SURRENDER AT SEIZURE

SURRENDER AT SEIZURE

Rajat wiped his sweating face and looked out of the window of his compartment of the Amritsar mail, waiting for its leaving time at New Delhi Station. His compartment stood in the extended part of that platform without the shade of corrugated tinned roof. His gaze strayed and settled on the dim outline of Moon that had procrastinated departure from the sky and stayed there with a symbolic coolness in its presence even in that burning sunlit morning; like an ice soaked strip of white cloth placed on the forehead of a fever-ridden man. The train would take him to Pathankot from where he would travel further into the rural Himanchal.

At Pathankot he boarded the mini meter-gage train, which, soon after leaving the last station of Punjab, entered the hilly Himalayan territory. The diesel engine of the train hauled energetically the toy like frame of the train through the hilly verdure and salubrious Himalayan air. Finally when the train pulled into the station of Dharampur, Rajat took his travel bag off the overhead luggage line and disembarked at the station.

Exiting the station, as Rajat walked on the narrow road leading to this sleepy, slumbering town of Himanchal, the circumstances under which he ran from Bombay kept occurring to him. He had to flee from Bombay as his and his friend Bhup Singh’s very first adventure had landed in a nonplussing and apocalyptic fiasco.

He and Bhup Singh were natural friends despite Rajat’s disapproval of his friend being enamored of criminal activities of smalltime gangs of Bombay’s underworld. Bhup Singh’s favorite topic would always be the crime, and he read and knew all local crime stories, which he would never miss to narrate to an unwilling Rajat. By 8 PM, Rajat would become sick of Bhup Singh, and of the milieu around him in the automobile repair garage where he worked ever since he landed in Bombay leaving his parents, relatives and his town behind at the age of 19, with his dreamy eyes to explore into the glittering world of Bombay, which ran like money based cascading swathes of concrete from shores to the distant suburban blocs of the city.

Thus as the evenings started to breathe with little repose at the easing of hurried yelling of vehicular horns, swelling occupancy of local trains trailing each other on overburdened rails, and mushrooming rush of small businesses, Rajat would invariably find himself stepping down from a slow local at Marine Drive Station. He would sit for hours at the parapets of Marine drive shore embankment. The giant waves with their momentous unruliness would wildly hit the stony barriers, and release their explosive energy only to subside likening to the mind of a monster with uninterrupted surges of anger peaking and calming down. Rajat would think that Bombay city lay stretched next to the shore like the splayed, immobile wings of a cursed and palsied monstrous behemoth. Had it not been so, how could the man living on it become such heartless? A man could slaughter another man for money only when he lived on a devilish mass of land.

He, even to this day, cursed his naivety when Bhup Singh roped him into his newest wishful thinking. They both had, after leaving the movie theatre and after drinks and a good dinner, taken the bus to the beach. Rajat had enjoyed the day, and on this day, the sea meant different to him. The enjoyment of some scenes of the film shot on beaches of Maldives, with sexy and beautiful heroine not in the least hesitating to show her more than the director of the film might have asked for, and the taste of the wine and the dinner were augmenting on Rajat’s relaxed mood. Ignoring Bhup Singh, he enjoyed the beach for the first time. In the just enough warmth of the darkness, the waves with spume on crusts darted to the shore and made Rajat remember his predilection for reading literary books when he was in the university in the first year. He looked at Bhup Singh who was trying to shelter the lit match with his hand to light a cigarette, and then Rajat looked away at the kerfuffle of the sea. From a distance, the wave motion appeared to be a fine-tuned musical miracle, and it appeared as if in the pianissimo wave motion, one could find the art of stellar performance of a dancing femme fatale.

Bhup Singh’s indignant voice irrupted into his dream, and he heard him say,”What the hell are you thinking that had made you deaf? I am talking serious matter and I mean it. I have given it a solid and serious thought.”
“Oh, you have been changing your stories every other day. What new have you thought now?”
“Raju, don’t try your fun on me. It isn’t a story. This can turn into changing our fortunes. Or this three thousand Rupee mechanic job is the only thing that you can do? Did you desert your parents and studies just for this? If it is so, then in deed I am wasting my breath.”
Rajat regarded Bhup Singh for a moment, picked the pack of cigarettes and lit one for him. Then he told Bhup Singh,” Ok. Don’t lose your cool brother. Now tell me.”
“First you tell me. Do you ever seriously think of rising above this level of living?”
“Bhup Singh. I never came to Bombay to become a mechanic, but what else could have I done? I don’t know what one can do in this city without money, even if one really wants to do something big.”
“Exactly. For doing big, you need capital. Once you apply yourself to doing something big with capital in your hands, you need not bother much. This is a city where you require only to continue remaining on your foot, come what may. The rest the crowd around you will teach you.” Bhup Singh had said his last sentence in his usual crass manner, but it was quite true for the purpose he said it. Once a person starts over a new venture with the typical Bombay born determination to go the whole hog, the crowd ahead, behind and around him was quite potent to inspire him how to remain on his foot, and move in his aimed direction. It was the first instance when Rajat wanted to know what Bhup Singh was up to.

And Rajat with a past of ten year s of struggle in Bombay , long enough to break the bubbles of youngsters fleeing from their houses and colleges of their small towns, made the mistake of not only listening but also agreeing to become a partner in Bhup Singh’s idea of stealing cars from Bombay, and selling them in neighboring states. They planned for just few thefts and then, start a motor garage in Bombay. But Bhup Singh, in his usual slapdash style, made a muck of it in the very first endeavor. The ex-military man guard appeared from nowhere yelling and running towards them to seize them. Both had never imagined such a meddling by a guard in their operation as they had seen for years the cars parked unguarded in the stillness of nights in the Marine Drive locality. The guard was a hefty ex-military soldier, and taking the youths to be drunkard tearaways, the guard came charging on them. Bhup Singh tried to free himself from the steely grip of the guard, but the guard started delivering quick massive blows with his right hand, his left hand missing probably from some war operation, and calling names. A long knife appeared in Bhup Singh’s free hand, and the sight of what happened made Rajat’s blood run cold. Bhup Singh in his desperation had knifed the guard. The guard fell on the wet road. Without waiting further, Rajat ran from there towards the Marine Drive station. He entered a train leaving the platform. He changed trains and after 28 hours of journey, he reached New Delhi.

He worked for a few months in Delhi. A fear had descended into his soul. The guard was definitely killed in the incident. Police must have charged Bhup Singh and him as Bhup Singh’s accomplice with a murder case.

After a peripatetic one and a half year, he finally decided to settle in some small town of Himanchal. Thus he was now in Dharampur. In the market, there was only one repair shop for two wheelers, which was run by an old man Mohanlal. Rajat went to him seeking employment. Mohanlal wanted an experienced hand. Rajat started working there.

It was a small town with a population of few thousands and hardly needed more than one repair shop for automobiles. As the old man’s illness permitted him to do very little work, so Rajat, with his knowledge of machinery, was a great help to Mohanlal. Usually Mohanlal won’t come to the shop, leaving everything to Rajat. Rajat would handle the little repair work that would come. Most of the day he would sit idle, smoking and chatting with owner of the tea-stall Suraj in the neighborhood. At the end of day, he would cash up, and give the money next day to Mina, daughter of Mohanlal, who would come to the shop to collect the money. She was the younger of the two daughters of Mohanlal.

One morning Mina didn’t come to collect the everyday cash. In the evening, Rajat counted the money and decided to go to Mohanlal’s home to hand it over. Though this was a least expensive place in the state, Rajat who hardly spent on anything other than food had to eke out a living. He understood that the family needed the everyday income from the shop. Mohanlal’s house was in lower Dharampur.

Rajat walked down the hilly dirt-paths to reach Lower Dharampur. The dirt path zigzagged in a serpentine style like the uneven crease of a garment ironed haphazardly in hurry, through the hillocks and verdure wetted by clear streams of water. He remembered whatever Mohanlal and Mina had told about location of their house. He reached the end of a narrow gully with houses generally without cementing at the bricks on the outer side. One group of children came out running of a house with a toy cricket bat and a plastic ball. Rajat buttonholed one, a bit senior in age, of them and asked where Mohanlal family lived. The lad pointed to the last house on the left.

The door was opened by Mohanlal himself. He asked Rajat to come inside and have tea. Mina brought tea for them. While Mohanlal and Rajat were talking, a woman in her early twenties and clad in white came inside and went into the inner room to see Mina’s sister. Rajat had seen the woman going to the Primary School where she probably worked. Rajat asked Mina who the woman was. Mina told him about her. The woman’s husband died two years before. Rajat expressed sympathy and asked Mohanlal how the husband of the woman died.

Mohanlal said, “Mala is a hapless girl. Her husband was in ITBP. In an accident he lost his one arm and was asked to quit ITBP. Here what opportunity a handicapped man could have expected, so he went to Bombay because a retired ITBP officer assured him some kind of work there. He got a job of security guard on officer’s recommendation. He was killed there while on night duty. ” The conversation got broken as Mohanlal drooped to find an ashtray under a wooden cabinet to stub out his cigarette in it.

The words in the last sentence that Mohanlal spoke had knocked Rajat sideways. The words had immediately formed a link between him and the vicissitudes of the woman; like a link that is immediately formed between the stolen tune of a new song and, however old and forgotten it might be, the original song. Rajat, in a trance, thought what the fortune had in store for him even here, in this remote place from Bombay. Rajat clearly remembered that the Guard who got killed by Bhup Singh had only one arm. Was it just a coincidence and could he hope for the matter to stray in a direction unconnected with him if he asked Mohanlal to further explain? Rajat had to confirm the bitter truth from Mohanlal, however hard he might try and wish to escape delving further into the matter. He asked Mohanlal to tell him how Mala’s husband got killed.

A true pain again dawned on Mohanlal’s visage. He said, “Look what the fate does to people. He had gone in 71 war and retuned unhurt from there. It was Bombay where he had to go all the way from here, to work there and die. He was attacked by some car thieves while he was on night duty. One of the thieves killed him with a knife while he was trying to nab him. The police arrested the murderer due to pursuance of the ITBP retired officer who got him employed, but the other car thief could not be caught.”

Rajat blotted the sweat off his forehead with a dirty kerchief. Mohanlal looked at him curiously. Rajat told him that he was unwell since last evening and would like to leave.

That night proved to be a heavy handed night for Rajat. The moment he would close his eyes for sleep, the woman in white with incriminating eyes would appear in his mind, and would drive the sleep off him. Finally he gave in and swathing himself with a blanket, he came out of the shop. There was only one lamppost in the street plunged in the chilled and silent darkness which allowed very little smoky diffusion of light from the lamppost. He looked at the corner tea stall where Suraj slept wrapped in a dirty quilt on a rickety charpoy. Rajat felt happy that he was at least not alone.

He retuned to the shop and opened a shabby suitcase. He scrabbled with his hands underneath the old clothes and found a quarter bottle of whisky. He mixed the liquor with water and drank it in quick swigs in hope of getting some sleep. Soon he fell asleep. He saw a dream which was like the stories that he used to read in his childhood. However, Bhup Singh and he himself were characters of the story. The two friends, tired of their poor hard life, set out to travel for a foreign land to do some business and become rich. On the way they stopped for sleep somewhere in a jungle, and were awakened by a roaring voice. This was the menacing roar of a giant demon. Bhup Singh and Rajat were trembling with fear. Bhup Singh begged to the demon to spare their lives. The demon said that just one human was enough to slake his hunger. He needn’t kill both of them, but first he would have to examine his pray. His human prey had to be a brave man. The demon was cursed that if he made a coward his prey, the demon would die.

The demon looked at both of them direct into their eyes and said that none of them could become his prey. They must bring a brave man to the demon or else he would kill both of them. But the demon was old and hungry and hunger could kill him any moment. He could no longer resist the urge of his hunger and told Bhup Singh that if they could bring his prey to him, he would give them all the gold and precious gems that he had, as the demon knew that this was time of his death. Before death came to him, he must eat and satisfy his hunger. The demon, not able to stand on his feet, fell to the ground and asked them to go bring his prey as early as possible. Bhup Singh and Rajat walked out of the jungle and saw a young man and his wife coming towards them in a bullock cart. Bhup Singh asked the man who he was. The young man said, “I was a soldier in the army of the King, but now I farm in my fields.”

Rajat asked him, “How did you lose your arm?”
The man answered with little pride, “I lost it while saving life of the King in a war.”
Bhup Singh decided that this was the man who could become prey of the demon. He requested the man to come with him and Rajat to the nearby jungle to save a man hurt by wild animals. The man became ready and walked with them leaving his wife alone.

The demon was waiting for them. As soon as the demon saw the young man, he killed him and satisfied his week’s long hunger. Then Bhup Singh asked the demon to fulfill his promise. The demon smiled viciously and said, “You won’t get my gold as the man was brave no doubt, but he had one hand missing. The demon walked away and disappeared in the jungle. Just then the wife of the young man reached there and saw the remains of his husband in her utter disbelief. In her grief, she fainted and fell on the ground in puddles of her husband’s blood. To the utter surprise of Rajat and Bhup Singh, the bridal, colored clothes of the woman started losing color as her attires became soaked in the blood of her husband and finally became completely white. Suddenly the woman opened her eyes, and two blinding streaks of hatred darted from her eyes towards Rajat and Bhup Singh. Rajat sharply bent himself in one direction to save him from the burning arrow like hatred of the woman. His reaction in dream was so impulsive that it actually made Rajat twist himself sharply in fear. This awakened him. The fear of the dream remained with him for a long time that day.

Since that night, Rajat could never get an undisturbed sleep. Invariably he would see the same dream and much before the demon killed the young man, he would wake up trembling with fear and with sweat running all over his body. He tried again liquor but the dream stayed with him, letting him get no uninterrupted sleep. It kept on happening for days on end and gradually Rajat started treating it like a flaw that destiny brings to one, and one can’t rid himself of it; it remains like an inherent snag into a previously sound item, say, like a file that would automatically attach every time one starts composing a new message on his computer, do what he would to get rid of this de trop, disgusting file that won’t let him send any new message. On the fifteenth night, when Rajat woke up in the middle of his sleep, he rose from his charpoy, lifted his already packed luggage, locked the shop and giving the keys to Suraj to hand over to Mohanlal, walked away towards the bus terminal. He reached New Delhi and from there to Bombay.

Rajat upon reaching Bombay found himself walking out of the railway premises and going towards the Fort police station. As he approached the entrance and walked inside, a policeman hollered from behind and asked him what he wanted. Rajat told him that he would talk to the Inspector-in-charge. He was taken to the In-charge. Rajat told him, “Sir, my name is Rajat Kumar. I am the accomplice of Bhup Singh who was arrested by you two years back for a car theft and murder of a guard at Marine Drive. I have come to surrender to the law.”