Chapter XVIII

Basha cringed as he waded through the shallow red waters and into the beach of Bhoot Kraal. Pappachan, his pet chihuahua, was in tow. Basha had set foot on the land of the infidel. He tried to remember when he had last cringed. He cupped his balls and grimaced as he recalled the time when the imam had circumcised him with coconut fiber reinforced steel wool. The imam's deft, practiced, and rather gleeful swish n’ shimmy was countered by Basha crudely and equally gleefully hacking him with a blunt and rusted butcher’s knife. That was his first gig. He then restricted himself to butchering animals and the odd pesky Christian missionary and was all set to accept a plum job as chimney-sweep in the Gulf States when the Borivlian Chetas enticed him with five 12-yr old virgins and hired him as their hitman. His most recent gig was the three bongs he set off at Shankar’s joint to kill Nick. And now it was time to strike in the very heart of the infidel.
But first....prayers. If one might overlook the small matter of Basha being a cold-blooded killer and pedophile, one would find in him a believer and devout Muslim. He looked around for the sun but none was available in the green skies of Kraal. “Vhat bleddi!” he muttered and pulled out a little compass which spun around in circles. He spun round and round in the opposite direction and then slapped the compass a few times until the needle settled. A checkered green and blue lungi was promptly spread out in the prescribed direction and Basha knelt down in the center and mumbled his prayers:
“Lai ila Lai ila Laila
Laila O laila lai ila.."
The fog in his head cleared and a beguiling calm descended as he pictured himself sitting atop the Devil’s stone pillars in Mecca and smoking a hookah as a bevy of Shakeela lookalikes bent down provocatively in slow motion and hurled apples, also in slow-motion, towards him.
"Fuck it," he decided. He would pray his ass off when he returned to Borivli. Pappachan lolled his tongue and bounded around enthusiastically when he saw his master reach into his knapsack and pull out a hookah. Basha assembled the hookah with a series of deft maneuvers, lit the mixture of krush, northern lights marijuana and inbred parthenium and watched the fumes filter through the thorium-enriched water. He took a long, smooth drag and chuckled in amazement as Pappachan outdid him with a longer, smoother drag.
"Allah be praised!" he exclaimed as man and dog enjoyed one of Allah's finer creations over the next hour. Finally, Basha dismantled the hookah and fed the bulb of thorium-enriched water to Pappachan who lapped it up in a flash. His yellow skin gleaming through the red netted sleeveless vest, and lungi fluttering in the gentle sea-breeze, Basha packed his stuff and set off towards the palace of The Supreme Everything of Kraal.
"I'm gumming to get you Boab," he whispered.
Pappachan stayed back at the beach and furiously scooped out two holes. After crapping in one and burping in the other, it flipped a few turtles over and humped a few trees before joining Basha on his long hike to the palace. - R.A