The Village and Eight Lives of Badalpur : Episode 4

The Night of the Incident – Part 2

Find Episode 3 here : Episode 3

The night Giridhar was murdered, Champa’s house was not the only house awake. Loud noises came from Prajwal’s hut. Two prominent male voices rose over the slight snoring of a fifteen year old girl.

Sukhinder and Prajwal were seated on a khatiya spread outnlavishly on the road outside the hut. Devika was asleep inside. Prajwal had threatened to leave her out in the forest if she did not sleep and that had yielded immediate results. The 15 year old had run into the hut. She was growing up and ghosts were no longer a threat to her. Sukhinder was and she complied without resistance. The dhibri flickered in the winds casting flickering shadows on the road outside. Two shadows on the road chatting the day happily. She threw one final glance to her father in dismayed pleading to carry the dhibri inside. She wasn’t scared of ghosts but she could not stand the dark in the hut. There had been scary events going on in the village for the past few days which a fifteen year old could not explain or comprehend. Her father disapproved and nothing would convince him otherwise.

It was Sukhinder’s last night in the village before he left for the city the following day. His best friend Prajwal had agreed to help him pack the tiny tin case with the four shirts and lungis before daybreak. The night would be spent in recounting old memories and endless rounds of chilam. The third chilam was lit when Giridhar left Champa’s house hurriedly.

Sukhinder was an ugly man. He was muscularly built except for the limp left leg he carried with him everywhere he went. The leg impeded his speed but the heavy torso gave him the intensity of a bull. The sun had dampened his color which some believed was very fair when he was born. His parents left for the city when he was twenty. That was close to a decade ago. He hadn’t seen them since. He spent most of his time with Prajwal and Devika. The rest of the village thought of Prajwal and Sukhinder as best friends. Prajwal hated him deep down. He hated his limp leg which was a sign of weakness he inherited from his father. He hated his dark brown eyes. How come someone with such imperfections be blessed with eyes so intense. They did not fit. God had been surprisingly generous upon him with those eyes… and the muscular torso. The limp spoils everything. The rest is all good. He thought sometimes before he shrugged the thoughts and replaced them with clandestine hatred for the dark brown eyes.

Prajwal was a weak human being. The two arms hung loosely from sagging shoulders which themselves were part of a body in its decline. The unending routine of sitting on his khatiya had made his legs weak and the stomach was bulging like it does for malnourished children. Since childhood, he was stigmatized with a stammer of a devious nature. He struggled to speak clearly in the night. His words failed him in the starry nights and he usually remained quiet after sundown. Unless Sukhinder came around. Sometimes this scared Devika. But she knew her father loved her. Just like he loved everyone in the village. The stammer was just God’s way to ensure he does not waste words. She thought. She had the brain of a five year old but the body of a twenty five year old woman. Sukhinder noticed it all. And she saw him. Just like she had seen Giridhar groping her mom when she was four. She never understood it then but was aware of the perils of the human mind now. She put these thoughts to rest as she started snoring lightly inside the hut.

“To.. k-k-kal sab kh-khatam….? Kya?” (So all over tomorrow?) stammered Prajwal through the statement as he passed the joint to Sukhinder who took it eagerly and started puffing hard. He ended with a loud cough.

“Haan.. ab bas babuji ko dhoondhna hai… gaon ke chutiyaapa ab khatam”. (Yes. Now all I need to do is to find Dad. Enough with all this shit in this village)

“Itna jaldi ka ka j-ja-jarurat tha? R-ruk ke jaate?” (What’s the hurry but?)

“Arre ei gaon ka kissa khatam Prajwal… Ek ek kar ke sab nikal gaye na… Devesh bhi nikal jayega.. wo to amma ke bharose ruka hai.. Budhiya ka ji to mare khasam mein phansa hai abhi tak.. uske praan nikle aur launda nikal jayega shahar.. bata dete hain.. tum bhi chal lo bhaiyaa… ei gaaon mein to jaan hi rahe ho kya kya ho raha hai??” (This village is over Prajwal. Did not everyone leave one after the other? Devesh will also leave one day.. His mother repents over the lost husband. Once she dies, watch how Devesh takes his stuff and bids goodbye.. I tell you.. You come along too bhaiya  You are well aware al that goes on here) He was referring to Giridhar towards the close of the statement. He scratched his head and put down the joint on the floor and stubbed it with his legs with a unstopping stamp of the right foot. He saw Prajwal staring at the limp leg and retorted in defiant frustration. “Bhosadike nahi chalta hai baayan… bachpan se… ab kya jaan bharoge aankh se??” (What’s with the stare asshole?? You know this leg limps since childhood... Will you now bring it to life with your eyes?)Both of them started laughing.

“Baat to th-theek hai.. p-par gaon se rishta juda hai Sukhi.. ab to marenge tab hi chhootega.. Aur Girdhar bhaiya bhi yahin to hai..” (You might be right but there is an emotional attachment with this village.. It will probably end with my last breath… And Giridhar bhaiya is also here .. no??)

“Wo saala bhosadika ganjedi kisi ka saga nahi hai Prajwal… tu chutiya hai…” (That rag runt of an addict is no man’s kin Prajwal.. you are too naïve.. )

“Bh-aiyaa bh-abhi ke jaane se gaanje mein lag gaye Sukhi.. Dil se to N-n-nek hi hai… Devika se bhi bahut dil la-la-lag-agaate hain.. aur Titu to jaan hai re..” (That addiction is due to his wife’s death.. he loves Devika and Titu is pretty much his life)

“Tu andha hai harrami.. chal Devika ko le ke sheher humre saath… Woh to us din tune rok liya warna bazaar mein kaat dete tumhre bhaiyaa ko… hasiya to utha hi liya tha” (You are blind Prajwal.. come with Devika to the city.. You shouldn’t have held me that evening.. I would have quartered your brother that day.. I had the handsickle right next to me..)

A momentary silence consumed the khatiya as both Prajwal and Sukhinder took a moment to contemplate the events of that evening. An insurmountable pain agonized Prajwal as he recalled the tension- physical and emotional that evening near Lakhan’s shop; the undisputed address of all things, good, bad and evil… With a nervous shake of the head, Prajwal got up to go check Devika inside while Sukhinder stayed there out in the open. Some minutes later he could hear loud noises of music and laughter approaching in his direction. Accompanied by a kid’s failed attempt at reciting ‘Ek tamatar laal laal’ the male voice was indiscernibly that of Devesh. The only male child in the village was Titu and Sukhi hated both the child and his father. There was history of improbably animosity between the two since the events of 10 January 1988. Four years hence, Giridhar – disliked by most and demeaned by a few had found but one man with hatred amounting to physical harm. Unlike others though that man had a limp leg making escape post murder slightly messy. But not tonight for he left in two days.

Sukhinder got up with a purpose tonight. Prajwal came out of the hut without the dhibri with a datoon in his mouth. “Kahaa-an chale ?” (Where to?)he spoke as the limp walked zig-zag connecting dots on the road.

“Kuch baaki reh gaya hai” (Some unfinished business) Waved Sukhinder by the back of his hand and continued limping towards Giridhar’s hut. What Prajwal did not see was the look of disgust and self loathe that almost made Sukhi sprint.

“Bahut jaldi mein hai saala… bhosadika chutiya hi rahega.. “ (In quite a hurry.. the moron..!!) smirked Prajwal as he lay on the khatiya, completing his statement with no halts and exhaled with a deep sense of satisfaction over his plan.

The Village and Eight Lives of Badalpur : Episode 3

The Night of the Incident – Part 1

Find Episode 2 here : Episode 2 

The dead human body does not start disintegrating quickly. It did not at least in the case of Giridhar. It was a rotten mess. Much like his life. After life had start similarities. The following day was a plethora of emotions for the village. The killer was out alive. Fear was natural. What was also natural was the chaos that would ensue when Prajwal would find the body next to Titu.

**

The previous night after Giridhar had dropped Titu on the floor and hurried out the front door, Champa had done two things. She had finished eating the four chapatis from the plate while Titu lay on the floor crying for attention. She had then got up, picked the green shiny kurta and placed it right in the back of the alaa, where from it was invisible to a passing eye. Then she had smiled and caressed Titu. “Kahaan janam liya re tu…kapoot ke ghar kahaan phool khilta hai.. sab maaya hai..” (How come you ended in that family? Flowers don’t bloom in a thorny estate… It is all God’s will though). The poor child kept his cries at an incessant high, and continued sobbing for some time while Champa made milk for him in the kitchen.

Devesh walked in later with fresh meat from the day’s hunt. He looked frenzied and confused unlike other days. He had run into Giridhar on his way into the hut and had stopped for a momentary chit chat which was rudely denied. He was the last person to see Giridhar alive. Or so the villagers were supposed to think the following day.

“Ka hua.. Ei Giridharwa bada jaldi mein laga aaj saala…”(What happened? Giridhar seemed in quite a hurry) were his first words when he was inside the kitchen. The fumes from the freshly baked chapatis had filled the entire hut but the aroma was intense. Champa ignored the question and continue teaching Titu the nursery rhymes that every one learnt in the village when they were kids..

“Ek tamatar laal laal… uske andar laal laal..

hum bhi khayen… tum bhi khao.. sab ho jaayen laal laal”

(One red tomato… all red inside…

Let us share and consume… and be all red likewise ) 

She finished the rhyme with an evil grin on her face as she looked at Titu… “Ei.. tera baap kaisan tamaatar jaisa laal ho gaya.. dekha..”(Did you see your father walk away all red??) Titu never understood the metaphor. Or the evil grin. Devesh stood unmoved. The confusion on the face was now replaced with disgust.

“Kitni baar kahe hain amma.. bacha ke saamne itna mat bola karo.. Umar hone lagi hai sasure ki.. samajhta hai.. baap ko bak dega kisi din” (How many times have I told you mother? Not to speak such foul in front of the kid.. he is getting older..this asshole..  Will go complain someday)

“Arre abhi to bacha hai.. Deva.. par humne dekha hai shaitaan kutte ki aankh mein.. “ (He is only a child Deva.. But I have seen Devil in his father’s eyes)

“Amma.. kabhi kabhi to darte hain hum tohre se.. Us din to tum bhi wahin thi na.. Babuji ka haija to uparwaale ka diya hai.. kahe bakwaas karti ho..” (Mother, you scare me sometimes.. You were there in person that night.. Father’s illness was god’s doing… Why do you speak this rubbish?)

“Chhod pagla.. tu nahi samjhega.. Girdhar par shaitan ka haath hai…” (Let it go.. you won’t get it. The devil reigns over Giridhar)

Titu stopped lapping the milk from the flat bowl and looked up in dismayed affection.. “Humra baap shaitaan hai…” (My father is a demon..)with the smile of a six year old.. unaware of what he had just said. Both wondered if it was a question… perhaps.

“Hutt pagle.. Doodh pi.. chal chhode aata hun tere babu ke paas khaana khaaye ke… Amma tum bhi na..“ (Get lost.. and drink your milk.. I will go drop you at your father’s once I finish eating.. Mother.. you are a pain..) murmured Devesh in a fumbled voice and sat down next to Titu. Champa had poured the sabji and chapatis on a steel plate and Devesh started eating hungrily. What had happened in the morning today in the adjoining forest was equally horrifying. But mentioning it to Champa would mean more explaining and he was utterly tired since the events in the forest. He finished eating quickly and got up to wash his hands in the backyard. There was no light in Giridhar’s hut in the distance but he could faintly smell the weed. “Bastard has no vigour to work for the child but smokes weed like a chimney” he thought as he came into the hut.

Champa was still adjusting the shiny green kurta. “Babuji ka kurta kahe nahi jalne di us din tum.. ab isko kya saath le ke hi jaogi?”  (Why did you not let Father’s kurta exhume that day? Will you now die with it?) His frustration was valid. He lit the incense sticks and repeated the hanuman chalisa (a prayer to Lord Hanuman) in his customary speed as Titu started to snore lightly on the floor.

Devesh woke the kid up to drop him at his father’s place when Champa held his hand. “Let him sleep here tonight.. I don’t feel very good about the night sky.. there is no light in his hut and it would be filled with the smoke of weed.” The resistance was impregnated with purpose tonight. Like never before.

He pushed her back and woke him however. Titu was stammering in his sleep and his teeth made a weird clattering noise like kids’ do when they are bordering on sleep and wakefulness. He woke up with a start like a bad dream had come to an inconclusive halt. The dream would come back he feared.

**

As the moon started to cross in the second quarter of the night, Devesh and Titu walked humming tunes. Devesh hummed a tune he had heard recently at Lakhan’s shop on his radio on Vividh Bharti. Titu sang the recently learnt rhyme in broken verse “Ek tha tamaatar laal laal.. uska andar bhi laal laal… hum sab khaayen laal laal.. woh ho jaaye laal..” (There was a tomoto.. all red.. we ate it all.. and the tomato was all red…)Devesh did not care to correct the mistakes but lit a beedi on the way. He finished the song with a long burp and followed it with a ‘Hari om’.. It was a weird custom but everyone did it in the village. It was a noisy gratitude for a fulfilling meal to the Gods above… But tonight the Gods slept up above in their humble abode while demons walked on the streets of Badalpur.

“Chacha.. tani ta.. ruk jao.. mutna hai..” (Uncle wait a minute.. I have to take a leak) Titu complained holding his groin in one hand and tugging Devesh’s hand in the other. The undiluted presure on Devesh’s little finger hinted at the intensity of the impending interval and he stubbed his bidi under his Lakhani chappals.

While Titu relieved himself by the tree, Devesh jumped and picked him up and put him on the empty side of the road. “Pissing at the bottom of a tree in the night invites demons Titu.. you want them to come take you away?” he scolded the little kid. Titu just winked at him. Devesh could swear he saw a scorn on his face for a split second.

In the next few minutes Devesh and Titu reached Giridhar’s hut. There was a strong smell of weed. It seemed Giridhar was smoking two days worth of ganja. He left Titu at the door and walked away.

“Chal jaa.. apna babu ke paas.. aur so jaana chup chaap.. koi awaaj nahi.. babu soya hoga.. jagana mat” (Now go to your father.. And sleep quietly.. don’t wake him up and no noise..)He left with half a warning and half a suggestion.

Titu tried to push the door open but it was locked. Devesh had reached the end of the front yard and calling out for assistance seemed irrelevant. He went around and climbed into the window and quietly settled into the open floor in the hut. The room still smelled of the ganja.

From the corner of the dark room, Titu could see the burning end of a chilam. The scorn had returned on his face.

The Village and Eight Lives of Badalpur : Episode 2

The Murder

Find Episode 1 here : Episode 1

When Giridhar came home last night, he did not lock the door behind him. It was hot and humid and he needed something to quickly overcome reality. It was a daily affair. Dinner at Lakhan’s shop followed by the daily dosage of ganja in his chilam. He quickly lit it and opened the window looking into the backyard. The moon shone brightly and you could see the heath in the distance. A vast stretch of emptiness matched only by the emptiness of Champa’s heart; he thought. A bulky man in his mid fifties, Giridhar preferred the cool breeze directly on his skin, made moist by the humid night. The lungi had been overworn and adorned his waist snugly. The bright blue chequered fabric had lost its color mingling bleakly with the color of the faded walls inside the so-called ‘haveli’. It wasn’t one though; as it lacked the grace of the kings and the simplicity of the peasants. It was a mess. A cross hybrid between an unfinished hut and aspirational bungalow. There never was enough money to build houses in the village.

Titu was nowhere to be seen. Must be in Champa’s garden picking up ‘raatrani’ in the night. Raatrani was characteristic to the village – a flower which grew only in the night in this belt but the blossomed buds imparted a thick essence of sweet candor to the village. When dark descended, the sweet aroma rose unchained across the other houses in the village from Champas’ garden. It was the only place with a garden toiled hard in the day by Champa. He thought of her bending down to clear up the excess grass and chuckled a little. The ganja was starting to infuse with the blood.

He walked out quietly in the open; one hand on his lungi and the other holding the chilam. The tobacco burnt slowly and made light cracking sounds. “Eh! Even the ganja has gotten wet bahi***od”, he spat and coughed loudly.

A body moved in the distance to the other side of the wall and he thought he saw shiny green kurta fly across the distance. “Kaun hai re.. bho**dika”(Who’s there asshole?) he shouted at the top of his voice – half in fear and the other half in a tone of self assurance that all was fine. It wasn’t.

 “Ka hua Girdhar chacha?”(What happened Giridhari Uncle?) Barked Lakhan from the other side of the wall. “Kuch nahi.. laga konho hai… chilamiya aaj gadar hai saali!!”(Nothing.. I thought I saw someone.. The weed is pretty strong tonight) Giridhar shouted back.

“So jao chacha.. ihaan kauno aata hai raat ko”(Sleep uncle.. who comes here in the night?) Lakhan subsided the persistent fear and went back to swatting flies from his hairy tummy. Soon Lakhan’s snores started beating a rhythmic tone. The unquiet alibi of a village murder. Only if they had memory… or could testify.

Meanwhile, back in his hut Giridhar had finished the chilam and thrown it in the stash of other usable items he kept in the ‘alaa’ (square hole in the wall, primarily used as an inexpensive storage place). The moon had climbed up higher in the night sky announcing the arrival of the second quarter of the night into the eight lives of Badalpur. Only seven would witness the third. His son was nowhere to be seen. He walked in fast paces to Champa’s garden where upon noticing the familiar quiet, made way into the hut. Titu sat on the floor scraping some dried leaves off the bowl asking for more. Champa sat next to him with a hand fan to disturb the file of mosquitoes settling on Titu’s forearm every three minutes.

“Titu.. let us go home” Giridhar smacked without much introduction and dragged him against his will out the hut. He cried in protest but to no avail. Champa cast a loathsome glance on the semi naked torso but could not ignore the lustful stare her glance was matched by. She hated Girdhar’s guts, especially now that her husband was gone and her son spent most of the time constructing the small tree house for Titu.

“Kya budhiya… khaaye liya gobar? Hamre ghar chalegi to shahad pilaun?”(What’s up old woman? Did you eat your dog shit..?? Come to my place.. I will offer you honey) Giridhar broke into a deathly laughter and pulled Titu by his arm. While he was exiting the house his eyes caught something shiny in the ‘alaa’ and he froze for a moment. In the filtered light of the kerosene lamp he recognized it as the green kurta Champa’s husband wore the day he died.

In the moment of dismay and chill, he left hurriedly abusing something in his Pahari language. He dropped Titu to the floor and went back into the hut and locked the door - first time in decades. He washed his face with cold water and lit another chilam. He lay on the floor in complete darkness. The only light was from the burning embers of the chilam. His brain was exercising all possible emotions as a tear rolled down his left eye. He lifted his hand to wipe the unannounced tear when it hit something muscular in the background.

He felt a strong grasp twisting his arm and two other arms strangling his throat with effortless persistence. He struggled for four minutes before he breathed a silent exhale… life exit through the throat.. a painful mixture with the ganja.. The room was absolutely quiet and no one moved for the next few hours…

The assailant got up after some time and lit the unfinished ‘chilam’. A muffled cough echoed in the room for a while before the assailant sprinked the unlit ganja on his body, filled a glass of water and dropped the earthen pot on the floor… Lakhan’s loud snores never heard the muffled cry that was the last Giridhar breathed.. nor did his droopy eyes see the silhouette covered in shiny green exit the compound…

A cloud cover passed eerily over the moon as the third quarter of the night arrived into the village… Everyone was asleep except one.. for he lay dead on the floor..!!