by John Harker
Shiuli closed her eyes in disgust, but the man did not stop describing the insane in front of that nine year old, ‘That would be one of the kindest scenes I had witnessed. Hardly your age, I found the first dead woman in my room and a grizzly old man atop of her. Is not that the pleasant gift for a child’s birthday?’ He asked.
His disturbing revelations brought with it a sense of guilt in the minds of the ones who had staged the play; Parosh and Pakhi. Pakhi went next to her niece and covered the girl’s ears with her hand.
‘You wanted to listen and now you cover her ears? She is not a baby; she must know how cruel life can be.’ The minister spoke through clenched teeth.
The journalist brushed aside her guilty conscience and asked him to continue.
‘I loathed the man, but he loved me, and he gave me whatever I asked for except a social life. I asked for water, he gave me wine. I asked for love, he gave me lusty charades. I asked for a father and he gave me an insane monster.‘
Parosh,’ he eyed the writer and asked, ‘I am sure that you are a great father to your child. At least, she knows who her mother is. I do not even know who my mother was, whether she lived or died. They say she jumped into the sea after leaving me at his doorstep.’ His eyes were getting dewy, ’I hated him for what he did for I did not understand why he did what he did.’
He stopped near Iyer and recalled, ‘Then one day, I asked him about my mother. He called my mother a whore, a word so doomed, no son could stand to hear that about his mother. Do you know how I responded?’ He looked around expecting someone to make a wild guess, but everyone was blankly listening to him. He smiled wickedly and revealed, ‘I poisoned him and the whore he was with that night.’ He burst out into laughter that was straight from the gates of hell. Thunderous monsters joined him from outside.
The shocking revelation and the laughter made everyone in the hall tremble with fear.
‘Yo…You k…k…killed Mri…Mrityunjaya Thampuran?’ Iyer asked stammering through the words.
The old man suddenly seemed to have gained ounces of extra energy. He was not human anymore; he seemed like Satan. The old woman folded her hands and channelled her fury to a prayer to the Lord.
‘The next morning a man came to my rescue, my stepbrother. Older to me by over twenty years, he vowed to raise me up with his own son, as his son. Chandrasena Varma had drilled a hole in his own ship by inviting me to live with him. He was a nice man all right, but his son and wife treated me worse than my own father did. The young Jagannatha Varma, or Jagan, hated the fact that he had to share his space, royalty and face with a bastard son of a prostitute. I was his step-uncle but we looked like twin brothers, Jagan and me, except that he was glamorous and sociable, and had one brown mark on the side of his forehead. In addition, yes, of course, he was a limping bastard; he had broken his knee when he was seven.
‘We were sent to a boarding school two years later, I dreamt of starting my life afresh. However, that rascal robbed me of my dignity before it could even hatch itself. He made my life a living hell. At school he revealed my background and nobody wanted to come near me. Jagan crushed my hopes of starting a new life. One day, I gave him the same poison, which I had used on my father, chased him to the lake with a butcher’s knife, and pushed him into the water after tying his leg to a boulder. He never came up and I peeled off a piece of my forehead and underlying muscles, the same area where Jagan had the birthmark. I became Jagannatha Varma, and for the world the little bastard called Suryasena Varma had drowned and died.’ He said standing near one of the lanterns that lit the room. The etched skin on the side of forehead seemed to glow under the yellow light of the lantern.
He walked over to the glamorous reporter and pinched her lips between his thumb and the index finger, ‘And then I started getting urges I could not explain. Chandrasena Varma took me to that psychiatrist and the middle-aged birdie told me that I had hit puberty and witnessing the death of Suryasena played a negative state of mind during this period. The highly qualified bitch did not even suspect that I was the real Suryasena and all I wanted was flesh. The first time I held my genital in my hand, I realized why my father was addicted to what he did…’
Pakhi pressed her palms harder over Shiuli’s ears so that none of the obscenity went into the mind of that young girl.
The antagonist continued, ‘…The moment I realized that, no matter what, I had the same bloody red blood of the pervert running through my veins. My father never came back from the dead, it was I who came back to the mansion on nights I felt the urge. I realized that I was bestowed with great physical power and used it against weaker women. Initially, I lured them to the mansion by acting as a lost child who was scared to go home alone up the cliff.’
Pakhi slithered in pain but he only tightened his grip and continued speaking, ‘Women, I realized with time, were emotional fools. They believed the crocodile tears of the devil. Yes, I molested them till they died or killed themselves because in every woman I was seeing my conquest as well as my mother. I hated my mother for she had left me at the doorstep of a mad man, and ended her life like a coward.’ He let go off Pakhi’s lips.
‘None of the women I lured defended themselves. They just surrendered, and I never saw revolt in their eyes. They were tamed and beaten already, and I only relieved them of their miserable lives. I bought such women for lump sums of gold as their husbands and children happily let go off them. What good is a mother if her own daughter sells her off for a few shining coins of gold. Yes, dears, those women were already dead emotionally when they were brought here. I just let them die with pleasure. I even did that psychiatrist of mine, purely out of fantasy. A disgusting woman she had been, cheating on her husband with a fellow psychiatrist. I always waited for the full moon, so that people would believe it was a supernatural occurring following the pattern started by my deceased father.’
It took the derailed old man three seconds to dodge sideward and step in front of the old woman who held on to the power vested in her prayers. Varma raised his eyebrow and nodded his head, then he stated in a grand tone,
‘This went on until that night in December 1948. I had learnt that the mansion found new tenants in an over-boasting Englishman and a beautiful Indian wife. I skipped my university in Madras and steamed all the way to the mansion to feast on the prey that had itself approached the wolf’s lair.
‘I waited for the full moon, just to keep the tradition alive, and on the evening of Pournami I went in stealthily through the back door and hid in the cellar. I was surprised to see the cellar full of live fireflies stored in glass jars, I picked one jar and unscrewed its lid, releasing hundreds of tiny fireflies out of the jar and one of them accidentally flew into my eye and I dropped the jar involuntarily on the ground. The sound of the shattering jar caught the attention of the Englishman. He followed the sound and came down. I hid myself in the darker side of the cellar holding my breath so that the Englishman would not see me. The presence of the fireflies also overtly fascinated the Englishman and I took my chance, carefully slid along the darker side, got out of the cellar, shutting the only entrance with the solid brass bolt, and went in search of the woman.
‘The noise from the attic had already alerted the young wife of the Englishman. She was coming down the stairs in a pure white saree when my eyes first fell on her. I envied the Englishman, for he had the most beautiful creation of God reserved for him.’
He scared the old woman with his wicked breath, ‘Don’t you remember how you screamed when you saw me. The desperate Englishman kept knocking for all it was worth while I chased this woman who never gave in. When I finally caught hold of her, she was cursing me. She was not like the other women I had brought here. This one was a rebel. For the first time a woman did not surrender to me and instead rebelled against me. She did not give in; instead, she gave me a blow on the face and a kick to my groin. The next thing I knew was she picking up a bronze vase and hitting me hard on the head. I angrily chased her out of
the mansion before I fell down, letting her go. She was beautiful, desirable as well as valorous.’
Pakhi swallowed her own saliva and looked at her Shiuli’s great grandmother helplessly. She was scared to death for she had a very bad feeling that this plan was going the wrong way.
Shiuli saw everything around, but did not hear anything as her ears were shut by her aunts freezing hands. There were fear in the eyes of all those who accompanied her. She was not scared, deep inside a voice kept saying to her:
Mr. Clifford will take care of you, my angel. He will never let you cry.
The insane minister noted the young girl.
‘When I see you, I am reminded of the woman who used to be like this. You have her eyes. The woman’s valor extinguished my lust temporarily but it only added fuel to the fire of my jealousy. How can God be so unjust? He gives pain, suffering, and a coward bitch to one man, and wealth and the most precious woman to another?’ He said as he moved towards Shiuli,
‘I went back inside, I smelled something burning from the cellar and upon opening the trapdoor, I found the burnt remains of the Englishman. He was way past dead. He smelled of barbeque and I lustily feasted on his roasted flesh.’ He chuckled aloud leaving everyone terrorized.
‘Yes, I remember very well, you faithless monster. I came back for my husband after sometime. I followed the noise and the smell from the cellar, and saw you feasting on my burnt husband’s flesh like a scavenger plucking the flesh out of its lifeless prey.’ The old woman disclosed in tears. ‘I saw you pop out my husband’s heart from his body and squeeze the blood out of it. No man can be capable of committing such heinous acts, only the devil can.’
‘And you chose to attack the devil again. Too much courage is just another form of foolhardiness.’ The minister addressed the old woman directly for the first time. ‘I pounced at you, tore off your blouse, but you slipped away from my bloody fingers and ran.’
‘I chose to end my life rather than surrender to a beast. Moreover, I had nobody else to live for; you had already killed my husband, the love of my life.’ The woman said proudly.
‘I chased you and on your way you hit me with that coin,’ he said pointing his finger to the coin that still lay on the floor. ‘Do you know where the coin hit me?’
Once again, silence with some rising disgust.
‘The coin hit my conscience. Your courage and self-esteem moved my ego and prejudices to such extent that for the first time in my doomed life I found respect for a woman. I keep this coin…’ he said picking up the coin, ‘…in your memory. I saw you jump off that cliff in an effort to be spared the insult of being touched by another man. I fell in love with you and I vowed to reform myself in order to lead a meaningful life with a purpose.’
‘It does not matter what you became later, because what you had already done will haunt you forever.’ The woman pronounced, ‘One cannot stay away from his inner demons for long.’
‘I went back to the university, joined the communist party, and started living for the welfare of the people.’ There was a sudden dip in the insanity in his voice. The minister now back to his sane self and spoke like a self-realized soul,
‘I started rising as a prominent political figure, but every time I came up, somebody would pull me down from the back. It is either a politically motivated terror attack or a spectral fraud involving my office. The dynasty never let me come up, and even now, the widow is conspiring something with her mute footmen as we speak. You are well aware of the political conspiracies against me, are you not, Pakhi Dutta?’
‘That was a great confession.’ Pakhi let out a long sigh.
‘Oh no dear, not at all. I am not finished yet.’ The minister said sadistically as he stepped behind Shiuli. He drew something from his kurta’s pocket and placed it right on the girl’s back. The crafty minister dug the tip of the pistol into the girl’s backbone. Nissar took out his handgun and stunned everyone by pointing it at the old woman. Once again, the minister smiled wickedly and said, ‘What you heard was the story of the visitor. What you are going to hear now is the confession.’ He smiled between sentences, ‘Be warned, nobody acts smart, nobody moves. I will pull the trigger and one by one all of you die, starting with this useless girl.’
‘Ayyo! Sir please do not kill me, these people blackmailed me to join them.’ Iyer pleaded, he jumped and landed at his employer’s feet.
‘Get away, you stupid moron or I will shoot you right away.’ He said and kicked Iyer on his face. The poor caretaker fell on his back and quietly sulked.
‘Now, where was I?’ Varma acted as if he was trying to recollect, ‘Oh! the confession part. You know, the problem with you youngsters these days is that you simply reach the conclusion as you believe you are all too smart.You make your plans and believe everything will follow according to them. However, you do not realize a possibility that you could actually be part of someone else’s master plan.’
Pakhi and Parosh looked at each other, and realized the meaning of the chilling remark that the minister had just made.
‘While you gallop thinking that you are the knight and queen, the unrealized fact is that that you are mere pawns.’ Varma added powerfully, ‘and pawns are meant to be played with baby steps.’
‘Mr. Varma, could you please let my daughter go, you can have me as your hostage.’ Parosh requested with his hands held up.
‘What is this? Some kind of a bank robbery or plane hijacking? No dear, this is an execution, and I am just throwing the ever-benevolent light of knowledge onto your pitiable little brains before I kill you one by one.’ He chuckled again to the tune of the raindrops pouring on the roof of the mansion.
‘You cannot kill us, this is being recorded.’ Pakhi threatened trembling.
‘You are not airing anything because I will shoot you in fifteen minutes. This thing never gets out of here. Now, stop wasting my time. Let me finish.’ The minister gestured his PA to cover him. Satisfied with Nissar’s position, he confessed,
‘I am an old man and this could be my last chance to attain the pinnacle of power, the prized post of the country’s Prime Minister. Hell, I should have earned it twenty-two years ago had it not been for the self-triggered assassination of the Congressman. Five years later, a bomb blast shakes my base. They pin my nationalist stance as communally divisive and I lose my support to a communal riot. However, not this time, I have worked hard to come up. I have sacrificed a lot and it is my right to claim the position that I deserve. I tried it the right way but never got it, so I decided to do it the crooked way.
‘It was you,’ he shifted his look towards Pakhi, ‘you gave me that perfect idea. You came to me and told me that your brother wanted to write my biography. What did you think? I’d just let an idiot like your brother write about me?’
He turned to Parosh and smirked, ‘You Parosh Dutta, what are you? You are an ill-talented writer who weaves barren porn after porn. You are nothing if you take away that dimple and business-minded head of yours. But you have a great fan following, though I do not understand how youngsters are enthralled and moved by your soft-porn chick lit. And fifty years in politics only taught me to be wise, to choose what suits one’s purpose. My purpose was to win the hearts of the youth of this country and how? By letting their favorite writer compile an all-praising biography.
‘Now, I needed you to write exactly what I wanted you to. I could not let you write just the good things. I wanted you to write some shocking revelations about my past. You thought all those medical reports were just lying there in the library waiting for you to discover them?’
Sir, you can use the library whenever you want. Suresh Gopi had said to Parosh the day he arrived at Varma’s palace.
‘It was all carefully planned. You were given hints constantly,’ Varma confessed looking at Pakhi, ‘I wonder what took you so long to suspect Nissar of being the informer. Of course, it had been him all this while.’
‘Even the assassination was a part of your plan?’
The appalled journalist queried.
‘Now, you are getting there quickly. You see, I had to feign an act of chivalry to bring the focus on all the conspiracies and somehow link it with a binding factor. A factor so shocking that it would rub off all my sins in the eyes of the voters and immunize me with sympathy.’
‘You confused us with the existence of a psychotic twin uncle who had been after your life ever since you were brought to live with him, when in fact it was actually you. You played that card so that in my book, I would reveal this and the world would believe that you were never responsible for all that you were accused of, and they’d believe it was a psycho relative who actually never existed. You would be portrayed as the victim who suffered at the hands of this virtual psycho silently so that he could work towards the welfare of his country. An automatic promotion to an overnight national hero.’ Parosh deduced.
‘You’re a smart one.’
‘Plus… plus, you have the convenient service of the ace journalist on your side to publicize your sorry state simultaneously creating waves across the news channels. Wow!’
‘And now it’s all over. I cannot trust you with this secret, so I am forced to kill you all. Hand me the tape or memory card holding the recorded content.’
Pakhi unstrapped a wire and pulled out a memory card from her mobile device.
The minister yelled, ‘Nissar.’ He gestured to his PA to collect the card.
Nissar took the card and the A/V recording unit from the journalist and pushed her against the wall.
‘Good, now all of you, get down on your knees. The girl stays up with me,’ Varma said as he pointed the pistol to the right side of Shiuli’s head.
‘Please, let her go. I promise you…’ Parosh begged.