Earth

I was eight years old,

living in Lahore in March of 1947,

when the British Empire in lndia

started to collapse.

Along with talks of lndia's independence

from Britain came rumblings

about its division into two countries,

Pakistan and lndia.

Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs who had lived

together as one entity for centuries

suddenly started to clamor

for pieces of lndia for themselves.

The arbitrary line of division

the British would draw

to carve up lndia

in August of 1947

would scar the Subcontinent forever.

Oh, God!

What have you done, Lenny-baby?

I thought Americans had dropped

another atom bomb.

Yousaf, come and see.

What will Madame say?

Good God!

My sweet!

What's one plate?

Break a hundred.

Nanny.

Madame.

Madame, I've heard before the British

give us independence,

they will dig a long canal.

One side, independent lndia;

one side, Pakistan.

If they want two countries,

that's what they'll do, right, Madame?

What rubbish, Shanta.

It's a sin to cut flowers after sunset.

They're sleeping.

Just as well.

Imagine their pain if they're awake.

Here, have a roti.

No thanks.

Have one;

you need strength

to look after that rascal Lenny

and her cousin Adi.

He's a terror.

Don't be so hard on them.

They're asleep by now.

Mr. Singh.

He owns buffaloes.

Mrs. Buffalo.

Mr. Rogers, Head of Police.

Shut up, I know.

Shut up, you white man!

You son of a fool!

You white monkey!

Me too.

Let's go, Masseur.

Come, Lenny-baby, sit.

Did you know, Lenny-baby is afraid

of your lion in the zoo?

Don't worry Lenny-baby.

I'll hold on to his chain real t-t-tight.

He won't dare h-h-hurt you.

Don't be scared.

Nobody lets the lion out of the cage.

Besides, the cage is so strong,

even a hundred lions can't break it.

And I feed the lion a juicy goat each day.

So why would he want to eat

a stick like you?

Would your face were pockmarked

like the moon.

Sars your gentle beauty would festoon!

In beauty's grindstone,

one grain got stuck.

Why worry, Dil Navaz?

The one you love has better luck.

I've invented an oil that grows hair

on bald heads.

It has fish and mustard oil, pearl dust,

and many herbs.

Careful, Shanta.

It'll grow hair on your fingers.

Good God!

That's nothing, Hasan.

I've invented a fertility pill.

Really?

I'll try it.

I'm not that young anymore.

You idiot, it's not an aphrodisiac.

It's a fertility pill for women.

But it's so potent

it can make men pregnant.

What's the news

from the Viceroy's house?

I've heard Gandhi, Nehru, and Mountbatten

are really tight.

Really?

If they are that close,

who will champion us Muslims?

And who will help Jinnah Sahib?

Master Tara Singh

and his bleating herd of Sikhs?

Dil Navaz, who are you calling

b-b-bleating sheep?

Y-y-you!

Listen.

Unless you stop talking

about Hindus and Muslims,

I'll stop coming to the park.

This is just a discussion amongst friends.

But if you don't like it, we'll stop.

Okay, friends, God be with you.

Lenny-baby, you'll get tired.

Come ride on my bicycle.

The doctor says she needs exercise.

What does the doctor know?

You tired, Lenny-baby?

Ver-r-ry tired.

Listen, Shanta.

In the eyes of God,

we are all equal.

You're a Hindu; I'm a Muslim.

What's the difference?

Again Hindu-Muslim talk?

We'll stop coming to the park.

Nowyou'd better go.

I have work.

What work?

Washing and ironing

and dusting Madame's room.

I'll help.

I'm very good at dusting.

Are you crazy?

Mummy will kick you out

in one minute.

Let me be with you for a while.

Okay, but only for ten minutes.

Get lost!

You are totally shameless.

Don't be angry.

Go or I'll tell Madame.

I'm sorry. Please forgive me.

Why? You'll never change.

Why can't you be like the Masseur?

He's such a gentleman.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Of no use to the world, or to me,

this unfeeling heart God's given thee.

You rascal.

What are you doing?

You're so spoiled, if I dropped you,

people would thank me.

Put me down, you bastard!

I'm going to drop you on your face!

Someone save me! Help!

Put her down right now!

On one condition:

You have to come to my house,

or I'll drop your Lenny-baby.

Okay, I'll come. Put her down.

And you!

Why are you smiling at him?

Is he your hero?

Come on, you rascal.

So when are you coming to visit?

What?

Get lost before I beat the hell out of you!

We've come, lce Candy Man!

Welcome, welcome, happy spring!

You're beautiful.

Go on, you flatterer!

Come and fly a kite and

celebrate this spring festival.

Forget your creaking bones today.

You fly; I'll watch.

Look. Like this?

Careful, Shanta.

Don't break it.

I'll showyou howto fly it.

There are many types of kites.

See that one?

That's the king of all kites.

I didn't knowyou were such an expert.

It's just a hobby.

Even I want to fly it. Teach me.

Not so heartlessly.

Treat the kite like a lover.

Woo it.

When it acts difficult, let it go.

And when you have control,

bring it closer.

Rascal!

Look!

They are going to cut our kite!

No way!

Look carefully as I cut their kite.

You've cut it!

What!?

They have to, to survive.

He wouldn't let us enter lndia.

A bowl of milk with sugar inside.

Sweet but invisible.

Understand?

Papoo, quiet!

Would you like a ride?

Yes.

But...

Sit in front. It's safer.

Good God!

Please sit.

Have a long life, children!

Oh, my back!

I'll help.

Just push the car. Push it!

What are you doing, Papoo?

You're a sweeper's daughter.

Finish your own work.

Sop hitting her!

Papoo's mother is beating her again.

Is everything okay at work, darling?

Did you say that, my sweet?

You should not lie.

Long live Pakistan!

Long live Pakistan!

Did you go?

Yes.

Did you pee?

The park has really changed.

Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs

are keeping to themselves.

Only the group around you remains the same.

Yes, Shanta.

We all hover around you,

like moths around a lamp.

Some moths!

You Hindus eat so many beans,

it's not surprising your yogis levitate.

They probably fart their way to Heaven.

- Can I go?

- Yes, go.

So today he's become Allah's telephone.

Nobody has as many sidelines

as our Dil Navaz.

Thank you, Allah, for letting me

connect your followers to you.

Holy man,

we have three daughters.

My wife wants to know

if Allah will grant her a son.

Seven.

Eight.

Six.

Allah!

Do you hear me?

This poor woman wants a son.

She has three daughters.

Do you call this justice?

Allah's been very busy lately.

On one side, independence.

On the other side,

Muslims and Hindus fighting.

Allah!

There is no limit to your generosity.

For you, this son-less woman

is a queen

and will be son-less no more!

What happened?

Holy man,

telephone Allah and ask him,

after the British divide lndia,

what will happen to us?

Sorry, the line is cut off now.

Why is your Allah's line cut off

for the Sikhs?

You idiot, this is a private line.

If you want to ask questions,

telephone your own God.

Wait a minute.

I'll just ask Allah.

Allah, have mercy on us,

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