Something Like a Storybook

Copyright © 2016 by Sumantra Chattopadhyay.

ISBN:      Hardcover         978-1-4828-8469-2

                Softcover           978-1-4828-8468-5

                eBook                978-1-4828-8467-8

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Author’s photograph taken by Anirban Mandal

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Contents

The Condemned

Libido

The Game Plan

Death of a Cynic

The Stag Party

The Incurable

To Achieve A Target

The Celebrity

Status-quo

The Reality Show

The Demon’s Tale

A Night in Past Tense

The Depths of the Atlantic

The Evil

The Valley of Shadow of Death

To my father Manas Kumar Chattopadhyay

The Condemned

It’s raining and raining and it seems that the makers of rain are in no mood to call it a day. As usual we have gathered for inconsequential chatting at our club as we do in the evenings. Most of us are employed in Unemployment Corporation of India and a few have recently lost their ‘job’ as they have got some ill paid odd job somewhere else. But whatever we do during the day we look forward to this gathering in the evening with the eagerness of people marooned in flood waiting for their daily rations.

Its only quarter to eight but the rain and darkness all around is giving the feeling of late night. In our area heavy rains and power cut go hand in hand. Damn sure that the power lines won’t be restored before late afternoon tomorrow. The rains may stop before that but the power supply workers are always punctual. Today we have amidst us a distinguished guest, Basabbabu, who is somewhat distantly related to Tarun, one of our enthusiasts.

It’s December, not exactly when rains are expected. But it is raining like any heavy monsoon evening. Our club room, basically made from thatched bamboo, is quite incapable of facing the onslaught of the nature. We are seating on the floor making a close circle with a kerosene lamp at the centre. The diameter of the circle is gradually diminishing as the increased onslaught of the rain is making it impossible to seat near the corners as the windows are failing to hold back the raindrops. We had had two rounds of tea and now seeing the condition I ordered a third round. Fortunately there is a shanty tea shop just next to our club room and Fatik, the owner takes good and bad weathers with stoicism of saints. Amidst all these gloom there is a bright thought of course, after these rains we can expect a really good chill.

- Have you ever attended any hanging?

Chandu suddenly asks Basabbabu. Basabbabu is the jailor of a jail in North Bengal and now is on the verge of retirement. He is a confirmed bachelor and unlike the elderly people, who consider the young folks indecent and unsociable, has got the ability to feel at ease in any sort of company.

- Actually I will be in trouble if you ask me how many hangings I have attended.

Basabbabu answers with a gloomy grin.

- How do they behave when they are taken to the gallows?

Chandu has an insatiable curiosity.

- It is different for different people. Generally they get restless, cry, shout, some turn hostile, but again I have seen cases where the condemned going to the gallows in most decent and cooperative manner possible. One of my uncles was a jailor in the days of the Raj. He used to tell stories of freedom fighters going to gallows in most jovial mood, singing, joking with each other. Unthinkable! I have not been that lucky and such things are not possible without huge inspirations aflame.

- Please share a few experiences.

Now Sunil joins the inquisitive brigade. By this time Fatik has brought tea in earthen cups. We almost pounce on the cups with the eagerness of Shylock looking forward to his ‘pound of flesh’. The smokers light cheap cigarettes. Basabbabu doesn’t smoke but he doesn’t mind either. Our small room becomes full with smoke and the light of the kerosene lamp changes and assumes a mystical nature.

- Do you really think you will enjoy hearing the story of someone being put to death?

But by this time we are all drawn into the snare. After all, animals as we are basically, who doesn’t want to hear the story of unnatural death? News of hanging or murder never goes unread. Basabbabu understands he needs to share something to satisfy his junior friends. Rains are still unabated and a light storm is blowing. The darkness, the rains, the sound of the winds which resembled at times the wailing of a distressed and doomed soul made the settings perfect for tales of misery. For a change Basabbabu requested a cigarette, lighted it and started his story.

- It was a case of murder. Banwarilal, a labour of Lakhotia jute mill had killed his wife with a single blow on the head with a piece of wood used to bolt the door of his hut. It was a common notion that the victim was of questionable character. She used to have male visitors in the evening and Banwarilal always returned late. One day Banwari returned early, unexpectedly of course, and found a man leaving his hut. Prosecution said Banwari killed his wife and left. Just then another woman did come for some errand and found the corpse. People gathered hearing her scream. Banwari was arrested and prosecution attained a quick sentence. Banwari had no means to appoint any pleader and the government prosecutor fighting in his favour was just brilliant. May be without him Banwari had a chance. So condemned Banwari comes to my jail to be hanged.

- Which jail was it?

Chandu has an eye for the details.

- Baharampur jail. You people probably know that all jails have special arrangement for condemned prisoners. They are kept in isolation in cells called ‘condemned cells’. The first day I went to his cell to meet him I found tears in his eyes. This is very common but somehow, I don’t know why, I felt that there is something wrong going on. I went back again after a few days. Saw that he was singing some devotional song looking at the fragment of sky visible from his cell through the small window. He was most well behaved. He sat on the floor and gave me his cot to sit.

Then asked – What date is today, Sir?

I told him the date. He had still fifteen days to breathe the air.

Then asked – Why did you murder your wife Banwari? If she was of questionable nature you could have dumped her. That at least won’t lead you to the gallows at the age of twenty eight?

He kept on staring at me for a long time and then said – Can you give me a cigarette Sir?

I used to smoke in those days. It was against the law and I knew that. But could not be rigid with a condemned man and gave him a cigarette and the matchbox. He lit the cigarette slowly, and then said, I have not murdered my wife Sir. I was returning. I saw a man leave my doors. I entered and found my wife lying dead in a pool of blood. I lost my head and ran out to catch the man. Of course by that time he had vanished.

- But it was proved in court of law that you have committed the crime?

- How can I help that Sir? I have told in the court what had happened. In fact I told that again and again. They didn’t accept. I am an illiterate man, what do I know of the circus you call ‘law’?

By that time I had read the court conscripts and it was true that Banwari had always pleaded ‘not guilty’. I knew that she is not a good woman Banwari continued, But heaven knows I really really loved her. I had tried a lot to reason with her. To make her sober, but I failed. What can a man do in such cases? But, believe me Sir, I have not killed her.

One question was peeping in my mind for some time and now I let it out.

- Why did she behave like that Banwari?

- She was addicted to gold Sir. She used her vicious earnings to make ornaments. I could provide her bread but not gold. And ultimately that gold took her life and now I you are going to kill me…

- Gold took her life!

- She was wearing a gold necklace when I left for work…it was not there on her corpse.

I left him for that day. After that I have visited him several times. We had talks. Always gave him a cigarette. He used to talk of his four year old daughter. He was worried of her future. I had little to say. We both knew what fate loomed for her in all probability. The libido of the city and so called civilization would one day welcome her through the gates of the Hades.

But just two days before the hanging his attitude changed completely. I got the report that Banwari is making a huge fuss. I went to his cell. He was shouting.

- Is it some kind of weird joke? I am innocent and you will hang me!

I told him, Control yourself Banwari. What’s the use? You have only a day in between and then you have to go. And none of us can do anything about it. Rather think of God. I will send you some devotional songs

The stout young man broke down in tears.

- Save me Sir, I am innocent, believe me, I am innocent.

There was nothing else I could do so I came back. Called the jail doctor and asked him to have a look at Banwari and give him some sedation if necessary.

*   *   *

Then came the day of hanging and as I was getting ready at the dead of night the phone rang. It was a call from Kolkata. The hanging stood cancelled! The actual murderer had been nabbed for another crime. When put to police beatings he had admitted that he had killed Moti, Banwari’s wife, for the necklace. I immediately called up the assistant jailor, and asked him to inform Banwari. He was then being prepared for hanging. And that’s what I shouldn’t have….

- So after all he was not hanged?

Chandu was clearly unhappy as he was looking for stories of hanging after all just like the rest. Basabbabu remained silent for some time and then looked up with a strange look.

- No, he was spared. I went to his cell. He was shouting, crying, I am saved hahaha I am saved So you could not hang me after all, hahahahaah

He was stark naked and completely mad!

It was fourteen years ago. Till date Banwari is a permanent inmate of a lunatic asylum. Once I had visited him. He has to be kept in chains. And whenever he is awake he either shouts or pinches himself to verify that he is ‘alive’.

*   *   *

The rain is yet to stop. But we leave the room and ignoring the downpour practically flee to our respective homes. We are feeling scared. We are chilled to the bones but that is not only for the rain.

We all can hear, I am saved hahaha I am saved; so you could not hang me after all, hahahahaah

Libido

The coffee is getting cold and after a few minutes even highest level of generosity won’t prevent describing the coffee as undrinkable. Rupa has gone back to the kitchen. Indra toyed with the idea of leaving silently but then dropped it. It would be closer to truth to say that he is not in a position to leave because he is stuck, just as flies get stuck in marmalade on slices of left over after breakfast. And just like the fly he is thinking of ways to escape because he is damn confident that the company of Rupa and the conversations to follow will be as stale and detestable as the coffee, What makes the situation more bitter is the thought that Indra has meticulously planned the meeting and had drawn a rosy picture of the events, he thought, would follow naturally.

Indra is a junior executive of a new generation engineering company. He has passed from a private engineering college just a few months back and unlike most of his peers he has been able to bag a job quite fast thanks to his looks and smartness. Only yesterday he got the news that their senior director Parekh is on ventilation and the chances of revival are next to nothing. Parekh had had pacemaker installed. But he openly flouted all rules to be followed by a man of his age and physical conditions. He used to drink like a fish and red meat was his staple diet. So what has happened can be described as ‘historical inevitability’, thought Indra.

He had learnt the term when he was aligned with Left politics for some time while he was in first year. His interest was not in politics but some good looking young ladies who used to visit the union room and as he had not much luck with them his interest in politics dropped too.

Today he got the news that Parekh has passed away last night and office will be closed after first half in his honour. Anticipating this Indra had checked and found that Rupa would be at home the whole day.Indra had not put the question tacitly enough Rupa was a bit surprised. Why is Indra interested in her whereabouts when he would be slogging at the computer as part of daily paid detention programme pompously called ‘job’.

Generally Indra keeps his daily smoking limited to five cigarettes but today he bought a full pack of ten and then took two bears from the liquor shop. This is the first time he has stepped in the liquor shop without friends accompanying him. He had to check the surroundings several times before stepping in. But today things are different, for the first time in life he is going to meet Rupa with no one else present around. Rupa’s parents are in office at this hour and Rupa is enjoying vacation after her BA exams. Indra realized that he is excited and is sweating even in this December day.

He has got certain plans but not sure about success because Rupa is quite highly opinionated woman and, secretly though, Indra is afraid of her mood swings. Human trainsof thought follow strange trajectories. Thinking of Rupa’s mood within seconds Indra thinks of ‘Moods’ and stops in front of a pharmacist. Cautious as Rupa is she may demand Indra to be ready with the necessary precaution. But buying a pack of condoms is not easy particularly given the circumstances.

Indra spots a cigarette and soft drink shop opposite to the pharmacist and goes there. He takes two small bottles of coke and smokes a cigarette to boost his confidence. Amassing all the smartness at his disposal he walks to the counter and demands a pack of Moods. (Basically he was imitating the gait of the gentleman who features in a condom ad in a TV commercial). The middle aged gentleman at the counter has noticed that while smoking on the other side of the road Indra was eyeing his shop with the looks of a shoplifter planning a pick and run. The facts