My story, titled Bonfires, was published in a short-story anthology titled Women's Wallets. The story is about the rise of a Communist cult in Maharashtra, set in future India. It is available on Amazon eBooks.
I was a Contributor. Here is an excerpt:
…as Saksham and Shania continued to descend the spiral staircase, the chants grew louder. It stemmed from a small hall on the second floor, where people practiced slogans and vows every night.
“They sound enthusiastic!” her brother spoke to the sound, as if it were music. Once again, Shania stayed mum. This time, he threw her a quizzical look.
“What now, Shania?”
Her tongue ran before her thoughts. “We were supposed to educate, not brainwash them!”
Her brother smiled in anger. “This was your idea. Don’t you remember?”
“Not like this!” She did not know where the courage was coming from. “I wanted something else. This is what you wanted. You forced it on us, on me. The more silent I was, the more words you thrust in my mouth.”
The smile widened. “Then ask yourself this, Mrs. High Horse: is it moral to build something for the community? Or is it moral to pick fights with your brother?”
“You are not my brother, my blood. You are a mathematical calculation.”
He stopped smiling.
The doors of the small hall opened. Out flowed students, young monks and newly baptized members of Waghnakh. They were like mere drops of a red sea. They looked no different from each other—stripped of their silver, tattoos, wristwatches, cellphones and accessories. How long would it be before their crooked noses, misshapen faces or long fingers were surgically streamlined as well?
These were once Mumbai’s lowest of the low: Dalits, tanned farmers, hunchbacked housemaids, Muslim miners and the like. They were hated by the Brahmins, hated by the right-wing, hated by baba’s party and united in hatred after systemic injustice that spanned generations. For most of them, to recite communist slogans under Saksham Swamy’s tutelage was an oasis of plenty after a lifetime of mirages. They exited as if they had just attended an engaging seminar, but they all stopped the moment they saw her brother.
“Saksham Maharaj! Shania Swamy!”
Some called Shania Pandita, others Swamiji, but most ignored the woman and only had eyes for the man who had united them all. Saksham’s anger evaporated like camphor. He greeted them as if they were his dearest friends. He laughed with them, made plans to drink with them, and all in all pretended no such seniority existed, that they were all Comrades…
Date of publication: 13 June 2021
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