Fiction: The Great Kanchana Circus is touring Burma when the Japanese bomb Rangoon and Mandalay

After the show inside the tent had commenced, Sarang Seth came out and stood next to the ticket counter. His six-foot-tall wrestler’s body was the kind that commanded immediate attention. On his head he wore a Kolhapuri pheta. His Jodhpuri coat reached up to his knees, below which could be seen a crisp, muslin dhoti. He was shod in brown Puneri shoes that curled up and back stylishly at the toe.

The air inside the tent was thick with excitement. The ball was set rolling with ten young girls marching in with flags, breaking into dance as they proceeded. Along with them arrived other performers somersaulting backwards and forwards. Then came the horses – Arab, Turk and some of the snow-white Russian stock – proud animals strutting about arrogantly. Some among the spectators whispered, “This Sarang Seth has always had a fetish for horses, you know! Even before he went into the army.”

These foreign horses of multiple colours – roan, brown, black and milky-white – were given the best possible feed; as a result, they looked handsome, strong and agile. People hadn’t seen such a majestic bunch even in the stables of kings and nobles.

The tent was lit up with thousands of colourful bulbs. Faces coated lime-white and painted over with red stripes, some eight or ten clowns loitered in the centre ring. This electrified the kids and set off peals of laughter and clapping. The midgets could be seen among them. They got between others’ feet and tripped them, much to the merriment of the spectators.

Next came wagons carrying chimpanzees inside them. Five camels followed with their peculiar hopping, swaying stride. Bears came dancing in to the tune of Charlie’s band. And suddenly, from nowhere, a covey of 40-50 parrots in multiple hues flew in and out like a swarm of bees. Right after them rolled in 22 wagons carrying tigers and leopards. Charlie changed his tune. Drumsticks caressed the taut leather ever so lightly to go with the waltz music that had begun to weave its magical web. Twenty-one wagons made their way towards the centre ring, carrying inside them the kings of the jungle, the awe-inspiring, majestic lions. Their thick, lustrous manes were enough to mesmerise the spectators.

The music changed again. Trumpets began to blare a martial tattoo, as if calling soldiers to arms, carrying the spectators back into the times of the Puranas at the gates of ancient Ayodhya or Hastinapur. Accompanying this music rumbled a herd of 32 elephants, nodding their massive heads to the rhythm of their walk towards the ring. Even the wedding procession of kings and emperors wouldn’t have seen elephants decorated in such splendour. They were caparisoned with red, yellow and orange brocade, which was studded with beads and had tassels woven in silk, gold and silver threads.

The trunks and legs of the elephants were painted with floral and geometric patterns. On their backs danced beautiful young women, swaying and twisting and twirling as if they had India-rubber spines. Exuding the innocence of youth, these 70-odd damsels created the illusion of butterflies swarming around flower-laden vines and bushes. An equal number of girls arrived dancing, bouncing, jogging and somersaulting, throwing broad smiles at the spectators. Some more came riding in on bikes and began circling the inner ring.

The tempo of the music rose. When it reached a crescendo, the spectators were treated to a sight that was straight out of a fairy tale. With a loud trumpet and its trunk raised high, in strode an elephant the size of a hillock. He couldn’t have been an inch less than eighteen feet. The knowledgeable among the spectators cried out, “Gajaratna! That’s Gajaratna!” Gajaratna had become as much of a household name all across the countryside as the most famous singers and stage artistes of those times. Sarang Daaji had got special, jewel-encrusted gold sheets hammered out to fit the curvature of the elephant’s beautiful tusks. As the two strode in – the elephant and its muscularly built master Sarang Shinde – it was difficult to decide who walked with a lordlier gait.

When they had arrived at the centre of the ring, Sarang threw in the elephant’s direction a thick, five-foot-long garland of roses, which the animal dexterously caught on its trunk. It then lifted the trunk in the manner of a trumpeter, loosened the muscles of its giant limbs with a vigorous shake and took a round of the central ring. It came to a halt in the centre of the ring and turned to face a four-foot statue of Lord Shiva placed on a high pedestal at the edge of the ring. Gajaratna stepped forward with the greatest deference, garlanded the statue, took four steps back and lowered its front body by folding its fore legs under itself. This done, it brought its head down, flapped its ears, large as winnowing-baskets, then stood up and walked back. The spectators broke into deafening applause.

Gajaratna was back in the centre of the ring. The lights went dim, very dim, and then slowly began gathering strength in the entire spectrum of colours, making it appear like a peacock unfurling its feathers in the soft morning sunlight. Something stirred on Gajaratna’s massive back and straightened up in the form of a shapely human being sitting astride. That was Kanchana, the superstar of the circus. She stood up with delicate grace and performed four dance numbers on the elephant’s back, swirling and swaying and somersaulting like a bird from heaven flapping its multi-coloured wings. The dance over, Gajaratna lifted its trunk backwards and picked the young woman up as if it were plucking a fruit. It held her delicately in the fold of its trunk and trumpeted in delight. The spectators clapped as if under a spell.

The band struck a slow drum roll to signal the retreat. In the lead was Gajaratna, with Kanchana sitting on its trunk, curved in the shape of a seat. The rainbow-coloured lights fused into each other and cast an ethereal glow inside the tent. Kanchana smiled warmly at the mesmerised spectators, waving and then folding hands to acknowledge their love and appreciation.

As the night advanced, the enchantment of this stupendous show began firming its grip on the dazzled spectators.

The band picked up a new tune. Kanchana returned from the wing, dressed in a high-collared shirt and breeches that ballooned at her thighs, a leather whip in her hand. Charlie’s band began gathering speed. Just then, a tigress started to make her way through a barbed-wire tunnel that led her right into the ring.

A roar went up among the children seated in the gallery. “That’s Lakshmi, the tigress!” The beast stood up against Kanchana and licked her cheeks with her large red tongue. Then she feigned biting her wrists. Kanchana tapped her on the nostrils and the tigress growled, jumped and opened her jaws wide. The sight of that wide-open mouth and those murderous teeth brought knots in the stomachs of the children as they watched in awe.

Kanchana then marched up to the tigress and Lakshmi leapt on her shoulder. Kanchana held Lakshmi round her neck like a stole and took a round of the ring. She then got the tigress to slide off her shoulder and the two frolicked with each other, Kanchana laughing as she ran in front and Lakshmi growling and giving her a mock chase. The audience broke into loud hurrays. Their clapping could be heard a good distance away from the tent.

Once they had taken a round of the ring, Kanchana pulled Lakshmi’s cheeks and the tigress opened her jaws. This was followed by the climactic piece. When Kanchana thrust her head into the cavernous maw of the tigress, even the most stronghearted adults sitting on the ring-side seats felt a thrill of fear run through them. Children clung to their mothers, and the more timid ones wet their pants. Kanchana pulled her head out of the jaws and took a bow, the tigress’s saliva glistening on her face. She had won the field within minutes.

Excerpted with permission from The Great Kanchana Circus, Vishwas Patil, translated from the Marathi by Nadeem Khan, Westland.