Yellow Lights of Death

by Benyamin

  ‘It’s not a matter of trust. I haven’t even finished half the novel. I’ve no clue when I’ll complete it or how it will end. How can you commit to publish such a novel?’

  ‘I was excited the moment I heard the story. I’ve been restless till this moment—about meeting you. It’s fantastic. There has never been such a work in Malayalam, for sure.’

  ‘You are dodging my question again. I’ve not told anyone about my novel. How did you come to hear about it? Did my father tell you? Or Rajanbabu sir?

  ‘I don’t wish our discussion to become an argument that leads nowhere. I’m not one of those publishers with bags full of cash who keep producing books like piglets. I publish just ten to fifteen books a year. Books that will become part of history or create a new path. That’s my dream. It is my insatiable desire for books and reading that keeps me in publishing. It is that person in me who doesn’t want to miss your work in any way.’

  ‘But there is no surety that I’ll complete the novel.’ I tried to dissuade him again.

  ‘That’s okay. I’ll wait till it is complete. I won’t call up and pester you like other publishers. I have the sense to know that all great works are born after great struggle. I’ll give you the time to go through that great struggle. So, are we in an agreement?’

  ‘We don’t need an agreement. If I ever finish writing the novel, you’ll be its publisher. This is the word of a writer.’

  Thus, I gave the rights to publish an unwritten book to editor Srikumar of Z Books, Ernakulam. But how he came to know the plot of my novel remained a riddle.

  Melvin

  ORKUT BECAME AN obsession with me after Melvin’s scraps started appearing regularly.

  Scraps, comments on my photos, invites to communities, messages . . . as Melvin’s visits increased, I gradually became addicted. I used to be aloof about the discussions and comments on various social networks until then. Even if I had a different opinion on some topics, I never got involved in any discussions. Melvin broke the mould.

  With that, my writing almost stopped. The anxiety about Senthil disappeared. Anpu called twice from her mobile phone, but I didn’t bother to pick up. It was as if I was in a trance. I was on the Internet all the time. Checking every hour for a scrap; responding if there was one, upset if there was none.

  There was nothing much in the scraps. Random queries. Casual hellos. Routine greetings. That was all. Still I waited for her response.

  When she started sending scraps about Senthil’s death, I made the scrapbook private, and requested her not to mention anything in public. She wrote a long mail of apology the very next day. On reading it, I wanted to see her. I didn’t inform Anita. I just directly went to the palace-like hostel where she stayed. I’d decided to go to the hospital if she wasn’t home. Sometimes, it seems like the world works the way we want it to.

  When I reached, there was only Melvin at home. The rest of the nurses were away at the hospital. She didn’t panic on seeing me. She received me happily. We had cardamom tea and talked for a long time. There was no hurry to pack me off.

  I’m usually not a talker, but a listener. I had the same impression about Melvin. When two such people meet, the conversation ends after a few greetings and then they try to move away from each other. But it seemed that when she was left to be herself, Melvin was quite a talker.

  ‘The dreams we have become real some time later, don’t they?’ Melvin asked out of the blue.

  ‘Why the doubt? That has been the belief of man for a long time. But it rarely happens. It is a coincidence if dreams and reality match.’

  ‘I don’t know if you’ll believe me. I dreamt last night that Anita-chechi’s friend would visit today.’

  ‘Who, me?’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I swear in the name of Mariam.’

  ‘Was it daydreaming or . . .?’

  ‘It was a dream.’

  My phone rang. It was Anpu. I hesitated about whether to answer. I was sure it was to ask about the papers. What could I say? I didn’t take the call. The phone rang for a while before coming to a stop.

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘Did he also dream that Anita-chechi’s friend would come there?’

  We laughed.

  ‘Not just today, that would be a dream that comes to her every night. It was Anpu, sister of Senthil,’ I said when the laughter ended.

  ‘Oh, I see. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Senthil’s office had sent some papers to be signed. She wants my advice on that.’

  ‘What are you planning to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing. I had gone to see Dr Iqbal. He said he had not attended such a case. Without a witness, I can’t do anything.’

  ‘If I’m sufficient as a witness, I’ll come.’

  ‘But you are not a witness. The Public Security won’t accept your account. Will Sudha-chechi come?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She is scared. The hospital records are supposed to be confidential. It was because I compelled her that she talked to you. Tell me, was there anyone else at the scene?’

  ‘When the incident happened, I was with my friend Jesintha. But she is a pragmatic person, she will not put herself at risk. She won’t come forward. I don’t know any of the others who were there.’

  ‘Try to remember. Some face might surface. In cases like this, it is usually the public who bravely come forward.’

  I stood up to leave. Melvin accompanied me to the gate.

  ‘I have noon shift, otherwise I’d have come with you to Pentasia.’

  ‘Why? Did the dream last night have such a climax?’ I quipped.

  ‘Oh, you are still at it! Well, it had a better ending.’

  ‘Really, what was that?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’ A blush spread on her face.

  We parted smiling. But Melvin could never share the dream’s ending.

  Coffee Shop

  TILL MELVIN SUGGESTED it, the possibility never occurred to me. I had been tracking Senthil’s death through government records. I didn’t give a thought about the living records—the eyewitnesses. There were some ten or twenty people present when the incident took place. About a hundred people must have seen Senthil lying dead. Won’t at least one of them be brave enough to admit he had seen it? Won’t at least one of them be uneasy, like me? Actually, I should have started my inquiry with the witnesses. This is the difference between an investigative officer and an imaginative writer. Even a common man would have approached the case with more discipline and order, and may even have cracked it by now. I had just wasted time going round and round, to no avail.

  The fact was that I didn’t remember the face of anyone who was present at the time of the incident. Who else was there other than Jesintha and I? Searching for a third face, I spent three days picking my brain. Suddenly, I remembered one person: the coffee shop owner. Damn, how did I miss such an obvious thing! He had feigned ignorance when I’d asked him earlier. But this time, I decided not to let him slip away. I rushed to the place immediately. I hurried thinking I must reach there before he disappears. I didn’t want to miss him because of a momentary delay. I ran to the coffee shop, leaving my boat at the bay.

  Luckily for me, he was there, seated on a tall chair. I was relieved. I slowed down and went to my usual table. He raised his hand seeing me. I signalled him to join me.

  ‘I’m going to the mainland, do you want to accompany me?’ I threw a bait.

  ‘Oh, really? When?’

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘I’m also coming! I’m also coming. I need to see the mainland. There is no point to a life if you don’t visit the mainland at least once. What do I need to do?’

  ‘Nothing. You just need a clearance from the Public Security department. You’ve been in Diego for how many generations?’

  ‘Ah, who knows. I know that I was born here. That’s all.’

  ‘Where is your family from, origin
ally?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you know your great-grandfather’s name?’

  ‘Great-grandfather’s name . . . I don’t remember. Why are you asking these questions? Is it that difficult to go to the mainland?’

  ‘If you have been here for less than four generations, you can get PIO status. But don’t worry. You have a passport, right?’

  ‘Yes. I got it five years ago, in the hope of visiting the mainland someday.’

  ‘Then let’s arrange for the visa. It’ll take only three days, and costs just ten dollars. And then the packing. That’s all. The Public Security is a hurdle. How will we get the clearance?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, sir . . .’

  ‘I’ll take care of it. You’ll have to come with me to the Public Security office.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll come. I’ll come wherever you want me to. I need to see the mainland somehow. Oye, Majid, we are going to shut the shop for a week. I’m going to the mainland. Make a super special coffee for sir . . .’

  ‘Sit down, let me tell you something.’ I slowly eased him on to a chair. ‘When we go to the Public Security, we need to talk about one more thing.’

  ‘What?’

  I moved closer to him.

  ‘About the shooting that took place that day.’

  ‘What shooting? Here? I don’t know about any shooting . . .’ He got up in panic. ‘Nothing of that sort has ever taken place in my coffee shop.’

  ‘Who ordered you to say so?’ I stiffened my voice as much as I could. ‘Look, I now work at the Investigation Directorate. I’m in charge of the case now. Don’t lie to me.’

  ‘Yeah right, an investigating officer! You think I’ll get scared hearing that? Better don’t go around saying that, you’ll be the first to get into trouble.’

  That shook me. ‘How will I be in trouble?’

  He came close to me. Stared at me. ‘Like me, you are also an eyewitness. It doesn’t take much time for a witness to be called an accused. So, let it go. Let’s stick to talking about the mainland.’

  I finished my coffee and got up. There was no point in lingering. We had nothing more to say to each other. He had made it clear that he was not willing to cooperate with me.

  I walked slowly to the jetty. I had been so excited before meeting him, and confident that everything would fall in place. I had even dreamt of going to Vijay Mullikratnam and challenging him: Look, here’s the second witness. Now can you tell me that no shooting happened?

  But man is a coward. If something costs him even a scratch, he won’t stand up for it. Why should I put my life on the line for the sake of someone else? What will I get out of it? What have I to do with him?

  I reached the jetty and was about to get on to the boat when someone tapped on my shoulder. It was the waiter at the coffee shop. ‘I’ll come with you, wherever you want. I was also a witness to the incident.’

  The Outsider

  I DIDN’T HAVE anyone other than Melvin with whom to share the happy news. So I called her immediately. She, too, was excited by the turn of events.

  ‘See, this is why you should sometimes ask women for their opinion!’

  ‘Oh yes, I agree.’

  ‘When are you going to the Public Security?’

  ‘Before he changes his mind. Not to the Public Security though, but the Diego Daily. I need to get a story done by Rajanbabu sir.’

  ‘Can I come? I’m off hospital duty tomorrow.’

  ‘Why are you interested in visiting a newspaper office?’

  ‘It’s not that, I wanted to meet . . .’

  ‘The guy? I’ll take you to the coffee shop one day.’

  ‘Not him, Anita-chechi’s friend.’

  ‘Me? Didn’t we meet yesterday? Anything urgent?’

  ‘Mm . . . I was thinking of going home next week. I might get leave. Before that, I wanted to tell you something.’

  ‘Let me put an end to this case. Then I’ll come and meet you.’

  ‘So you won’t come tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow? I’ll try to drop by in the evening.’

  ‘I’ll wait. Please come.’

  The coffee shop was open in the morning and then only in the evening. My fellow witness came to the jetty soon after the shop closed for the morning. Though I regularly saw him at the coffee shop, I didn’t know his name. It was during this trip to the Diego Daily’s office that I got properly acquainted with him.

  Sadur Abdul Majid lived in the nearby island of Hamla with his wife and three children. He moved to Diego from Pondicherry twenty years ago, at the age of eighteen. He had been working at the same coffee shop for the last eight years.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ I asked him.

  ‘I don’t want to know. I’ve seen you at the coffee shop, that’s good enough.’

  ‘Then how did you have the courage to come with me?’

  ‘I saw something and just have to tell that to a Public Security officer. Why do I need courage to admit that I saw something?’

  ‘Then why didn’t you admit it when the Public Security asked?’

  ‘The owner wouldn’t let me. He always says it is his shop, his rules. What right did I have . . . That bastard.’

  ‘Is there such an issue here in Diego?’

  ‘Very much so . . . you don’t know. It’s an issue faced by us poor people. And I’ve been here for decades. Imagine the plight of the new immigrants. “What are you doing here? Why are you here?” I’m fed up of these questions that make me feel like a suspect.’

  ‘You are from this place! Why would anyone ask you such things?’

  ‘There is an invisible wall between people like you and the migrants. If you breach that wall and come this side, then you’ll understand our situation. Nobody will come to your side and tell you.’

  I was reminded of my life in Thiruvananthapuram. I had faced a similar experience. There, I had been a migrant for three years there. A migrant who had come to share and also loot all that the natives had kept for their own enjoyment. As a migrant, I was treated as a person not entitled to any benefits or fruits of the country’s progress. I had to make sure I followed the rules there, not make any trouble, not try to grab authority, show muscle power or gain fame, make no attempt to love their women or enter their family—I was to remain an alien. It hurt when the people of Kerala meted out such treatment to me. Despite my experience, I had failed to see that in my own land, another set of people faced the same hostility from my fellow citizens. We always care only for ourselves. Others are our enemies. Was it the same across the world?

  ‘Let it be, sir. That is how it is. Tell me, what’s your relationship with Senthil?’ Majid asked.

  ‘Senthil? You know him?’

  ‘Yeah, quite well. He was also a regular at the coffee shop. Not just that, he travelled to Pondicherry once a month. I gave him things to hand over to my parents. He’s been at my house in the mainland many times.’

  ‘What was he doing in Pondicherry?’

  ‘Don’t know. Must be some office work. But he used to go there pretty regularly. That’s all I know. Are you his friend?’

  ‘We studied in the same class in school. But on the day of the incident I was seeing him after a long, long time. I’ve been pursuing it since then, but it has reached nowhere. I should have come to you before.’

  ‘Where are we going now? Doesn’t look like the Public Security department.’

  ‘We aren’t going to the Public Security office, but to the Diego Daily. It’s a newspaper. They might be able to help us, that is, if they want to.’

  ‘I doubt it, sir. A lot of journalists came to the coffee shop and asked questions. Nothing happened. Nothing.’ Majid dismissed them with contempt.

  ‘The media had come there to report?’ That was news to me.

  ‘Yeah, they had come. Lots of questions. They heard our answers and left. But nothing got printed. The poor man’s issues don’t get printed in this stupid place.’

  ‘
This won’t be like that, Majid. I know someone very well. He could turn it into big news.’

  ‘Okay, let’s see,’ he said in a tone of challenge.

  When we reached, Rajanbabu sir was away on lunch break. ‘Please sit, he’ll be back soon,’ said the receptionist.

  He was back within ten minutes. ‘Hello, Junior Andrapper, how come you are here? Is your novel complete?’ he asked, enveloping me in a warm embrace.

  ‘No, sir, but I will finish it soon. I’ve come on another matter.’

  ‘Come, let’s go to my cabin.’

  I introduced Majid to him as we walked in.

  ‘You chose a good time to come. I’ll get busy with the desk in a while. Tell me, what’s the matter?’

  I narrated my story to him—from the shooting at the coffee shop to meeting Majid. The only two characters I avoided mentioning were Sudha-chechi and Melvin. Majid added some details to my story, saying that media reporters failed to report the story.

  Rajanbabu sir listened to the whole story patiently, with folded hands. After we finished, he pulled out a bunch of papers from his drawer and placed them before me. A detailed report on Senthil’s death! I glanced through it. Needless to say, it followed the point of view of the Public Security. The facts were presented in an orderly manner to support their arguments. The quotes of the boat driver who carried Senthil, the doctor’s death certificate, investigative outputs from officer Vijay Mullikratnam, etc. The last piece of paper really shook me. It was an affidavit from Senthil’s father, certifying a natural cause of death.

  Careful not to show the effect the papers had on me, I returned the lot to him.

  ‘I’m one of those who believes journalists shouldn’t get emotionally taken in by news. It’s natural to have doubts about a death when it’s your friend’s or acquaintance’s. But the duty of the journalist is to find out the truth. To do that, we approach various people and clear our doubts. We ask questions. Conduct an investigation. Our reporter followed the same procedure in your coffee shop, too. But every finding doesn’t have to get printed. We publish only unbiased information. When the Public Security office presents such clear evidence, then we have to believe their version—that there was nothing suspicious about Senthil’s death.’