Salman Rushdie Midnight's children Salman Rushdie Midnight's ...

ld because of his unsurpassable skills as a snake charmer. Not even the l
egendary Tubriwallahs of Bengal could exceed his talents; he strode throu
gh the happily shrieking crowds, twined from head to foot with deadly cob
ras, mambas and kraits, all with their poison sacs intact… Picture Singh,
who would be the last in the line of men who have been willing to become
my fathers… and immediately behind him came Parvati the witch.
Parvati the witch entertained the crowds with the help of a large wicker bas
ket with a lid; happy volunteers entered the basket, and Parvati made them d
isappear so completely that they could not return until she wished them to;
Parvati, to whom midnight had given the true gifts of sorcery, had placed th
em at the service of her humble illusionist's trade; so that she was asked,
'But how do you pull it off?'
And, 'Come on, pretty missy, tell the trick, why not?' Parvati, smiling beam
ing rolling her magic basket, came towards me with the liberating troops.
The Indian Army marched into town, its heroes following the magicians; amon
g them, I learned afterwards, was that colossus of the war, the rat faced M
ajor with the lethal knees… but now there were still more illusionists, bec
ause the surviving prestidigitators of the city came out of hiding and bega
n a wonderful contest, seeking to outdo anything and everything the visitin
g magicians had to offer, and the pain of the city was washed and soothed i
n the great glad outpouring of their magic. Then Parvati the witch saw me,
and gave me back my name.
'Saleem! O my god Saleem, you Saleem Sinai, is it you Saleem?'
The buddha jerks, puppet fashion. Crowd eyes staring. Parvati pushing towar
ds him. 'Listen, it must be you!' She is gripping his elbow. Saucer eyes se
arching milky blue. 'My God, that nose, I'm not being rude, but of course!
Look, it's me, Parvati! O Saleem, don't be stupid now, come on come on…!'
'That's it,' the buddha says. 'Saleem: that was it.'
'O God, too much excitement!' she cries. 'Arre baap, Saleem, you remember t
he Children, yaar, O this is too good! So why are you looking so serious wh
en I feel like to hug you to pieces? So many years I only saw you inside he
re,' she taps her forehead, 'and now you're here with a face like a fish. H
ey, Saleem! Come on, say one hullo at least.'
On December 15th, 1971, Tiger Niazi surrendered to Sam Manek shaw; the Tig
er and ninety three thousand Pakistani troops became prisoners of war. I,
meanwhile, became the willing captive of the Indian magicians, because Par
vati dragged me into the procession with, 'Now that I've found you I'm not
letting you go.'
That night, Sam and the Tiger drank chota pegs and reminisced about the old
days in the British Army. 'I say, Tiger,' Sam Manekshaw said, 'You behaved
jolly decently by surrendering.' And the Tiger, 'Sam, you fought one hell