Behind the Beautiful Forevers_ Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity - Katherine Boo [29]
Six eunuchs lived in Annawadi and wore hardship on their makeup-smeared faces. Some of them had come into the temple behind the young one. But this young eunuch, a stranger, was unblemished, his femaleness not a matter of dress and lip paint but of something in his face beyond naming. He did not want money to go away. He was now spinning so fast his locks were perpendicular to the ground, his sweat splattering the faces of the slumdwellers who had come back inside the temple, ensorcelled.
Dropping down on all fours, he bucked, butt high in the air, then sang a clear, high note that reverberated with his jerking. His name was Suraj, and he was eighteen years old. Asha’s son Rahul guessed at once what others did not: Under his tight jeans, Suraj was intact. He had simply felt, for as long as he could remember, and to the heartbreak of his mother and sisters, that he was three parts girl, one part boy. Now he lived on the tips he earned going slum to slum, dancing so hard it gave him intestinal afflictions. Like Asha, he was trying to make his name in Ward 76.
Two women pushed forward to spin with the eunuch, becoming sinuous red-and-green blurs. Then the eunuch collapsed on the floor. People gasped, suspecting a seizure, until he announced that a goddess inside him had something to say. “Yellamma says bring her a neem leaf, and she will answer your questions of the future!”
Asha frowned. What if Subhash Sawant arrived to witness this performance? She decided it was better than his finding an empty temple. People were still arriving, jumping up to try to catch a glimpse of the eunuch over all the other heads. The road boys came out, as did the brothelkeeper and his customers. The sons of the zebra-tending Robert set two tires on fire in the maidan, compounding the excitement, while inside the temple, questions were put to the goddess lodged in the eunuch’s soul.
“Should I take a loan to fix my house?” “Should I pay this man who says he can get me a job?” “How will I afford my daughter’s wedding?” “What will my son become?” There were several questions about whether children would pass their exams, one question about a heart valve, and many questions about the airport authority. “When are these airport people going to break our houses?” The goddess might know even more than Corporator Subhash Sawant.
It mattered little that the eunuch’s responses were gibberish, or some goddess-tongue that no one understood. The voice, whether the goddess’s or the eunuch’s, was hypnotic and felt like a blessing in itself.
People were now screaming their questions. Inside the Husain house, across the maidan, screaming could also be heard.
“What is this! When will they shut up?” Abdul’s brother Mirchi cried, placing his forehead on his math book. How could he study for his ninth-grade exams? His father paced back and forth, cursing the Corporator and the Hindus of Annawadi. “These work-shirking idolators inflict their noise on us on a hundred holidays a year, and now, not even a holiday, they’ve lost their heads over this dancing … freak.”
The most advanced student in Annawadi, a twenty-one-year-old named Prakash, lived four doors down from the temple. He sat at home with an economics book in his lap and his head in his hands. Two teardrops rolled between his fingers. His all-important final exams before college graduation, sabotaged by a spinning eunuch. He would flee to Bangalore, a city he considered more respectful of scholars, the first chance he got.
At 1 A.M., the Corporator answered his phone. He wasn’t coming, was tied up with more important people. But he was pleased with Asha, for he assumed the glorious din he heard over the phone was all of Annawadi rallying in his honor.
Asha’s lucky streak was continuing. “Inside now,” she said to Manju.
“Coming,” Manju said vacantly, her eyes