Ballad of an Unsung Martyr
Kingshuk Sen
Here, an absolute serenity prevails.
There’s tranquility in space, warmth in abundance. It encompasses all of us here. When you look at the fragrant flowers blooming in the garden, the azure sky atop, the meandering stream gurgling its way down in a laidback manner, the soothing light that illuminates the surrounding, a hypnotic sense of peace engulfs you. You never want to leave this environ and would always like to keep it embraced close to your heart.
And this is where I met her early one fine day.
She had lovely, expressive, bright eyes, a melancholy smile that caresses her lips, natural warmth that gels nicely with this environ. There is something in her that makes one’s heart bleed, at the same time attracts one towards her.
She was looking forlorn as she enters the complex. May be I was the first one to catch her sight. Looking lost and hesitant, she was visibly in two minds whether to ask me for guidance or not.
There is a fragrant mist that envelope both of us as I drew close to her. I softly touched her trembling, hesitant, soft arms and then affectionately welcomed her amidst us.
“We’r all waiting for you, dear, for long. No worry here for you. We’ll leave happily, merrily here forever. Its our garden, we all look after it. Welcome here, dearie.” I softly embraced her.
There’s a soft, hushed shriek of pain that came from deep within her voice, but she stopped it midway. I left her and softly caressed her arms…”It still pains, dear? So sorry, I was moved a bit when saw you”
“Yeah, still a bit…” she replied, a short reply full of sadness….then her gaze got fixed at the side of my face, she came closer and softly, tenderly touched her fingers over my cheek and my neck and moved them over, her face blushing with both sadness and fury….”I see..I can feel it…..does it still hurts u..??”
We moved inside the garden now. “It no longer hurts, dear. Not anymore. Here, you’ll be free from all pains. Of course it’ll take some time. You’re already free of the pains. It’s your memory that still inflicts you with pain. Once you rise above your memory, the scar may remain, but the pain goes. The same will happen with you.”
“But…where am I now…?” She again starts getting perplexed. Its natural. She has just stepped in. “And who are you by the way?”
I thought it’s high time I introduce her to my other three friends.
**
Rangeela, Sandalee and Bonita were very shy and coy. It took some effort on my part to bring them closer to my new friend. Once the ice broke, we gelled. We melted in each other’s agony. Agony of our past. A life that once held plenty of promises. A destiny that finally landed all of us together in this beautiful garden.
“How sweet, cute all of you are, dear”, she smiled as she touched the cherubic Sandalee. Then her eyes again got fixed and her hands stopped…”Oh dear…!!”
I quickly diverted her attention…”Look, you’ll see it here on everyone. But do realize that this reflects our physical memory. We have all won over the scars. Here there is only love. No scar, no indignation. Don’t get conscious by our bruises. We have already won over them. You also have to.”
“It’ll take time, time for me, Juri. Give me some time.” She hid her face inside her palms and trembled. We all felt sad, our heart cried out, feeling the pain of hers. Sandalee was the first one to move forward, gently, warmly pulling her in her warm embrace she started caressing her hair lovingly, till she stopped sobbing.
“You know…” she’s a bit composed now…”I thought that I was the most unfortunate one. But looking at you, I feel as if I’ve really not seen the worst. I’ve seen you all earlier, I used to see many of you where I used to reside and study. All of you were so nice, so lively, so cute like freshly bloomed flowers, full of life…how.. how one could even think of….” she again hid her face. Sandalee pulled her close. I lamented why we didn’t hide our face when we approached her. I know it’ll take some time for her to recover now.
**
It took time for us also. A long time for foolish, simpletons like us, who believed that this emerald green piece of land, this lush green paddy field, this small tranquil village, where our forefathers for eons have cultivated, sown seeds, reap the fruits of hard labors, slowly built up our nice little habitats, this land, our beloved land…it took time to realize that none of these belonged to us, neither we belonged to anyone.
It used to take more than 6 hrs for us to travel a mere 1 km away to go to our village school especially in rainy season as the only log-bridge connecting both ends of the river always got washed away during high tide when clouds used to open up on top of distant mountains close to the border, from where the river originated.
It took long time for us to realize that the elderly people, who used to visit our villages once every 4-5 years with folded hands and smile dangling from their lips, gamochas dangling around their neck, to obtain a promise from our elders to cast a seal on a piece of paper so that they can do something for the village, will actually never visit the village again for next 5 years and leave our village as it is. Poor sanitation, poor communication, problems of flood, broken road, no power, no lights. And our elders used to lament that they don’t get the price they should for their crops being sold by the agents in local market. The demon of inflation, though dominant at distant towns, at times, used to worry our elders. After all, their daughters were to be married off.
In spite of all these, it was a happy childhood, simple life for us. At the shadow of blue hills, running around the banks of sparkling rivulet, enjoying the gush of the first rain, the aroma of wet soil with the roaring norwesters racing down the hills at the dead of night in spring-time, the crashes of thunder, the blinding dazzles of lightning on top of the distant hills, the howling wind, the delicious pithas in magh-bihu, the rhythmic beats of drum in Bohag, our daily cycle-drive to the school wearing the green-bordered white saree and our tiny little innocent fantasies. Actually it took time for us to realize that this innocent joy of us was short-lived.
**
It all started with a huge bang, an explosion that momentarily, violently shook the earth underneath us and all four of us had to get down from our cycles while on our way to school in morning.
We were terrified to find dark black smoke and fires leaping up from the log-bridge side. Before we could even understand what’s happening, we found Nayan, our neighbor Nayanda rushing towards us…”hunkale ghorot ja…iate rukhibo na laage (go home quickly, no need to stand here)” and literally pushed us back from our cycles. Like a herd of terrified spotted deers, we sprinted back to the protective courtyards of our homes.
**
That night, a soft, sweet breeze carrying the aroma of the river was blowing from the riverside. It was a dreamy spring-evening, a typical pre-Bohag time when the whole village reverberates with the drumbeats and the songs that used to signal the welcoming of Bohag Bihu. It was the time to start preparing the Bihutolis, start reharsing for the Bihu-competitions, organizing the Bihu concert ensembles, taking out the Gamochas, all our traditional ensembles and start preparing for our happiest time.
But tonight there was no Bihu Huchoris, no drumbeats, no preparation. An uneasy silence and calm engulfs the small hutments. My father mumbles softly while taking an early supper..”this was not a wise thing they did..I’m having a bad omen now…why did they blow-up the bridge….”
“Was the army jeep also on the bridge when they did it?” Asked my mother anxiously.
“I heard so. I was in the market then. I heard they targeted it like that. To blow-up the bridge when the CO’s jeep crosses it from the outpost. Why did they do it? Now who’ll face the mad dogs? They will fall after us like a pack of wolves. The actual culprits are already in the mountains, they crossed the river already. Here we are..helpless with our families…should we send Juri away to her uncle’s house? I wonder.”
“Oho…you think too much that too in advance….such a big incident….I don’t think no one will dare to mess up here this time….and after all…are the boys entirely wrong? Who listens us unless the arms are taken up?”
I guess none of us could even blink that night. We could hear our own heartbeats. It was unusually quiet, with the chirps of nightbirds and the howls of jackals at distance. That uneasy night passed off silently like the lull before storm.
**
The retributions came along fast enough to leave us numb and too petrified to react.
We woke up from our slumber by loud din and bustle outside. There were hue and cry in distance, sounds of some heavy boots, some loud unfamiliar voices.
My father went out, asking my mother to strictly guard me inside and not venture out. After an interval full of trepidation, he returned, looking visibly nervous, his forehead bathed in sweat.
“They have cordoned off the village. They did it very early morning, so that none of us could get a whiff. None of us can go out now, neither any one can come in here. Even the police are with them. We are cut off now from all sides, under siege.”
“Oh my God..!!” I think it was a spontaneous exclamation that came out from both mine as well as my mother’s voice.
“..and they have already started…” continued my father…”they have pushed Mehboob chacha inside the space between the rods of a bicycle right in the middle of the market…you know this is one of their favorite pastimes…two of them are holding the cycle straight…you know Mehboob is not lean and thin…he got stuck up inside the space…they all are making rude fun of him..one of them is kicking him hard at his backside and abusing him…another one is pulling him by his beard from the front and urging him to come out…he can’t as he’s helplessly stuck inside….they are worse than animals out here…?” His voice trembled with anger.
“..And what the enunchs of we villagers doing there? Enjoying the show? The circus?” My mother’s voice bursted out with anguish.
…”Juri’s maa…don’t you yell out…!!” My father almost jumped out to put his hand on her mouth….”they have fanned out everywhere inside the village. What can we do…? The entire area is cordoned off. Their sentries, snipers and commandoes are guarding the whole market complex with all their automatic weapons fully loaded. People are watching helplessly. Their officer is enjoying the show, sitting in gypsy, sipping something from bottle. Can we fight them all these only with our dao?”
…”Then where are our brave boys who blasted out the bridge..?? Let them come down now from the hills and save us…?? On one hand they will go underground, blast here and there, on the other hand, they will leave poor villagers like us as easy meat in front of hungry wolves…why shall we suffer…what’ll happen to Juri…??” My mother’s voice crackled with emotion, tears rolled down her cheeks as she held me tightly close to her bosoms…”if they dare touch Jury, I will rush and put a dao inside whomever I find first in front. I don’t care what happens to me…I won’t let them touch my sweet little, innocent flower….”
**
We heard two bursts of cracker after a short while from the market-side. It followed with a pin-drop silence. The hue and cry ceased suddenly. I found tears are welling up in my father’s eyes. I held to his hand hard. “Don’t cry, they won’t come inside this time, you see.” I gently wiped off his tears.
“I’m not crying for ourselves, dear.” My father caressed my hair. Even I could understand fully and felt tears welling up in my own eyes. The circus in the marketplace has ended.
We heard some heavy boots marching and advancing inside the village path. Mother closed all doors and windows tightly shut. There was a mobile public announcement repeated both in Hindi and our native language.
As the announcement and sounds of boots faded, I asked father what was being announced. My mother replied calmly..”they have instructed us to hand-over Nayanjyoti, Polash, Dibyojyoti and Kalyan latest by today 9 pm when they will come again. Or else we shall ourselves search them out by 9 pm and ask them to go and surrender in the camp currently stationed on the road going out of our village. They think we are hiding them in our village.”
I remembered Nayan, he ran towards us the soon after the bridge went off, pushed us away from the cycle and asked us to rush back home. I narrated the same now to mother, who looked hard at me and sternly said…”look, you have seen nothing, heard nothing, know nothing..OK? They believe Nayan is responsible for this bridge-blast and he is sheltered in this village. So do keep silent. In bad times, walls also listen.”
**
They kept their words. After all they were trained to be disciplined. Sharp at 9 pm, a resounding booted kick barged open our front door, leaving the door-closures flying in air.
The suddenness has left three of us stunned. Me and father have just half-finished whatever the supper was prepared yesterday (today no one was in the mood of cooking). Mother didn’t even start her meal. The two towering figures standing in front of us, leering at me and reeking of a peculiar smell (may be a mix of liquor and cheap perfume), wearing white PT sandow and khaki shorts with automatics in hand, didn’t waste much words. One of them pointed his rifle up, asking us to stand with our arms up.
“Come down to the field near the club”. The voice was unusually gruff, but calm, assured. They are asking us to move to the Bihutoli.
My mother was hesitating. I found goosebumps shaping up both mine as well as my ma’s forearms. It has resulted from the cold, steely barrels of their guns nudging against the backside of our necks. They pushed us ahead. My father silently pointed his eyes forward. We moved ahead.
**
It seemed the entire village is rounded up around the small field. It’s a surreal night. The gentle, moist wind carrying the aroma of wetland blowing under a dreamy moonlit night, chirping of nightbirds, rusting of tree-branches. My spell of dream-like hypnotic trance was rudely shred to pieces by a loud voice ordering to stop us.
The entire field is surrounded by automatics wielding soldiers, who surrounded the crowd both from inside and outside the field. They seemed to have planned everything well-ahead, they have even laid down multiple beds of hay and grasses on the field.
A fierce-looking, cracked-face elderly man came out of the armed pack with the mike in hand and blasted out…”hum-e tumhara Nayanjyoti, Palashjyoti, Dibyojyoti chahiye. Abhi isi waqt. Bahoot time diya hai tum saaloko. Ab nahi nikaloge un saaloko, to hum tum sab saalo ka saare jyoti nikalenge yahaan pe…chun chun ke….ek ek karke. Us bistaare par letake.” He pointed towards the beds of hay in distance.
His slimy eyes along with his mike turned slowly over the silent mass of seething, angry, peace-loving village populace. Feeling helpless and unarmed, none uttered a single word, remained restrained. An uneasy calm prevailed over the natural sounds of night.
“Yeh aise nehi patkega major….”, a voice came from behind the mikeman. An unusually tall man with clean-shaven head, his face painted with fearsome dark shades that almost camouflaged it against the dim-lit backdrop, came forward. “in saalo ke piche bahoot dum hai, ik dugo pichwaade nahi na todoge, to dum kahan se niklega…saale kutte ke aulaad, harami ke pille…”
“Age baad…!!” I could only hear a painful scream as I could understand someone is flung inside the circle.
I heard stomping sounds of heavy boots on the ground accompanied with shrieks of loud cry as if someone is being kicked around on the ground. Unspeakable expletives were flying in ear as many of us had to cover our ears. The next moment I was startled as I heard a loud, shrill cry, a familiar, tender voice of a young girl begging pitifully for mercy.
“Please leave my father, please Sir, please, I catch your feet, my father doesn’t know anything, Sir….”
I couldn’t help but push myself forward thru’ the crowd…”Juri!!!” I ignored the loud scolding of my mother, I knew the pitiful cry is coming from the voice of my dearest bandhobi, my sweet friend Sandalee. At the open space in front, I found her lying prostrate at the feet of a bestially painted soldier, whose feet is dug deep inside the throat of her hapless father, whose eyes are almost bursting out.
…”to bata re gori, kahaan gaye wohlog…?? Tere laundelog?? Kis ***me ghusake rakkha re tum un ****o ko….??”
Sandalee, still trembling, pointed towards the faraway dark hills at the border where thunderclouds are amassing with flashes of lightning…”pahad me chala gaya…” she could muster only this much and shrieked loudly as she was grabbed by her hair the very next moment and lifted straight up in the air from the ground like a rag-doll.
“woh log pahad me chala gaya, to gori tum kis ke liye idhaar baitha raha re…!!! Tumhe kis ke liye chhod ke gaya re…!!!”…”Major, inhe apna camp mein le chalet hai, is chamiyako hamhare liyehi chhod ke gaya lagta hai…!!!”
“Khabardar, kela…!! Maaak**ai!!” I was stunned by a furious angry roar of a female as I found my firebrand mother has torne herself away from the resistant crowd, pushed away my father to ground and with an open dao wickedly glistening in faint moonlight lunged at the gigantic figure that was holding Sandalee.
“Maaaaa”…I think my loud cry reached the peak of dark hills as I overcame my numbness and jumped in the middle of the carnage to save my mother.
I could only hear muffled sound that seemed like a pair of cracker-bursts ringing besides my ears as I clung to my mother’s body. The reassuring smell of my mother’s body, the smell of wet soil, the wafting aroma of rain-soaked stormy-winds from the hills got mixed with a distinct, acrid, familiar feral scent as a warm liquid gushed out of my mother’s body. She laid still on the ground, her eyes wide open, fixed, staring at the bright, starry sky of the dark night, her hairs spread, scattered wide on the ground.
A wide uproar rose temporarily like a wave of ocean only to be drowned by a thunderous bark….”koi saala apna jaaga se nahi hilega…!!! Nahi hilega..!!!” It’s followed by gunshots, heavy boots stomping on the ground, more agonized screaming, before I could realize I am under intolerable pain that almost brought tears in my eyes. One of them grabbed my hairs and lifted me up in air like Sandalee.
“In sab ko idhaar khara karke, in saalo ke aankho ke saamne, yeh dono chinkika raatbhar satyanash koro..jab tak yeh saale na bole ke kis khadan mein kaun chupa hua hai..”
I could hear pathetic cries all around..”major, aur du ko khich ke laya…do ke saath do free….aaj khel bahoot jamega…”
“Laaj na lage…!!! Hat, kela…!!!” It was Rangeela, Sandalee’s classmate. I didn’t know who the hapless other one was, there was no chance to know anything more.
I didn’t even get chance to grieve for my martyred mother.
**
My father used to narrate stories from Mahabharata. I heard of Draupadi, what happened to her in Kaurava’s palace.
She was the only one there. Here we were four. Here, the orgy continued night-long, simultaneously for all four of us. I heard them cracking dirty, obscene jokes with Rangeela’s name, one of them started playing a popular song on her name, another suggested her to dance naked with the beat of that song and promised to leave her if she does so.
Then everything stood still. Nature has nice chloroform, a natural blanket, that saves your innocent soul from all the dirty indignation that gets let loose on your body. While the external blanket of your body gets ravaged and torne apart by a pack of mad dogs, you tend to detach yourself. I fell unconscious, drifting half-dead, half-alive as they ransacked my body, but they could never touch my already-detached soul.
I don’t even remember when it started drizzling, when it all fell silent, when the fresh drops of rain got mixed with the fresh blood of our bodies that soaked the ground of what was once, our beloved Bihutoli.
