, still keeping his hands inside the mosquito curtain. She leans over to see what he is doing. Something glints in the darkness.
'The necklace … the snow necklace!' she breathes.
He puts the necklace around her neck. She feels the coolness of the metal but the refined beauty of the design makes her smile. She touches her neck and explores the leaves of the necklace. She marvels at the thinness of each petal and the intricate venous carvings. She realizes she is wearing nothing else.
'I'm naked,' she says, mildly embarrassed.
'Don't worry. You are with your husband,' he replies with a grin.
She takes his head between her hands and kisses him, as her fingers entwine themselves in his hair.
He doesn't stop her.
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