by K R Meera
don’t think of anything else. Forget everything. See only the lever and the red kerchief. Dedicate your intelligence and your intellect to it.’
Father let out a sigh.
‘All we do is carry out justice. Take, for example, Jatindranath whom we will soon punish. Remember the little girl he murdered. She was on her way to the medical shop, to get medicines for her mother. She must have cried and pleaded with him . . . but he did not listen to her. In that moment, he was terribly evil. It is the job of the government to find a way to heal that. We are sent to confiscate the life of the doer of injustice. It is our duty, our karma, the fruit of our deeds . . .’
Father raised an ardent gaze towards the ancient gallows tree and was quiet for a few moments.
‘A clicking sound will be all that you hear when the noose tightens. That’s the sound of the bones in the neck breaking. With this, the nerves that connect the body to the brain are cut, and the hanged man loses consciousness. If there is even a tiny flaw, for that single moment, his nails will grow longer. They will tear at the flesh. He will pass urine and stools and the rest . . .’
My soul-force turned to vapour! The mission that I had to take up sent its roots around my neck and strangled me like the banyan tree that had sprouted and spread upon my head. During the reign of the Sena kings, our ancestor Chitswarup Mullick had been the hangman. The Sena kings had defeated the last of the Pala kings, Madana Pala. Grandfather Chitswarup was deputed to execute the defeated king. While he was in power, Madana Pala had been like a lion. In fetters, he was but a lowly fox. In the end, coming face to face with death, the maharaja had whined like a mangy cur. Thakuma recounted this story from time to time so that we would remember that the majesty of emperors was merely a game of illusions played by power. Only Maharaja Nandakumar was an exception. But he was not a king, really. As I recalled that monarchs and mendicants figured alike among those who pissed and shat in sheer agony because of the hangman’s unsure hand, my heart pounded desperately.
Father began to say something standing in front of the gallows, but fell silent at the sight of the policeman approaching with the oil. They began to grease the lever’s screw. I looked up, moving towards the foot of the gallows tree again. Cobwebs covered the triangular space at the top. A speckled female spider slept peacefully in them. Its excessively bloated white belly looked like a big egg. Just then I heard heavy footsteps on the veranda and spun around. It was indeed he. Sanjeev Kumar Mitra. I was stunned. The bird which had flown inside me earlier began to beat its wings and wound me again.
‘So, you sign a contract one day and violate it on the next! Grddha babu, you shouldn’t have done this to me!’ His voice resonated as if from within an upturned vessel.
I looked at Father, anxious.
‘Sanju babu, why, what’s wrong?’ Father laughed loudly and went on oiling the screw.
‘Nothing’s wrong? Really? Did I not tell you clearly that Chetna’s days belong to the channel from now?’ His voice was filled with irritation.
‘But you did not ask for today, did you?’ Father was not yielding an inch. ‘When we parted last evening, all that you asked was that she should participate in the programme on 1 June. Other than that, did we discuss anything at all about today? Don’t get angry without reason, Sanju babu, we are government servants and this is our job. Shooting for the channel is yours. I haven’t given my word that we will report to you each time we turn and toss, sneeze and shit. There’s nothing to that effect in the contract. Even if there is, it is simply not practical.’
I saw clearly the anger rise in waves and lash about on Sanjeev Kumar Mitra’s face; he was struggling to control it.
‘I handed you five thousand rupees. Have you forgotten, Grddha da?’
‘Sanju babu, you counted out just one thousand rupees. Hand me the rest, then we can talk.’
‘But aren’t there things more valued than money, Grddha da? Your word, for instance?’
‘I have always kept my word, Sanju babu. But you are demanding that I keep a word that I never gave.’
For a minute, Sanjeev Kumar Mitra looked at Father and me. The veins in his temples throbbed hard. He smiled with an effort. ‘If it were someone else, I’d have reacted quite differently. But you are not a stranger to me, Grddha da. You are the father of the girl whom I wish to marry. I cannot forget the respect due to my future father-in-law . . .’
‘That’s not in the contract!’
My retort was so swift that it surprised even me. Father lifted his head, gave me a look and went back to oiling the lever. Sanjeev Kumar Mitra was shocked. He trained a stern gaze on me. My left breast began to ache again. The old worm began to gnaw at my flesh again with its delicate but sharp teeth.
‘Isn’t she right? I will marry her, you said. But are there any documents? Is there any guarantee? Is it in our agreement? Or, are you two in love? My daughter has never said that she will marry only you. You said that, Sanju babu . . . and we didn’t see you making any arrangements.’ Father pointed out sharply.
‘That’s not in the contract,’ I repeated.
A terrible turbulence seized me. The ache in my left breast became unbearable—as though it was being ripped out. I felt a demon crouching in his gaze, appearance and voice. I wanted to hate him.
‘This is okay now,’ Father said suddenly.
Sanjeev Kumar slowly shifted his gaze towards him.
‘You’ll have to pull it to really know,’ said the policeman who was assisting Father. Father turned to say something when, without warning, Sanjeev Kumar Mitra stepped up.
‘Oh, so this is the lever? Let me take a look?’
He touched it once. Face brimming over with curiosity, he winked at Father and the policeman and pulled the lever hard. A sound like a burp from a full tummy rose from the lever. Suddenly, the ground dropped away beneath my right foot. A thunderous crash, terrifying enough to make the ends of the earth shudder and shake, rent the air. I tried to hang on, but failed. With a terrified scream, without a noose around my neck, I descended into the netherworld, into which many thousands of human lives had fallen. Sanjeev Kumar Mitra jumped in after me. In that dark hole which reeked of the stench of vile creatures that fed on the shit and piss of the thousands of human beings who had died at the gallows, his hands crushed and mutilated my body. I knew then how painful the piercing roots of the banyan could be. The meaning of Thakuma’s words about death signs also became clear to me.
‘So that’s not in the contract, eh?’ He bit my lips hard and snarled.
The words echoed in the cellar like the furious growling of ghosts. He kicked my body, crushing it. More than sorrow, insult and rage shattered me. I realized that if the noose was in the wrong place because the length of the rope was wrong, men dying in agony passed not just urine and faeces but also semen. No one had told me. But a woman does not need special lessons to know that. That was the turning point in my story. After that, I did not have the heart to let him off.
10
For a long time, it was Avinash Sircar, who worked by the wayside on Strand Road, who gave Father his regular shave. We called him Sircar mama. I used to see him on the street on my way to the primary school on the other side of the cremation ground. He sat right next to Narayan da’s shop, which came after the railway tracks and before the cremation ground, the one that sold bamboo litters for corpses. He would be shaving people’s faces or cutting their hair, his body bent like a piece of wire, his dirty, ragged vest rolled right up to his chest like a woman’s blouse. The light that reflected off his mirror which he hung from a nail hammered into a political party’s flagstaff—a crack ran right through the mirror in the middle like a streak of lightning—could be seen even before one reached the railway tracks. We got to see in the mirror Sircar mama at work as his back was turned to us. Without turning around, he would shout, say hello to Sircar mama, Chetu ma! And gift me a grin s
howing all his scarred teeth with those sunken cheeks pulled back. Whenever he came to our house, he brought me tamarind sweets. Sircar mama would come straight to our tea shop to meet Father once his day’s work was done. They read the newspapers to each other, listened to the news on radio and discussed politics. One day, I woke up to the news that a woman had been found dead near the railway tunnel. All of us ran there to look at the corpse. People milled around the body. I couldn’t see anything and walked back disappointed; Sircar mama, who was shaving a stranger’s face on the other side of the gate, comforted me through the mirror—never mind, Chetu, next time I’ll lift you on my shoulders. He fished out two tamarind sweets from the waistband of his dhoti and held them out to me. In the days that followed, Thakuma, Ma and I, barely six or seven then, crowded at the door for news about the woman’s dead body.
‘The body of the woman found near the railway tunnel still unidentified—the police’
‘The body found near the railway tunnel is that of Vijayamallika, missing from Sonagachi—the police’
‘The killer of the woman found dead near the railway tunnel will be nabbed soon—the police’
Each day, he read to us news of this sort. He even teased Father on the day the news ‘Husband of the dead woman found’ appeared.
‘Hey, Grddha, work ahead for you!’
Father and everyone else who heard him laughed. Two months later, another woman died. This time, on the roadside, in Bhawanipore. The next morning, when Ma was plaiting my hair on our doorstep, we heard the din of a crowd in the distance. A large dog came running, pulling behind it someone in a white vest and khaki trousers. Four or five policemen chased after them, followed by a crowd. Police, police! Scared, Ma pulled the pallu of her sari over her head and stepped back into the house. The dog ran past me towards the railway tracks. I followed them, just one plait done. The train passed by just then. The dog stood beside the tracks, barking at it impatiently. The commuters stuck their heads out, enjoying the show. As soon as the train was gone, even before the tracks ceased to vibrate, the dog leapt across. It jumped on Sircar mama who sat with his back turned to us, getting the soap ready to shave someone’s face. He fell and rolled on the ground with a scream; the dog bit him and dragged him on to the road. By then the policemen had surrounded him. What happened before my eyes was simply beyond a child’s belief. The police took him right before us, hitting and shoving him. As he struggled to free himself from the policemen’s grip, Sircar mama saw me. Chetu . . . Chotdi . . . Daughter, tell them to set Mama free, he screamed. I felt terribly helpless, really, really wanting, to run after the policemen and scratch their hands bloody or bite them and free Sircar mama. But after some time, the din of the crowd returned.
It was Ramu da who brought home the news he had heard from one of the men who had gathered and were talking: ‘It was he who murdered those women. He’s confessed everything!’
I felt as if I’d exploded from inside, shaken to my core. In the days that followed, the newspapers carried stories of how Sircar mama had killed four women who had disappeared from Sonagachi and dumped their bodies in different locations. There was a reason why I remembered him again when I opened my eyes after I had been brought out of the cellar beneath the gallows. When I gained consciousness, Father was sitting beside me, looking totally worn out. An elderly doctor examined my pulse and said there was nothing to worry about. The back of my only pair of good clothes was torn. The glass bangles on both wrists had shattered and pierced my thighs and my back. No one took very seriously the wounds on my lips, breasts and stomach. Nor did they see the fatal wounds in my soul. Just then, the jail superintendent Sibdev Ghosh stormed in.
‘What’s happening? There is a limit to breaking the law! I know that you can tip my policeman’s cap if you decide to do so, but my patience does have a limit.’
‘My apologies, Sibdev babu.’ Sanjeev Kumar Mitra sat up and folded his palms.
I saw only then that there was a big reddish blue mark on his forehead.
‘Chetna was to spend all her time with our channel from now on. She’s signed a contract. When I heard that these two had made such an important visit without letting me know, I simply forgot everything else.’
‘Sibdev babu, this is our duty. We work for the government, not for the channel.’
‘Sanjeev Mitra, Grddha da has a point there.’
Sanjeev Kumar got up and pointed to me. ‘I wish to marry this young woman, Sibdev babu. Ever since I first saw her, I have only her on my mind.’
He acted it out even better than Father. I tried to control my face, but it turned bloodless.
‘Ha! Good news indeed! What do you say, Grddha?’
Father shot me a sideways glance and smiled. ‘I’ve no objection. He’s been saying this for some time. But there should be some guarantee, some papers, for it?’
Sanjeev Kumar pulled out a little box from his pocket, took a gold ring from it and held it up. A small diamond glinted on it. Without any warning, he came close, took my right ring finger which was still throbbing with the pain he had inflicted on it earlier, and slipped on the ring.
‘I have submitted evidence of my love in front of responsible police officers, the doctor and the girl’s father.’
I felt as if my breath had stopped. If he had placed an ornament around my neck or arm, I would not have been so shocked. Sibdev Ghosh, the policemen and the doctor applauded. Father smiled slowly.
I got up with an effort. ‘No . . . I don’t need this . . .’ My voice trembled as I said this.
Before I could complete my sentence, Sanjeev Kumar laughed aloud. ‘How dark it was in there! Do you know, I have been scared of the dark since I was a child? But all I could think of was that I had to rescue Chetna somehow. Otherwise, am I crazy to jump from such a height?’
No one had an answer to that. I turned my eyes towards Father for support. But he rolled his eyes in anger. His look frightened me. In school and at home, I was taught never to utter a word against Father. And so all I could do was grit my teeth and bear the searing pain that racked my body. Father did not look at me even once until we reached home. Get inside the house only after you’ve had a bath—that was all he said.
I bathed. My whole body was bruised and hurting. For the rest of my life, the memory of falling into those depths from high above would be a recurring nightmare. And I have not been able to imagine a man more terrifying than the one who attacked my body with a smile. Kaku, Kakima and the children had left for Budge Budge before we got home. Father started drinking as soon as we reached. The fact that the bottle was Sanjeev Kumar Mitra’s gift doubly infuriated me. When I came out of the bathroom Thakuma brought out a piece of string that had been blessed at the Kali temple and tied it on my wrist. I pulled the gold ring off my crushed finger and gave it to Ma.
‘I don’t want it. Give it back to him when he comes.’
‘Bhagawan! Is this a diamond?’ she asked, stunned.
‘Let me see, let me see!’ Thakuma came running.
‘He’s a good boy . . . loving fellow . . . but not for our Chetu . . .’ said she. And became angry when Ma disagreed, saying that this was the greatest luck that would come by me.
‘Girl, this is a family of hangmen, two thousand years old. There should be a boy to take it forward after Phani’s days. Else, our family’s profession dies.’
‘You aren’t going to say anything different. Very educated, he is . . . I want my daughter to escape this damned cellar.’ Ma’s response was firm.
‘I am afraid of him . . .’ I whispered slowly to Ramu da who was straining his ears to catch the conversation.
‘He will not love you . . .’ he whispered back. ‘But will keep hunting you. And calling it love . . .’
‘Do you remember old Sircar mama, Ramu da?’ I asked him while untangling my hair. My waist-length hair lay on my back in wet tangled locks that looke
d like the roots of a banyan tree.
Ramu da sighed. ‘How can one know what human beings are like deep inside? How can one peer deep?’
He spoke as if human beings were some alien species. I thought again about Sircar mama. Six months after he was arrested, one day, Sircar mama had appeared at the tea shop. Father saw him and rained abuses on him instantly.
‘Grddha Mullick’s house is not the place where robbers and murderers can gallivant. Get out! Out!’
‘Grddha, don’t give me up . . . I have no one else but you . . . I don’t know anything about it, Grddha . . . they beat me so hard, I confessed . . .’
He folded his palms, weeping. Thakuma and Ma, who had been standing at the doorstep, bubbling angrily, now began to relent.
‘Maybe it is true. He is a mild fellow . . . the police must have hit him bad . . .’ Kaku, who was watching, said.
‘Yes, yes, can human beings act so well? Could he walk around as if nothing has happened if he’d really murdered so many?’ Ma chipped in innocently.
‘Go away, woman, don’t speak rubbish. It could be, and more besides. But this fellow’s a meek sort. Maybe he lost his mind when he did it.’ Thakuma too offered support.
But Father was adamant. Criminals cannot appear before a government servant like him, he insisted. I liked to believe that Sircar mama was innocent. For many months after, he continued to work in front of the cremation ground and fight the case. One day, when I went up close to him and asked if he had really done it, he smeared some shaving cream on my nose and laughed loudly. ‘Chetu ma, you wait and see. Mama will win. And will then teach all these policemen a lesson!’
After that, each time he went to court for the hearings and returned, he would tell me with much happy hope, ‘All the truth has come out today. Didn’t Mama tell you Mama has done no wrong? Those policemen laid a trap for me.’
The day before the judgment was pronounced on his case, Mama was waiting for me in the street when I came back from school.