BECOMING SUPRA

Chapter 19.1: Bi or Pan?

Neel rapped on the door to Gnome's private library alcove. Gnome snapped it open on the first knock. Raë had to duck her head low to allow her headgear through. Book shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, candlelight cast soft shadows on the ox-blood couches, a piebald rabbit hopped about the carpet.

"Welcome to my man cave," said Gnome.

They settled on the three couches, forming a wide triangle. Raë sat upright, careful not to crush the long feathertails of her mohawk. On the coffee table was scattered the smoking paraphernalia, pipes, lighters and a vintage hand painted tray covered with a white muslin square.

"May I," asked Neel, picking up the tray.

"Of course," nodded Gnome. Neel removed the cloth, beneath it was a disc of dark sticky hash. He broke the hash between his fingers, then slowly inhaled. "Smells like the delicacy one would pray for."

"Took me months to arrange," said Gnome. "The previous batch was dry and mouldy, the one before was trying to pass off as cream but it clearly wasn't. I told the dealer I wanted a connoisseur's delight or nothing at all. Then with great difficulty I got the contact of the one and only: Chandini ka mal ..."

"Chandini ka mal? Or Chandini Kamal?

"Yes," nodded Gnome to both. "Chandini runs a gang of women harvesters up in Himachal. Harvesters who have been taught by her to sing some kind of secret moon mantra while reaping the black gold. They harvest only three days a month, on the day of the full-moon, a day before and a day after. It's the finest quality you'll get, none like it on the entire continent."

Gnome held out a piece for Raë. "Have a whiff."

Raë rolled it between her fingers, it was soft and creamy and stuck to her pads like toffee.

"What makes this exceptional is the gender of the harvesters."

"Why gender?" asked Raë.

"All female," said Gnome. "Women are neater at harvesting, no twigs, nor leaves nor bits of knuckle hair. You can tell the harvester is female with the impression they leave behind of their fingerprints."

Raë examined a pastiche of fingerprints on the tightly packed hash piece. She inhaled, its freshness hit the back of her nostrils.

Gnome took the piece from her and started preparing a chillum, first kneading, then stuffing, then packing it into the mouth of the clay pipe.

"Full moon rubs are special because the THC is pronounced to be more psychoactive. This batch has won several awards at 'High Times', the cannabis championships."

Gnome casually lit the pipe and played with his breath till the flame steadied and the embers turned orange-red.

He took a puff and gingerly passed the chillum to Raë.

"Tonight's the night, Raë," said Neel.

"You say that at every occasion ..."

"Come on. You've nothing left to lose ... you've lost everything already," he said.

"Lost? What has she lost?" asked Gnome.

"Her entire dream," said Neel. "The Deathonator finals, the money, the gap-year, vacations in Mexico, everything."

It was true. Raë had lost. The dream didn't materialize like the way she thought it would, it had ended in disappointment. The vision she had of herself had fallen like a house of cards. What did she have to lose?