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“One plate pakora, brother?”

“What else?”

“Nothing.”

“After having survived through all this, just one plate?”

“Fine. What else is good?”

“Everything.”

“One plate potato chop.”

“And something in non-veg?”

“No, today is Tuesday.”

“What, brother? No one knew if today will come today, and you are worried about Tuesday, Wednesday, whatever-day?”

“Just give me what I have ordered.”

“Needs to be fried, on order. Here you go.”

The smell. Sharp, familiar. Gone. The oil. Silent. Dark. Like the pot, the plates, the faces. Other than the vendor’s.

Vendee. Vendees. Vendeedum. Not everything makes sense. A torch illuminated stall tonight, doesn’t make sense. The people make sense. The people’s woes. The people’s thrill. The people’s existence, suddenly seeming worthwhile in itself.

“Hey. Get off the phone. How long will you sit here, fiddling with your phone?”

“What fiddling. There’s no signal at all, anyway.”

“Then all the more crazy that you are fiddling with it. Go home.”

The phone has the time. 9:03 pm. The pot, still hot. The oil, maybe. The roundels, the piles, all cold. The weather, hot. The fire, maybe.

“Not likely that somebody shows up now, right?”

“Not unless these two dogs start howling. And even then, dogs only will come.”

Two dogs. Two humans. One human starts packing up. Both dogs continue sleeping. A rectangular shaped entity becomes a rectangle.

“Let’s roll.”

Eeeaaannnhhh.

“Wait. There’s a brick in the way.”

Bhhffff.

“Careful.”

Fuck off.

“What’s happened to you today?”

“Nothing at all, my dear.”

“Then let’s tie the strings, and board the dragon.”

Four dangle in the air. One for each corner of the rectangle-that-is, the stall-that-was. He ties two. And he ties two. Why the dragon never flies off, they don’t know. Not like he can ask it. It is a dragon.

The dragon does nothing but float. And be a dragon. The dragon is radiant, unlike the stall. Disproportionate. Unlike the rectangle. Airborne, on its own.

Does every stall have its own dragon? Probably not. Do some stalls do? Probably. Any rectangles? Definitely.

“Why don’t you go climb up?”

“You sure?”

“Hurry up. At least this tree is still standing. The road ahead looks barren on both sides.”

Each string is as thin as a single thread, and as thick as a three inch ladder. The climb is long. The dragon is beyond the clouds. No one can ever see the dragon. He enters the dragon. He doesn’t see it. He cannot tell if the dragon is small or large. Whether the dragon was large and is small, or was small and is large. He should not be able to see what’s happening directly below. He sees. A rectangle, unlike him. A man, just like him.

A thin man. With thin hair. Not short. The man is short. A car. Nothing. A cat. Pause. No street lights. Just the moon, and the dragon. Light. Outside. Light. Inside. He is inside the dragon. He sees the stall lurch forward, creaking, clanging. He sees a man pushing the stall. The man sees a tree. He sees a tree. The man looks up. The man doesn’t see him. He doesn’t see him.

“Comfortable?”

“Very.”

“Let me know when you feel like coming down. Wouldn’t mind a few minutes up there myself.”

“You want to try climbing up?”

“We know it won’t support both our weights together.”

A racket. Music. Lights. A wedding. On this day of darkness. Decreases. Increases. Gets filled. People roll in. People as big as the man below. People much smaller than the man below. Chandeliers on heads. Heads of women. Women who don’t dance. Women who escort the dancers. The screamers. Women who are surefooted. Women who are faceless. Car. Trolley. Heads on trolleys. Sarees. Shirts. Sweat on shirts. Sweat off shirts. On faces. In nose. Frying. Fried. A hand. A shove. The man below. Sprawling on the ground. “Fuck off. Only a motherfucker like you will choose to block the path like this. There’s so much empty space. Fuck right off.”

The man below takes shelter behind the stall. The stall gets roughed up. The dragon snarls. A few look up. Some move faster. Some, the same.

The crowd pushes off. The road opens up. The trumpet stays on. The man shakes his head, starts pushing the stall forward. In the same direction as before. Same road. Same side of the road.

A traffic signal. No signal. No traffic. The man turns right. The stall, too. The dragon sways. The dragon floats.

A fire. A fire to throw some light on the road. On the branches that bend towards it. On the roots that shrink from it. Destroy. Rebuild. Build. A fire that is small. Big. Gone. Big. Small. A fire that is orange. Whenever it is, it is orange. It is. Walking away from the fire, is a man. The man below follows that man. The stall also follows. The dragon. He. The man is alone. The man is tall. Broad. Straight. The man stops, turns, resumes. Walking. The man leaves the road, and enters a gate to the left. Tall gate. With thin rods. Not non-existent. Behind the gates, a house. Two floors. Ground floor. Open window. Closed grill. Always closed. Next to a candle, a woman. Glasses. Paint. Paper. Another window comes on. The man. A candle in his hands. The candle on a table. The man vanishes. At the very spot, a cat curls up. The cat doesn’t meow. The cat walks out. Enters the other room. The woman turns. The cat sits down in the opposite corner. Looks. Smile. Silence. Paint.

Wall. Of leaves. No flowers. Right by the wall, a lane that leads in. Into darkness. No moon. No fire. No light from windows. Windows that could be. Should be. Wall split into two. A wall of concrete. From behind the wall, no sound. No voice. Just garbage. Smelling of fruit. Of garden. Garden. Fruit. Garbage. In front of the wall, a pole. Blocking the lane. Threatening to fall. Uprooted. Wires. On the ground. Wires. Pulling it up. Wires. Keeping it suspended. Keeping it connected. To another pole. And another pole. And another pole. And another. The man below pushes the stall under the pole. Wires. Strings. String. Wire. String. The dragon grunts. He is thrown off. He hangs on. Grunts. The man below pulls back. The strings pull back. Intact. All four. Together. Get back on the road. That gate. That candle. A moon.

A moon. On the road. Loud. Gone. A moon. Silent. A moon. Failing. Wailing. A child. Two children. Question. No answer. Language. Another language. Another language. The man extends his hand. The children take his hand. They walk. A child looks up. Sees him. Shuts up. Pokes the other. They look up. See him. Shut up. Smile. He smiles. The man below. Straight. Into a group of people. Loud. Wailing. “Thank you. Thank you so much. We had left the door open due to the heat, and these two boys managed to slip out. From now on, we will keep the door locked at all times.”

The crowd doesn’t go down the road. It burrows into the darkness beside it. It disappears. The man below. The stall. The dragon. Him.

“Climb down. I’m feeling tired.”

“Why don’t you just lie down in the stall for a while?”

“You should also see the world from down here.”

“But should it see me?”

“That’s always up to you.”

Gets out. Strong string. String. String. Strong road. The man below. The man above. He was. Above. Below. Is. Gets in. No in. The stall and the dragon never converse. They move. He moves.

The ground is more often interrupted than the sky. The ground is a lot brighter than the sky. He hears a rat. He hears a cry. He sees a cry. The man above. Looks on. He walks. His legs. Not used to walking. Always walking. The stall rolls on. The stand is no longer standing. The stand for waiting. No bus. No waiting. He stops.

A back. A lungi. The back is curved. The lungi. Tense. Between the back and the lungi, there is a brush stroke of white. On top of the back. Hair. Grey. White. Grey. White.

“You shouldn’t be outside. A tree or a pole might fall any moment.”

“When the gods thundered down, and the winds swept away the world, nothing happened to me.”

“Might be. But there are so many places you could easily take shelter in. Haven’t you faced any problems tonight?”

“Lesser than usual. No policeman to chase after me. No child to run away from me. And no dog to harass me.”

“Are dogs a problem for you?”

“Not dogs. Dog. A very specific dog. White. With a black forehead. And the whitest eyes. Black ass legs, too. The shithead once saw me in a remote village. And has been following me ever since. For the last two years.”

“Sounds like it has taken a liking to you.”

“Not me, my flesh. He has bitten me thrice. And tried many more times. And on every occasion, he has taken a huge chunk of flesh with him. See, what he has done to my thigh.”

“Looks like a long stitch.”

“That’s cause they took the flesh from something else and stitched it onto my leg.”

“I don’t get it. If you want to save yourself from the dog, isn’t it a better idea to go to a shelter now, instead of waiting for it here on the road, to come and bite you again?”

“But if I don’t wait for him, how will I find out if he’s still alive or not?”

“Good luck, then.”

“Good luck to you.”

Empty. Bright. Empty. Till the eyes can fathom. Farther back. The waiting man. Sharp nose. Sharp chin. White stubble. The detail. The road can never be empty again. He turns right. Into darkness. The stall protests. The dragon. Must have. The man above. Doesn’t. The stall jumps. The stall stops. Wheel. Stuck. Pushing doesn’t help. He walks around. Pulls. Doesn’t help. Rustling. Of leaves. Not on trees. On the ground. Someone. Something. He can’t see. He can’t leave the stall and go see. He climbs up the stall. Light from the road. From a moon. From a dragon. Behind fallen branches. A body. A small, stretched, body. A black body. White forehead. Black legs. He gets down from the stall. He leaves the stall. Wood. Wood that crumbles. Wood that stays hard. Wood that gets squished. Wood. Not wood. Looks. Tail. The body shifts. Face. Eyes. White. Whiter than the forehead. Whiter than paint, whose smell keeps getting stronger. Stronger. No tongue rolls out. No teeth. No shine. No white. The eyes shut. The face turns away. The face rests on a leg. The face doesn’t look. Doesn’t see. He sees. Not just wood. Something sharp. Something heavy. A piece of plastic. Sharp. Attached to a metal rod. Heavy. Sharp. On one end. The tail moves. Stops. The body. The face. No eyes. No bark. No bite. Nothing. Just the body. Black. White. Black. He pierces the body. A whimper. He pierces. Again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. The body leaks. Feet. Damp. Leaves. Damp. Earth. Damp.

“What have you done? You have killed a dog.”

“I have killed dog.”

“Before I could climb down only, you have finished the job. But why take a dog’s life? If nothing else, it’s at least more precious than a man’s life.”

“How do you know he’s not a man? If a man outside can be a cat inside, a dog outside could always be a man inside.”

“How do you know he is?”

“I don’t. Not even he knows.”

“Fine. But why did you take this particular dog/man’s life?”

“He needed.”

“It needed to die?”

“No. Something. He needed something.”

“I obviously can’t get through to you at this point in time. So, what now?”

“What?”

“We can’t just leave this body here for others to find. Many have seen us come this way. They’ll immediately suspect us, and come looking for us.”

“We won’t. Not because we’ll be suspects. But because, no one should see him. Or can see him. We’ll have to pick him up, and stuff him into the stall.”

“But it’ll bleed inside and spoil the stall.”

“Why don’t you check? He’s completely dry.”