BLOOD BROTHERS
I was nine when Partition began.
Ammi had sent me to Meena Bazaar
to buy buttermilk and chili powder.
On my way back I cut through
a side street to pass a cinema,
whose posters I liked.
I loved films, though
I had never seen one—
Baba thought films were
more senseless than sweets.
But that day, I did not inspect
those glossy paragons of
Anglo achievement. Instead,
my eye alighted on a Hindu
and a Muslim, dog-fighting in
the grey dust of the street.
Gawkers had clumped round
the two men flailing wildly,
tearing each other with Kukris;
furling and unfurling like
crimson flags, entwined
snakes. Their wounds embraced.
Within that crucible of madness
they had become blood brothers.
—from Rattle #17, Summer 2002
