There was more to him
He was a teacher, simple to understand and trendy in style. He was the kind of person who ate egg in the breakfast and heavy meal at lunch to be shoulders and hands with his generation. He was good at meeting with people and nice at parties. He was unmarried, available and eligible. His mother was talking to the relatives for a suitable girl for him. And he was getting good proposals of rich and reputed families with hidden promises of dowry. He got a cute smile and mustaches. He was an ideal Indian responsible man. With a job. Car. house. Everything .. Yes..
He was a nice teacher too. Children loved him for his knowledge and capacity for solutions. He entered the classroom everyday with an unmatched energy and exits with the same. Parents seek advice from him on the matter of their children because he was the best teacher of the school, according to the kids. At the small age of 22 he got a solid reputation of a mentor. Students could meet him after the class and could call him anytime for problems related to his own subject or other's.
He wasn’t doing it like a duty but like life itself. He was totally involved in whatever he was assigned to. Whether, it was the duty to take the exam or to give extra classes. Most loved his ability and talent to give examples and you could have asked him anything from anywhere. He was a walking Google. He knew how to make the subject interesting and easy for liberated grasps. All the facts about freedom struggle were on his fingertips. Which king fought whom and why and how the cities made and the whole system of diplomacy. Which queen was unfaithful. Which king was stupid. Which city was famous for what? Who killed whom? Who ruled what? Mixed-humor was the part of his art. Added self-made comments told in a serious way which confirm his dignity and kept classes refreshed even during most boring chapters. His number was written on the main bench in front with so anyone could note it down for occasional need.
He was an all-rounder teacher in short. People were envious of him because of his perfect life with that permanent smile on his face. He was a follower of strict schedule, tastes and passions.
There was nothing he much liked. His likes were simple and normal. Deep liked spicy traditional Indian food with occasional fish and leg piece inside the curry. A cigarette after the food with a movie or book at evening to complete a perfect day. He was a collector too. He got a passion to collect stamps, old coins and skulls of kids in the basement of the house.
Hobbies are hobbies and passions are passions. One cannot question those. And the art class of 1997 didn’t care about anything when it came to personal choices. They were famous for imitating there feeling into realities on whatever result. Cowards care about results. Artists listen to their souls and obey it blindly. Life on own terms can be hard or easy but very interesting. Very fucking interesting like mixing hells and heavens to drink-bath inside. Like the drops of melting red iron on hands and crying over its beauty. Shaping the entire structure with passions can convert it in a graphic-bloody movie with a parental advisory tag on a reddish bookmark. This time it was killing the innocent slum kids and possessing their skulls in the underground room. Skulls were kept in the showcase behind the bench which was covered and layered in dried blood. For Deep, it was his personal matter.
He used to pick-up playing slum kids or kids from the parks at evenings after reading a nice good book of personal development, success or sex. It was easy to fool kids and it was easier to fool a poor one. Just show them a chocolate or toffee or say butter-sugar words or just pick them up and throw them in the back or front seat of the car. Then make them sleep by using some chemical or some hard hit on head. Then take them to the apartment and then to the coated bench in front of showcase. Then wait for the child to wake up again so they can throw legs and cry.
Deep never cleaned the room except throwing the remaining outside. Remaining included blood stained clothes, bones, skin, foot-wears and fat. With time, salty-lemony bloody aroma of that room became intoxicating. He liked to sit in that room and think about the past. Like some people do on beaches and over mountain cliffs during sunset. Different people, different choices. He was doing it with the same enthusiasm and smile which he used in the class to teach and help kids. He loved them all.
A normal person couldn’t stand still for more than 10 minutes in that room without puking up or getting fainted with disgust. The room was filled with flies and other small insects. It had sticky air like sweaty-thick moisture all over. There was a cat in this room once but it died in three days with suffocation even after getting proper food and drink. Cats are stupid anyway and used to freedom. One shouldn’t be used to freedom or anything good of any kind. It is very difficult to come out of these addictive habits. Cat’s body was still there in disrespect for it failed to suffer. Suffering is an art and few who fail to suffer has no rights to live and respected. One has to accept suffering as inseparable part of body and mind.
The room had a single bulb emitting blue light which remained on all the time. It was a very beautiful bulb with a soft light. It was a costly piece imported thru a website. Its light mixed-up with blood to make a dark-violet which was perfectly matching to the atmosphere.
Deep had no trouble to breath in this air of lovely children. It was always the most relaxing moment of the day when he entered in the basement.
It was directly beneath the living room area of this old house which was made by his grand-father. Grand-father didn’t know other uses of a basement. He made it to keep the grains and other house-hold items which couldn’t be kept in open. Old people were so thoughtful in their simple way of living. Gran-pa didn’t make it to cut the children and conserve their little skulls, that was for sure.
Sometimes Deep used to tap on the living room floor to get in touch with his other self. The other face which was hidden from outer world. Truth is bearable only when you have nothing to cover it up. Suffering is the truth which people try to hide behind a fake smile of 220 volt. That’s where the truth get confused with other necessary gestures and people don’t go much further from that point because that is a point which separate good from evil. There is the thin line of madness which once crossed never to return again. Then you are on the other side forever holding your hairs for comfort.
Even Deep didn’t know why he was doing all this because it was not a Jekyll or Hyde thing. He had planned everything and sometimes even at the school while teaching and talking. It was the matter of choice.
He looked outside for some kid who was out of the pack for sometime. Helping them out was his nature and hobby. He was just an ordinary person with an unordinary habit. Killing the kids on alcohol was more fun. He had the collection of cheap plastic and metal jeweler of his victims too. On special occasions like award ceremony or inspection, he liked to wear those as lucky charms. Lucky charms were working well because he was doing great in every field.
That day when police was searching for the evidence for the missing kids, he was wearing a bracelet of a six year old. Wearing it just excited him with a funny feeling in the groin because parents of the kids were with police and they didn’t recognize the bracelet. They were looking so poor and might be half happy that they wouldn’t need to feed an extra stomach from now.
‘My only son has lost, saab ji. Inispector saab is helping us to find him,’ man with yellow-brown teeth told Deep. Poor guy was looking at the floor ashamed of himself for doubting a respectable teacher and ashamed of his appearance. He was the only dirty thing present there… If only he had seen the underground room of that house.
‘Sorry to disturb you, sir. You know these people. They create bastards and keep them in open. Disgracing our country’
Yes, They deserve it he thought to himself in order to justify his act. ‘Its all-right inspector. I am ready to co-operate as much as I can. I am a teacher myself and understands a father heart well.’
Father’s heart, my ass.
Deep’s
daring increased with time and he started throwing bones and hairs in the house of parents and inside the police stations, at nights, when no one looked. He was dying to be known in someway as an artist, not a molester. In this process, Deep crossed all the limits of hesitation. Other face was craving to be known because it considered itself as a great-man not an ordinary teacher. Ordinary teacher was fading slowly and was unable to keep up with such an extreme character, which was pushing it with every passing second.
He started being angry on the kids and once he pushed a student so hard on the matter of incomplete homework that the student hit the wall and broke his finger bone. That made a spot on Deep’s white shining reputation. For his amusement, it was making Deep happier instead. He was getting what he wanted. In school and he started punishing everyone on small issues.
Life was complete and fulfilled but he desired for more. So it wasn’t going to satisfy him. Nothing was going to satisfy him from now. He was a butcher not some normal tutor. He messed up all from top to bottom in personal to professional life in the trail to send signals about his real identity. And wise-men say that when you do something with total dedication, you always get it. He wanted to reveal his identity in someway. To be known as a death artist and the god of fear.
One day, a local Journalist did a story on missing kids in the slum area near the Deep’s house. The day when the story broad-casted on the television, it was the happiest day of the life of Deep.
People started shouting on the streets with the banners that were saying ‘we want killer’, ‘useless police’ and ‘high power cut, unemployment and now chain-murderers’.
It fired up the investigation and two inspectors got suspended. Hundreds of FIR’s filed up in few days of time. Even the guardians who lost their kids in road accidents and other disasters were blaming chain-killer for plotting everything.
One investigation leads to another and finally it become clear that the serial killer is somewhere near that area where Deep was living. Now they started shortlisting suspects and before dawn they were after Deepak, loaded with their entire backup and equipment that could have handled a terrorist group if needed.
This was inevitable, Deep knew. He made it possible. The place of glory had been achieved. For a few moments of anti-climax while he was watching police-men coming from far away so carefully, Deepak felt a deep relief. It could be seen from his window. He went to the basement and locked it from inside. There were three children to celebrate with him. Alive. One of them was in bad condition. Other two were sobbing.
‘Are you hungry?’, Deep asked.
One of the children answered in yes, Deep gave him a chocolate. Kid was happy that he was eating tasty chocolate before dying. What a pity that he was dying. Now, he could meet god in some hours and ask him a few questions that were bubbling in his mind since he had opened these dusty eyes. That room was symbolizing nothing else but death. Red table, smells and the cabinet of skulls. He wasn’t much scared to die right now. If this is life: this poverty and hunger and now this predator then dying was worth it. His mind was working in a familiar way where people try to accept their destiny, to keep it reasonable and then surrender.
When Deep told them that the police was coming and they would be rescued, there was no happiness on kids faces. Third one kept eating the chocolate. Other two were looking at the floor with nostalgic expressions, remembering the times they had in this selfish world which only knew taking. Third one wanted to ask for more chocolate. It was so tasty. It was the first time he was eating such a luxurious food.
‘Listen, i am going to escape from here. Okay? Police would come and take you to the shitty place where you belong. This thing is getting boring although. Take care,’ Deep went back and couldn’t be found.
He was 23 years old at that time.
Wall of fortune
Batch of 1999 Page 9
