ROBBER'S CAVE
(First read on the World Service of the BBC in August 1998)

It was dark when he got up. He couldn't tell the exact time but guessed it was around five. Slowly he eased himself out of bed taking care not to disturb Sam. It wouldn't do if he got up now. He would want to know the time, he would want a glass of water…and Joy would have to wait until he went back to sleep. And he had no time now…no time…
He picked up his shoes, glanced over his shoulder and slid out of the room. Out on the terrace of his flat he looked down the sixty feet that separated him from the Western Expressway. Why not here? he asked himself. Why not now? But he rejected the thought as he had a hundred times before. That was not the way he, Joy, wanted to do it. He would stick to his plan.
He thrust out his arm and as his wrist caught the light he saw that it was 4:12, much earlier than he had imagined. For months now he had been getting up at odd hours, lying in bed with a brain that slowly turned to lead, heavy with thoughts flowing through his mind and pressing down upon his body. His muscles felt full and heavy with congealed blood. Every step required an effort of will. It was difficult even to move his fingers. That reminded him - Should he leave a note? His fingers closed on the piece of paper he had folded and put in his pocket the night before. He pulled it out and tipped it over the edge of the terrace. It went down incongruously motionless, until a few inches above the Western Express it suddenly turned over, opened itself up and pursued an oil tanker in agitated fury.
These monsters with blazing eyes groaned and screamed as they tore through the night. They were in a hurry. Creatures of the dark, they had to flee before daylight or take a long diversion after 6am, when the Great Western Express that sliced the City into two would be closed to them. Then it would be buses and scooters, Jeeps and cars, one blaring horn flowing into another, metal into metal. And he would find himself like a mouse in a trap, eyes darting, hoping for some release, some rescue, some spark of kindness, as the smoke and the sound and the spittle and the curses struck him unceasingly. He sucked it all up like a sponge. But now it was saturated, much too saturated. The stench and brutality of the City and the strain of the College he attended had got into the pores of his skin. It was painful cleaning them and pointless. There was always more stench, more brutality, waiting to get in. It was not a battle one could win. There was no way out. No way but one.
He pulled a strip of tablets out of his pocket. He wondered if he should take one - his morning dose to combat his depression. One by one he pushed them out of their foil and saw them going down. They disappeared before they hit the road. That was the way one fell. Slowly at first, then faster…faster… The last of the monsters were fleeing. A bus, more than half-empty went by. But he wouldn't take the bus. He would not know where to put the conductor's ugly look. There were no pores left vacant.
He had never walked right up to the Robber's Cave which was at the top of the hill he could even now see from the terrace of his flat. An indistinct purple-brown mass against a dull grey sky. He would take three or four hours to walk all the way. And then the climb to the top. He had been half way up, many years ago with his parents and Sam. A long winding path that took the best part of an hour. "Recipe for sun stroke!" his mother had said. "Recipe for sun stroke!" his father had repeated.
He came out of his flat and took the elevator. Soon he was on the Great Western Express. He found walking difficult, almost painful. His body moved awkwardly. It wouldn't go of its own accord. It had to be pushed. He came to the square where he had to turn left to the Robber's Cave. The road was narrow and deserted. Daylight was breaking and he could see wisps of smoke rising from a village in the distance. He passed a few locals carrying firewood or milk-cans. The road disappeared once he left the village. It was now a trail that went straight for about a mile and then curved to the right through a grove of mango and jambul trees.
He walked on breathing the early morning air heavy with scent. The sun had not yet risen and hardly any light got in through the trees. Something rushed out of the undergrowth and barked furiously. Joy froze. The dog was hideously white and sharply outlined against the dark foliage. Joy looked into its hostile pink eyes. Slowly the animal edged back into the bushes and disappeared. For some time Joy could not move. His legs shook and a band constricted his throat.
He pushed himself on. It would all be over in a few hours. He had never been to the top of the cave but he knew that the drop down the cliff was a sheer eight hundred feet. He wondered in what posture he would fall to his death - how he would be lying until the tide came in and carried him away into the boundless sea. Boundless sea, he repeated to himself. Into the boundless sea.
He was surprised to find himself half way up the barren hill. His muscles seemed to be thawing. He was where he had been before with his parents, a flat expanse of land that turned green in the monsoons and was a fine picnic spot for those who did not wish to contend with the steep climb up to the cave. The path to the summit looped thrice across the face of the mountain. The first zigzag was a circuitous mile or so and as Joy looked up he saw it wind its way just twelve or fifteen feet above him. It seemed a long way to walk for so short an ascent and so he began to climb straight up the face of the mountain. Half way up, his fingers clawing into the earth and his feet searching for toeholds, he wondered whether it was really he who was stuck to the side of the mountain. He looked up but could no longer see the path above him. As he neared it he realized that he was faced with an overhang, a few inches of rock obstructing his ascent. He got one of his arms round it and then the other and hung from the rock, his feet in thin air. Exerting himself as never before, using his chin, chest and arms he pulled himself up. He managed to get over and lay down panting, his heart going wildly and his shirt, drenched in sweat, sticking to his back.
It was hot and sultry. In the distance, through the haze of dust, he could see the City shimmering in the hot air. It seemed to advance towards him. He got up hurriedly to leave the place. He looked around, confused. There was no way to go.
What he had taken for the path, was just a rocky ledge, a few feet square in the side of the mountain. Now he could see the path clearly going round the mountain and coming up sixty or seventy feet above where he stood. He couldn't imagine clambering up the slope. But going down seemed impossible. There was not a soul around, neither man nor beast. The heat was beginning to get oppressive as the pre-monsoon June sky darkened ominously.
His mind was in a state of unaccustomed excitement. Without any clear idea of how it could be done, his body slowly began to climb. He went up a few feet. Suddenly a rock under his foot gave way just as he was about to raise the other leg. He yelled though no sound escaped his lips. He managed to secure a foothold and remained clinging to the hillside, his chest thumping and his mind a confused whirl.
He moved on more cautiously, pulling and pushing himself with brute force, clinging to the ridges and crevices of the mountain and learning to make sure that three points held his weight securely before he advanced. He looked down after a few minutes. It made him giddy but he was surprised to see that he had covered quite a lot of ground. He felt a sense of achievement.
Suddenly his body and mind latched on to one another. Now he picked out the route after careful deliberation and made no mistakes. He began to enjoy the climb. As he gained the path Joy felt triumphant and grinned.
There was another half mile to go and he began to run. He felt strangely exhilarated. The climb had altered his body chemistry. Something had broken the shackles that had so bound his muscles and immobilized his joints. Gusts of wind were blowing the dust all around him but he went on heedless exulting in his newfound freedom. Suddenly he came upon a large hollow in a rock and realized that it was the Cave. It was much smaller than he had imagined and it was empty. Some half-burnt firewood and ash lay in a corner. A plastic bag, caught between the stones, fluttered wildly. He released it and saw it fly across into the valley and then shoot straight up like a rocket.
Far below him, the sea, a dirty brown, lay shimmering in patches. He walked to the edge of the cliff. The surf was lost in a white haze. On the other side, towards the east, a dust storm raged. The City, the Great Western Expressway and the village through which Joy had walked, were a whirling nebulous brown. The sky rumbled and rumbled again. Lightning leapt across the leaden sky and the crack that followed shook the earth. Large drops of water hit the ground and the smell of the good earth rose in the air. Little blobs of wet chocolate pattered to life all around him and more and more joined the design. Then the deluge began.
Joy sat in the cave and watched the demonic dance of wind and water. The mouth of the cave was an impenetrable curtain of rain. Cloud upon cloud burst and the raging wind carried the sheets of water from the sea, over the cliff and across the great plain that bore the City. It went on for more than an hour. And then it stopped. Abruptly. Completely. The immediate stillness that followed was total before a gentle drip-drip impinged on one's consciousness. And then the murmur of rivulets making their way down the mountainside.
Joy stepped out of the cave. The first thing that caught his eye was the sky - an unbelievable flawless forget-me-not blue. Just one solitary cloud hung above the city like a forgotten waif. In school, in happier times, he had once painted just such a sky, mixing cobalt blue and white from his box of water colours. And his drawing instructor had said that it was too artificial. He now rejoiced in a sky that vindicated his art. The City, struck by sunlight, stood like an architect's model. He could make out every landmark. He traced the pencil-sharp path on which he had walked that morning until it was lost in the trees and emerged again at the foot of the hill. Holding his hands in front of him like a movie director, he clicked frame after frame. Perfect shots. Though once he raised his fingers a little too high to get the waif in and his thumb eclipsed the City.
Joy saw the sun getting ready to dissolve into the sea. Some hours later it would rise again over the City. He decided to come back early one morning to see the sunrise.
Come back!? He had almost forgotten. He walked to the edge of the cliff. It was a long way down but he could now clearly see the waves breaking and the surf advancing, as if in slow motion, over a crescent of golden sand. He felt a tremendous urge to run barefoot on the sands and to splash about in the aquamarine waters. He waved his arms about. He had never before felt so alive. He had just been born. He was only a few hours old. And now, to die!? He wanted to climb the mountain again! He wanted to see the sunrise! He took off his shoes and began running down the path. The soft moist earth felt wonderful.
Half way down, when he came to the meadow, he saw the City. The sun had almost set. Only the dome of the University glowed - a speck of gold above a cluster of olive green trees. He smiled. He thought the City looked rather pretty. He was no longer frightened of it. A city, the size of his thumb.


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