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• W4316335324 abstract "The Pain Merchant Manjula Padmanabhan (bio) There was a time, said Master-ji, the pain merchant, when every household had plenty of pain to sell. We were sitting at the very edge of my home village, out by the rocks. In the distance behind us, the high mountains scratched the heavens with their snowy peaks. Right in front of us, the bare hillside plunged at rakish angles. The plains spread away far below. No longer true. People have forgotten that pain was once commonplace. Won't you show me just a bit? I asked, using my most wheedling voice. I was eight years old and the only boy in a house full of sisters and mothers. At home, I got whatever I wanted when I used that voice. Just once? But the merchant was immune. He intrigued me: I had never met someone who did not instantly give in to my demands. Plus, he looked so strange. Everyone I knew wore wool and felt; on their feet were embroidered slippers or leather boots. My mothers and sisters wore tunics and the men wore mirrored caps and turbans. The merchant, by contrast, was dressed in layers of greasy leather held together with lengths of string. His shoes were tied on with cords. A dark-brown hood partially obscured his face. Countless small pouches hung from his shoulders and down his back, like clusters of grapes. I could see that he wanted to please me, yet he shook his head. I've explained before: my wares are perishable, he said. According to him, recorded pain was like perfume. It became depleted with each use. I can't afford to show you anything unless you can pay. I can pay today, Master-ji, I said. I found something to trade. He looked at me sideways, his face a mass of wrinkles. I couldn't tell if he was smiling or frowning. Trade, eh? he remarked, lifting and twitching his nose like a snout. Come on then. Show me what you've got. I knelt with my right knee on the ground and my left foot pointed forward. I lifted the cuff of my pants to reveal my ankle. On it was an old scar. You see this? I said, squinting up at the merchant. Then I removed my shoe and pulled off the sock, so my foot was naked. It's the kind of thing you're interested in, isn't it? My mothers had told me that I'd had an accident when I was a baby. I had healed. Now no trace remained of the problem, except for the scar. Master-ji knelt, reaching for my foot with both hands. I hadn't noticed that [End Page 130] he wore gloves with the tips cut off. He traced the contours of the scar carefully with his forefinger. Glancing up, he asked, What was the cause of this injury? Did your mothers tell you? Do you know how long ago it happened? Yes, they told me, I said. It was when I was a baby. I don't remember what happened. Just then a shadow passed over us. A vulture. It wouldn't bother us, of course. We were moving and talking. Even so, I tugged the ward-off out of my pocket and held it up, cocked and ready to send out a pulse. Ahh, don't bother, said the merchant. It's got plenty to eat. In the few seconds during which I glanced up at the vulture, the merchant had reached into his clothes and pulled something out. An instrument, it looked like. It was shiny and metallic but also stretchy. Before I could object, he had placed it around my ankle and was deftly molding it into place. I had been told not to let strangers do anything to me without explaining their actions. You should ask my permission before doing that, I said. He glanced up and said, Do you feel it? Is it touching you? I shook my head. The thing had completely surrounded my ankle and my foot up to the arch, but I felt no sensation. Fine then. You held your foot out to..." @default.
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• W4316335324 date "2022-01-01" @default.
• W4316335324 modified "2023-10-17" @default.
• W4316335324 title "The Pain Merchant" @default.
• W4316335324 doi "https://doi.org/10.1353/man.0.0079" @default.
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