Telugu, p.7
Telugu, page 7
It was a few nights to a full moon. The moon was rising over the sand dunes like a half-sliced blob of butter. Saleem was driving his vehicle with Shankar on his mind. The hot wind was blowing through the sand dunes and was buffeting the vehicle. The desert bandicoots were coming out of their holes and were running across the road.
Saleem’s thoughts were full of Shankar. He was imagining what his mental state would be at that moment. ‘Hope he has not died out of fear …’ he wondered. When he thought about Shankar’s condition, he felt sorry for him.
‘After she got married, Haseena had called many times. Only after I pestered her, she finally sent me a photo of the two of them. But the man in that photo does not resemble this fellow. She did not tell me even once when he ill-treated her so much. No matter how many times I wanted to go to India, I did not go out of fear for Abba. If only I had gone once in between, maybe she would have felt a little relieved and would have been alive,’ he thought.
Saleem’s right hand went up in anger. It came down with the same speed that it had gone towards the crushing button, but he did not feel like pressing the button. To feel even angrier and be motivated to do so, he filled his heart with hatred towards Shankar. No matter how much hatred he filled it with, a little pity hidden in some corner of his heart gnawed at him. Like the many people he’d helped cross the border, Shankar was making his heart feel agitated. He kept remembering only the difficulties Shankar had faced, and his problems were different from the ones he had heard before.
As he kept thinking, he began to feel philosophical. ‘Allah decides what each one should go through. What is really in our hands? It seems as if He had fated only that much life for Haseena. Whether it is Shankar or I, we are just tokens,’ he thought.
And so, the heaviness in his heart lightened. Now, he thought not once but ten times about whether to press the button or not. He did not feel the same anger he had initially, and slowly but surely, his heart was becoming dispassionate. By then, the vehicle had arrived in the security zone, and the checkpost was a quarter of a kilometre away. At each checkpost, the moment a vehicle arrived, the side poles swooped down across the road like the wings of a vulture.
At every place he stopped, Saleem was saying ‘Salaam alaikum’ as he showed the bataqa. Security personnel examining the vehicle, noting the number, and sending it forward.
As the vehicle was nearing the security guards, his heart began to beat rapidly. No matter how much he tried not, he felt uneasy.
‘He killed my sister – he should not live either,’ he thought. But immediately, unanswerable questions about whether his sister would come back to life if he killed Shankar assailed him.
The road was winding around high mounds and going through sand dunes. At a distance, a crowd was crouching past another mound, edging towards the hazy moonlight.
Looking pitifully at the crowd, he thought, ‘I wonder which mother’s guts will be burnt this night.’ Even as he thought so, a low shout rang out; it was a scream that a man made when he knew that death was inevitable. Whenever he heard such screams, Saleem’s guts would twist.
‘I should not kill him – it will serve him right to be handed over to security. He’ll be in jail for ten years, dying a daily death,’ he thought. With these thoughts, his heart was comforted little by little.
A sandstorm had begun somewhere, and it was rising up like a thin film of dust. Saleem changed gears and increased the speed of the vehicle and entered the closed circuit zone which stretched three kilometres that way into Muscat, three into Dubai. Armed commandos were patrolling the area, and high-power searchlights were rotating everywhere. Red lights shone brightly atop the tents of the soldiers. Gunshots could be heard.
There was a change in the environment as the border approached. The jeeps carrying soldiers were moving this way and that, moving about in a mad rush, like an anthill that had been disturbed. Saleem did not know what exactly had happened, but he knew something had. Once in a while, such a high alert was normal, but during such times they would not let a single vehicle go by without a thorough check.
Saleem slowed down the vehicle involuntarily. He recalled what Ramulu, a driver from Nizamabad, had told him two weeks ago. Ramulu had driven a water tanker to the construction site, and he was crossing the border, having hidden his son-in-law in the empty tanker. There had been a high alert as never before, and without paying attention to his telling them that there was nothing in the tanker, they poured petrol in and threw a lit matchstick after it.
‘I lit the fire in my daughter’s life, ra … I buried him with these very hands in the desert,’ Ramulu had said, crying. And it wasn’t just Ramulu – Saleem could remember many such heart-wrenching stories.
Shaking his head, he got down the vehicle. He switched on the torchlight on his mobile phone and cut off the wires that he needed to. With each wire that snapped, he felt as if threads that had tied his heart tightly were also being snapped. The indecision, anxiety and uncertainty that had lingered within him disappeared slowly.
Saleem lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and got into the vehicle again. Ten minutes later, the vehicle was at the border, and the soldiers came running to it like hunting dogs. They were going round the vehicle, checking his permit and papers. No matter how nonchalant he wanted to appear, Saleem was feeling some trepidation somewhere. It was obvious in the way he was breathing in and out. His heart was pounding.
‘Woh chakkar-machine ko on karo! Switch on the rotating machine…’ the commander ordered.
Pressing the button, Saleem said, ‘Woh kharab ho gaya, saab, mechanic ke paas jaa raha hoon. It’s not working, saab. I’m going to the mechanic…’
‘Andar kya hai? What’s inside?’ the commandar growled, pointing at the drum.
‘Kuch bhi nahi. There’s nothing inside. Some cement, concrete, the usual. The site nazdeek hai, is close by, you see,’ he said and named the construction company.
‘Chal! All right, get going,’ the commander said. The vehicle moved ahead swiftly. It did not stop anywhere for an hour. After crossing the sand hills of Al Jeen Ra, Saleem finally pulled the vehicle to a halt. It was past midnight, and in the distance, you could see a few neon lights. He climbed out of the driver’s seat and going behind the vehicle, forcefully turned the drum forward. Shankar fell out like a lizard that had lost its grip on the wall.
There was no movement from him.
Saleem got into the vehicle again and drove ahead a little distance before turning back to look at Shankar. In the hazy moonlight, Shankar was now running into the desert, unmindful of the brambles and thickets. Saleem took out his mobile phone and called him, but Shankar didn’t answer.
‘I know, ra, that you are not dead. Go, ra, go! Go live your life,’ Saleem screamed. He looked back at his phone and saw that there was a message from Fatima in his inbox. He didn’t know when she had sent it, but the message read, ‘Woh achchi kaam kya hai? That good deed … what’s it?’
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story is dedicated to Narayanaswamygaru who is waging a lone battle for the Gulf victims.
WATER AND FISH
* * *
Karuna
IT WAS GETTING to be evening. They were herding back the cattle and goats they had taken for grazing. The entire village was filled with the sounds made by goats, cattle and hens, and with the cries of infants. Being busy with work, only Comrades Bhagat and Rakesh of the dalam had come to the village after many days. Bhagat was an LGS commander, heading the local guerrilla squad. When the villagers found out that the two Annas had come, they tried to finish their work quickly and go to them. Some thought that they could finish their work later and surrounded Bhagat and Rakesh.
Men, women, children and old people, everyone gathered around Bhagat and were talking. As it was getting to be evening, many who had gone to do farm and coolie work were returning home, and when they saw the crowd, they joined them. Seeing the Annas, they stretched out their hands happily and said, ‘Lal salaam.’ As the villagers were meeting the dalam people after a long time, they enquired about the comrades they knew, naming each one. They began to discuss the news in the papers, on the radio and TV, and all their problems. Bhagat patiently answered all their questions. What more did Bhagat want than to meet the masses!
When Bhagat talked to people, he would forget himself and often let his guard down. He would forget to keep an eye on his surroundings, even though his fellow comrades had pointed it out to him on several occasions.
Rakesh, who was sitting leaning against the wall of a house and speaking to the people, suddenly stopped speaking, and perked up his ears. Immediately, he slung the rifle on to his shoulder, went to Bhagat who was a little away from him, and said, ‘Bhagat, I’ve been hearing the dogs bark for quite some time now.’
As they were the only ones entering the village that day, Rakesh and Bhagat were wearing civilian clothes because they could easily merge with the crowd.
One Akka said, ‘Let me go and find out.’ She went to check where the barks were coming from as if she was going there to urinate. She saw that the police had almost surrounded the village, but pretending not to notice them, she urinated, and returned.
By then, everyone including Bhagat and Rakesh had stopped talking and, awaiting Akka’s return, were surveying the area. The dogs were barking from around the village.
‘Anna, the police have surrounded the village. More are coming,’ Akka said hurriedly.
‘Where shall we put the rifles? There are police all around the village. It’s not dark yet. Can we keep firing and cross the police cordon?’
Even as Bhagat and Rakesh were discussing their plan, another Akka, listening to them, said, ‘Give me the rifles. I’ll keep them in my house and lock them up,’ she said. Without waiting for Bhagat, or Rakesh’s reply, she took the rifles inside her house, locked them up took a potful of water and went out.
‘Anna, don’t worry! We’ll take care of the rest,’ said the people of the village.
An old woman took Rakesh to her house, and Lakshmibai took Bhagat to her house. The rest of the villagers too returned to their homes.
Once Bhagat reached Lakshmibai’s house, she asked him to sit down. Then she brought a plate of rice and placed it in front of him. Lakshmibai’s husband had not returned from the fields yet.
It was not even half an hour since Bhagat had eaten. He had eaten even as he was talking to people. He did not understand why Lakshmibai had served him again.
Before he could react, Lakshmibai said, ‘Pretend you are mixing the rice and eating.’ She placed curry vessels in front of him, sat down and served him curry.
Bhagat did as Akka instructed. He was wondering how the police had found out that they were here in the village.
‘Anna, you behave normally,’ said Lakshmibai.
Apart from the group that had surrounded the area, a fresh batch of policemen walked into the village.
‘Search all houses. Not a single person should escape,’ said the sub-inspector.
The posse replied ‘Yes, sir’ in one voice. They split up and started searching every house. The sub-inspector and two constables stood in the centre of the village. For a while, the sub-inspector paced about the area while his personnel did their job.
Wondering why he should also search with his men, he ordered an old woman who was standing in front of her house, ‘Hey, old woman, bring a cot here.’
‘Are you deaf? Sir is asking you something,’ said one of the policemen when the woman did not move after the order.
One of the policemen brought the cot in front of the old woman’s house and put it down. Keeping the pistol on the cot, the sub-inspector sat down and placed his palm on the pistol.
The old woman placed a pot of rice on her stove, and stoking the firewood, she blew on the stove as the smoke rose. The police, who had searched the next house, went into the old woman’s house. She did not move away from the stove.
‘Who’s lying down on the cot?’
‘My son, saar.’
‘Call him here.’
‘He’s had fever for the past three days, saar. He’s vomiting continuously,’ she said, taking off the sheet with which she had covered Rakesh.
Rakesh, in a weak voice, moaned, ‘Ooo …’
Listening to him moan, the policemen left saying, ‘Okay, okay, let him lie down.’
Even before Bhagat and Lakshmibai had discussed as to what to say when the police questioned them, the policemen arrived.
‘Find out who is in this house,’ one constable told another, as he stood outside Lakshmibai’s door.
‘Who is he?’ asked the policeman who came in and saw Bhagat and Lakshmibai.
Even as he was eating, Bhagat stood up.
‘Namaskaram, saar,’ said Lakshmibai raising both hands.
In the meanwhile, as the policeman inside was questioning without the constable’s permission, the constable standing outside screamed, ‘Bring him outside!’
‘What’s your name, ra?’ the constable asked Bhagat when he came out.
‘Ramlu Nayak, saar.’
‘What’s your family name, ra?’ said the constable as if it was his birthright to address poor people rudely.
‘Ramavat, saar.’
‘Abbo! What, ra? You’re so neat. A pen in your pocket and an ironed shirt,’ the constable said, looking intently at Bhagat.
Realizing that he had not folded his hands, Bhagat folded them.
Not getting a response from Bhagat, the constable asked, ‘What have you studied, ra?’
‘I haven’t studied, saar.’
‘Then why do you have a pen, ra?’ he asked, pulling the pen from Bhagat’s pocket.
‘Because it looks good, saar.’
Lakshmibai brought a chair and said, ‘Please sit down, saar.’
Sitting royally with one leg over the other on the chair, taking a piece of paper from his pocket, and writing ‘Ramlu Nayak’, the constable said, ‘Read this out, ra.’
Looking at the piece of paper, Bhagat said very innocently, ‘I can’t, saar.’
Putting the pen in his pocket, the constable asked, pointing at Lakshmibai, ‘What is that one to you?’
‘My husband, saar,’ she replied before Bhagat could say anything.
‘Why are you replying when I’m asking him?’ he said, and asked Bhagat again, looking directly into his eyes, ‘What is that one to you?’
‘My wife, saar.’
‘Is that so – your wife? She seems older than you,’ he said. Looking only at Lakshmibai, he told the policeman, ‘Go and tell saar,’ and sent him to the sub-inspector. Then realizing he was all by himself, he felt scared. ‘Ammo, one can’t trust these sons of a …’ Thinking so he went to pee, kept the 303 half-cocked, came back holding the pistol.
As he sat down, he asked, ‘Where are you really from, ra?’
The sub-inspector walked up, pulling up his trousers over the shirt that was riding up his belly, saying, ‘Why? Why did you call me?’
On seeing the boss, the constable stood up and said, ‘Saar, what he’s saying seems suspicious. They say they are husband and wife. When you look at them, she seems older than him.’
‘Aha! Take her to one side, take him to another and interrogate them.’ Saying this, the sub-inspector sat down crossing one leg over the other.
The constable took Bhagat to one side.
Lakshmibai was anxious, wondering what they would ask Anna and what responses he would give. Taking courage, thinking whatever had to happen would happen, she answered the sub-inspector’s questions about her hens and goats without showing much interest.
‘Which village is yours, ra?’ the constable who had taken Bhagat aside asked.
‘Remidicherla, saar,’ said Bhagat. He knew that many Sugalis (Lambadas) lived in that village. That was why he said that.
‘How long since you’ve been married, ra?’
‘Two years, saar.’
‘How many children, ra?’
‘Two, saar.’
‘You’ve had two in two years?’ Saying this, he sent Bhagat away, ‘Go now, ra.’ Standing right there, he waved to Lakshmibai and called out, ‘Hey you, come here.’
As Lakshmibai went towards the constable, she examined Bhagat’s face who was walking back.
‘Where’s your village?’
All the people in the village had, in fact, come from other provinces, settled down here and were cultivating forest land. It was obvious that they would want to know about every person’s native place.
‘Akkapalem, saar.’
‘Ah! Akka…palem.’ Then he asked, ‘How long since you got married?’
‘Six months, saar.’
‘How many children?’
‘I’ve no children, saar.’
‘What should I do with the money I would get on killing a Naxalite in an encounter? We’ve come such a long way, what if we can’t find a Naxalite! Shall we catch hold of someone, kill him in an encounter and call him a Naxalite?’ These were the sub-inspector’s thoughts when he recalled the words of his superintendent, ‘When we are ambushed, or when the action team shoots at us, we can kill anyone. If no encounter takes place for a while, then we can take someone and kill him. But for the time being, let us wait for a few days. Of late, there is too much hue and cry about the three we picked up from Bodipalemthanda and the three from Kothuru and killed in an encounter … there’s much noise about these being false encounter cases. We don’t pay much attention to such things, but a small gap is necessary. Now if we take someone and kill him, the S.P. will abuse us.’ As this thought crossed the sub-inspector’s mind …
Dragging Lakshmibai by her shoulder to the sub-inspector, the constable said, ‘Not one of her answers matches his, saar. It’s suspicious, saar.’
The sub-inspector, who was sitting, took out his pistol, stood up, and peering into Lakshmibai’s face, said, ‘Tell the truth, woman! Is he a Naxalite?’ He then ordered, ‘Tie his hands behind him.’ The policemen immediately twisted Bhagat’s arms and tied them behind him.
