Someone Else's Garden (16 page)

This woman has always made Daku Manmohan proud. The camera records their private thoughts, clearly visible on their faces. A stone whizzes through the air and opens a red gash just above his right eye, the woman’s hand reaches up to her own eyebrow to stem the blood. He is hurt, but she feels the pain.

The spot of silence gives Lokend his chance to take charge. ‘Brothers and sisters,’ he shouts into the mic. The mic emits a cackle. The crowd hears nothing, stilled, stunned into a stupor by the woman who stands before them every bit as deliberately as Daku Manmohan himself.

Lala Ram abandons his prized position to go check on the mic together with Rajiv from the
Times
. The reporter stands well behind Lokend even as he fiddles with the mic. The stones are coming from all directions; impartial, they will land equally on his head if he dares to step forward on the stage. He has been writing furiously. The words jumble on the page: . . .
four thousand strong . . . stones and a riot waiting to break . . . surrender . . . justice denied . . . rebuilding . . . cripples . . . loot . . . murder . . .
Impressions that will make good copy.

Not more than three minutes have elapsed since the appearance of the woman. ‘Brothers and sisters,’ Lokend shouts again. This time the mic releases the words and then goes dead. He couldn’t have planned it better. He has their attention now. He will be able to say brothers and sisters four more times before the crowd will become fed up with the novelty of the words and the loudspeaker. Right now, they are waiting for his speech, held back by the capricious mic, a high bone to an untrained dog. Lokend resumes his speech.

‘Harsh times demand brave actions from us. I know you find it hard to make peace in your hearts with this man and the things he has done. But I ask you not to judge him on his past. I ask you to look to the future. A future of peace and prosperity.’ Lokend indulges the crowd’s false sense of power. The surrender will go through with or without its approval. If need be, he will stand in front of Daku Manmohan and take the bullet meant for the bandit in his chest.

The woman steps closer to her gang members. Now it is her proximity to them that makes the crowd notice them. There are about twenty in all, but the crowd can pick out the three chiefs easily. All three of them have very impressive black moustaches. Their sunken eyes, crowned by shadows, give nothing away.

‘Are you prepared to become murderers yourselves because of this man? We can only survive if we put an end to this war. Otherwise, your children and your children’s children will be haunted by raids.’

‘Not if we kill the motherfuckers now!’

‘Kill them!’ The crowd draws back its head and spits out the words in a single, united voice: ‘Kill them, kill them, kill them . . .’

The woman grabs the mic right out of Lokend’s hand and shouts into it. ‘Stop! Stop!’ The mic retaliates with unsympathetic static. Lokend pulls the mic a little away from her mouth and gives her a nod. She speaks into it again. This time she is heard. ‘What purpose will that serve? There will be others who will rise up to take our places. That is the curse of injustice.

‘I used to be one of you,’ she says. ‘This man –’ she clings to the subject of her speech with a long look ‘– this man, this bandit man, kidnapped me and took me from my family when I was only nine years old. Since that day, this man has been my family, my husband, my all. You say kill them, but you know nothing of our history. You say kill them, but you know nothing of our honour. You say kill them, but you don’t know what would have happened to me had I not been rescued by this man. Look at you, standing there, judging us as if you had the right to do so. Some among you have sent their daughters to certain death by marrying them into a family looking only for dowry. Some of you have sold your sons to the Big House for a few rupees. Some of you have drowned a female baby in a bucket of river water. Some of you have burned a daughter-in-law or thrown a widowed mother out of your house to die in the street like a dog. And some of you have made an appointment for your wife with Yamraj, so you could be free to take another wife.
Tell me, who among you is innocent!
’

The silence is big, as big as the sky. ‘If you cannot bring me such a man,’ she says, her voice soft, ‘then you cannot judge us. We are here to surrender, yes, but only because Lokend Bhai has asked us to. This slaughter has to stop, he says. And he is right. I am a mother now. I want my child to outlive me . . . I want all children to outlive their mothers.’

It is lucky she still has the heart of her audience beating in her hands, otherwise it might have relapsed into another confrontation. A lone rose, flung by an unseen admirer, lands at her feet. Lokend looks up just in time to see Prem’s outstretched arm return quickly to his side. Clever boy, he thinks, and smiles. Her value is once again secured by this display of infatuation. As most crowds, these people have now been told what to think. The rose is quickly transferred into the heart of every man present. A spontaneous murmur escapes into the air like evaporating dew on a spring morning. It’s now or never.

Lokend holds up Daku Manmohan’s arms to the crowd. The crowd roars. The real policemen take the bandits’ weapons and symbolically lay three rifles and three revolvers on the ground, emptied of cartridges.

The bandit holds out his hands, his two chiefs repeat his actions with the precision of dancers. The senior officer cuffs the leader while his junior officer fumbles with the cuffs of the other two men. Eventually, with the help of Lokend, all three are cuffed and led away. The junior officer tucks the revolvers into his belt and carries the three rifles awkwardly on his shoulder. The woman leads them off the stage in single file. The audience parts for her, individually smitten, yet collectively uneasy. It is only as the men drive off that the crowd recognises its alien uneasiness for what it is: irony, at being led this far by a woman.

Daku Manmohan is immediately separated from the rest of his gang members, who are all sent to New Delhi. He is incarcerated, as promised, in the tiny cell by the Red Ruins. The woman who spoke so valiantly on his behalf lives three hours away with her son and the wives and children of the other two chiefs. They will not meet again. That would be too much for the villagers to bear. Already there is talk of evicting her and her companions from their huts built on the land donated by Lokend. Every day Lokend must fight someone else on their behalf so they are safe.

Each time Lokend sees the woman he says the same thing: ‘Sister, be patient. People will forget about you in time. Don’t you remember a time when you were happy? Well? This too will pass. Believe me.’

The woman has withdrawn into herself. Away from her mate, she feels nothing. She avoids all mention of her beloved Manmohan, and never asks after his fate.

And what of the bandit’s fate? It is the fate of an active man with suddenly too much time on his hands, the worst kind of fate to bestow on someone who has something to repent. Intermittently his thoughts turn from visions of looting and slaughter to images of his wife and son. He thinks he will go mad. He is only kept sane by the heckling of the villagers who come to taunt him and throw things at him daily. The guards, his protectors, allow the villagers their petty revenge, turning away when one shows up with excrement or stones. Daku Manmohan tries not to show them that he needs their hatred to survive, to pass the time in his cell where he cannot even stand upright. The muscles in his legs have started to soften and shrink. All this time he kept himself robust and healthy; agile for a quick escape and strong for an unexpected fight. But now, if he had to run from a pursuer, he would have to use more than just his legs to escape.

He thinks of death. He is not afraid of it. He is afraid only of its aftermath. It would be seen as an act of cowardice. He could never leave such a legacy for his son. Whether or not people recognise the reason why he chose this life of pillage and plunder, it wasn’t because he is a coward.

Lokend has managed to get away to visit him today. He is unprepared to see the bandit dressed in the heavy blue-and-white stripes of a formal prison uniform, the result of the jailer’s personal initiative. The guards continue their game of cards, smoking a communal bidi in silence. They barely acknowledge the familiar visitor with a look.

The building reeks of damp and the pungent smell of urine, its walls are already green with mould and fungus. As Lokend reaches through the bars to take Daku Manmohan’s shoulder, he realises that in the few weeks that he has been in jail, the prisoner has become older than his years, with a laboured walk and stiffness in his bones.

‘You don’t need this battalion to protect me. One man will do,’ says the bandit. ‘You know I won’t try to escape.’

‘I know,’ Lokend replies. ‘These men aren’t here to keep you in. They’re here to keep those who wish to harm you out. Besides, I think they enjoy the company.’

The bandit laughs. ‘Don’t think I don’t know that your job is harder than mine. You’ve made many enemies because of my surrender. How many fights have you fought on my behalf? With the village, the politicians, your own father. And for what? Why do you do this?’

‘To fulfil my desire. Does one need a reason for that too?’ Lokend smiles. ‘Because I think it is the right thing. Look, Manmohan, we have to have peace here. New Delhi cannot give it to us, much as it wants to. New Delhi is just too far away. This is the only way.’

‘What of my family? My son will have my name linked with his till he dies. What kind of a life is that for my boy? Sometimes I think we would have been better off hiding in the ravines and living off raids.’ He’s almost disappointed in himself for surrendering, for finding Lokend’s motivation too compelling to decline.

‘Don’t worry about the boy. You have my word on this. I’ll not let anything harm him. I am trying to get work for the wives. Sewing. I know it’s different from what they did before, but there is money enough in it for them to live with dignity. Your wife will convince the other two.’

‘My wife?’

‘Yes, your wife.’ She’d jumped at Lokend’s offer, knowing it was her one chance to pass time and remain sane.

‘Is she all right?’

‘Yes, yes. She doesn’t believe it, but she is.’

‘Does she ask after me?’ He had to ask. Daku Manmohan has made no pact to spare himself the pain of a family lost. He comes back to it again and again, like picking at canker sores.

‘Leave the asking to those who will,’ says Lokend, patting the man on his shoulder. He retrieves his hand from within the bars.

‘I must know,’ the bandit insists. ‘How can you understand? You’ve never been in love.’

A deep longing takes Lokend completely by surprise. ‘I’ll be back,’ he says, leaving.

The bandit doesn’t look up to see his friend walk away. Too many farewells have touched his life.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Believe what you like, he’s gone. Escaped. At night. I found my men tied with their socks stuffed in their mouths. Luckily, no one was beaten. I tell you, not all of them surrendered. There are still some on the outside. Those were the ones who freed him.’ The same police officer who first took Lokend to see the jail is back to handle the embarrassing escape. ‘You said you didn’t need so many guards to protect him. Huh, not so many guards indeed! If I’d listened to you, he would have got out much sooner,’ the police officer says, trying to pin the responsibility and blame on Lokend. ‘Now what do we do?’

‘He gave me his word.’ Lokend is genuinely mystified by Daku Manmohan’s disappearance.

The irritation percolates through the police officer’s voice. He clicks his tongue. ‘I am not a fool,’ he says, silently urging Lokend to stop being one. ‘A man can no more change his nature than a tiger can stop eating meat. A bandit will always remain a bandit,’ he explains very slowly, as if talking to a child.

Lokend speaks with conviction: ‘It wasn’t his doing. Someone else had a hand in it. Keep it quiet. I don’t want a word of it leaked to the papers, do you hear? If the villagers hear of this, the blood will start running again. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?’

‘No, sir.’ The man stands upright, honouring the new, forceful Lokend. ‘Yes, sir.’

It is Ram Singh who puts an end to his brother’s search. ‘Our father wants to see you urgently.’

There is little eagerness in the younger man’s gait as he walks to his brother’s jeep. His head is heavy with thoughts. The elder brother looks at the younger, walking, head bowed, to the jeep.
Why does he prefer him over me?
Again the same question.

‘Hurry up! He said
urgently
. He can’t wait to see you! I’ve never seen him this agitated before, not even when he heard the news of the surrender. You should’ve seen him! Even Asmara Didi wasn’t safe in the room that day. I have never seen him that angry.’ Ram Singh cannot resist twisting the knife.

‘I know. He has been against the surrender from the start. He thinks it was the most dishonourable thing a man could do. You know how Bapu is fixed on honour.’

‘Yes, he keeps reminding us that it’s more important than life!’

‘Honour before Life,’ both men say their father’s motto. There is conviction in Lokend’s voice, but only sarcasm in Ram Singh’s. ‘Zamindars are landowners, nothing more. He’s no king. He seems to forget that quite conveniently. Always resolving petty differences and conducting weddings. Always curing the incurable and acting like a god. He behaves as if he owns people.’

‘Yes, Bapu does have the royal touch, doesn’t he? Maybe it’s in his blood,’ says Lokend, smiling. ‘It is so easy to be lost in Maya . . .’

‘You and your spiritual bullshit! Just because you’ve opted out of life doesn’t mean we all should. I have to do my duty as the future zamindar. Look at you! Running after anyone who poses as a victim long enough to get your attention.’

Asmara Didi waves Ram Singh off. ‘He asked for Lokend to come alone.’

The elder brother has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself from exploding. Why does his father reject him at every turn?