Free The Blue Notebook by James A. Levine

He said that their tongues would first press hesitantly against his, but then would dance and weave with his. His theory was that all men had a part of him inside them; it was just waiting to be released. His constant river of business attested to this.
    Despite Puneet’s gloominess, men still stood waiting in the Common Street until the moment his curtain opened. Oftentimes, as soon as one devotee left him, I would see a man accelerate or even trot from halfway down the street to ensure he reached Prince Puneet’s gate before any other. Even when Puneet just plopped himself outside his door and did not advertise his promise, men would drift to him. It could be that his sultriness intensified his attractiveness. A forbidden pleasure unadvertised is perhaps the sweetest.
    I tried to think back to the village. For sure all the boys wanted the toy that other boys had. However, there was also the toy that was too dangerous to play with, which had a unique allure. Jitendra was my age and the weakest and smallest of the boys. Not only was he physically slight, but he also was an insignificantperson who was annoying at every opportunity. He was like a small pebble stuck in your shoe. All the boys and even several of the girls would pick on him; you could blow and he would crumble. He was friendless. However, this all changed when he received a flick-knife for his birthday sent to him by a stupid uncle from Delhi. If you pressed a button on the knife’s handle, the blade shot out. The blade’s edge was jagged and so sharp that it could slice a rat’s head clean off. This became a favored trick of Jitendra’s.
    Walking through the village one day, a ten-year-old boy a year or so older than Jitendra, tried to take the knife from him. In the struggle, Jitendra pressed the button and the blade shot out into the boy’s flank; cascades of blood poured forth and torrential screaming. That night frightful rows broke out between the parents, and both boys were severely punished. However, after the thigh-slicing incident Jitendra was never picked on again, although he remained friendless. He became feared by the village children as well as by the local rats. There are “toys” that require a certain courage to possess and thereby acquire a special attraction. Jitendra’s knife was one such toy. Puneet was another.
    Puneet had been a “lost boy” from the time his mother disappeared. The fact that he survived is a miracle. He has told me of atrocities he has seen on the street even before Master Gahil acquired him: murders, tortures, and violent robberies to name a few. He told me how his father broke out of prison to try to find him, only to be recaptured after a sensational street battle. He explains frequently how his mother married a wealthy businessman who will fetch him, “any day now—just you watch.” The stories about his parents are fiction. Puneet has long beenerased from the memories of his father and mother. How else could they reconcile their place on earth, knowing that their son lives two nests down from mine and every day pleasures men who are filthy inside and out? Puneet has no reality other than his cage and this street. That is why he never seeks to escape; this is all there is.

    Puneet slides inside his nest, following a man in an ill-fitting gray suit. Puneet’s body speaks to his latest round of defeat, although his eye and lip makeup are still meticulously applied. He is becoming thin and his bandages slide down his waist, even without him bending over to display his love-hole. I have a great idea to cheer him up; I will write him a story. It does not matter that he cannot read; I will read it to him. In point of fact, I am the only person I know who can read.
    Dear my beloved Puneet, this story is for you. I hope you love it.
    THE GRAIN OF RICE
    The Master taught, “The world balances on a grain of rice.”
    The students asked the Master, “Master, how can the whole world, with all the elephants,