by K R Meera
‘Where were you?’ asked Father.
‘At Alipore Jail. Then at the channel. I agreed to renew the contract.’
Maybe it was my fearless tone, but Father’s eyes bore into me.
‘So you have become able enough to make all the decisions yourself?’
‘The policemen didn’t let me ask for your permission. They won’t let you be the hangman because you’re the defendant in a murder case.’
‘Who says that I can’t be the hangman? In so many countries, it is such people who work as hangmen!’ He was angry.
‘Anyway, that’s not allowed in this country.’
‘It’s allowed in many places!’
‘But I don’t decide these things, Baba.’
His eyes grew redder. ‘You should have threatened to leave the job! Your rash, disobedient act will affect us all. You think hanging is simple? That you can do it all alone?’
‘Baba, haven’t you been doing it alone?’ I asked, my voice calm.
‘Huh! Listen to that! Haven’t I been doing it alone! I am a man whereas you are a mere woman!’
‘But Baba, you yourself said that I am the symbol of woman’s power for the women of the entire world!’
A towering rage gathered on his face.
‘Huh! One has to say many such things for the reporters and their audiences. That’s just politically correct talk! Not practically correct, though. The fact that you are a woman and hence have many limitations is the practically correct thing!’
‘I have no limitations now that will affect my ability to carry out a hanging, Baba.’
Because I had begun to pant, he stared at me incredulously.
‘I went to meet the jail minister,’ he let me know in a disenchanted tone. ‘I have asked to be allowed to come with you as an assistant. If that is allowed, I’ll be able to make sure that you don’t make a mistake. The fact that you’ve never done this before makes me very afraid.’
‘I am not the least scared, Baba,’ I assured him.
That was true. My breasts had grown hard as stones. The pain I had felt when Maruti Prasad grabbed them from behind, when Sanjeev Kumar wrung them, when the police officer touched them with his ruler, had vanished. The urge to kill frothed at my fingertips. I need to kill a man, I decided, stubbornly. My fingertips must feel the last throb of his life’s breath. That will be my message to the world, I thought. When I came back after a bath, Father was waiting for me.
‘Really, if you hang someone, who will marry you? Just calling oneself a hangman is very different from being one. That bothers me as each day passes . . .’ His voice choked. ‘Chetu di, listen to your baba. Tell the IG babu and the minister that you can’t do this without your baba. They must say, let him be present there as an assistant. Only then can we make use of this chance.’
He came over and placed his hand on my shoulder. Father’s effort to appease me made me laugh.
‘No, Baba. That won’t work.’
Astonishment spread on his face.
‘Don’t be crazy, Chetu, if it goes wrong, our entire bloodline will be tainted!’
‘It won’t go wrong,’ I stated, firm and clear. ‘I want to do this by myself. Even if you simply stand beside the gallows with your arms folded, Baba, no one will believe I did it. The hangman’s daughter.
His mere assistant! Besides, what right does a man who chased a woman and hacked her to death have to hang another who raped and murdered a young girl? I make the ideal executioner for Jatindranath Banerjee. I want the status of the hangman, not of the hangman’s daughter!’
When Magistrate Douglas recommended that the British government confer honours upon Faizunnesa Choudhrani, Queen Victoria offered her the title of begum first.
‘I am already a begum,’ she told the Resident Sahib who came to give her the news. ‘It’s no use becoming a begum again. If the empress would like to acknowledge my abilities, then I should be given the title of nawab. I will accept nothing less.’
‘But, Choudhurani,’ the Resident Sahib began, ‘that title is for men.’
‘That’s because women haven’t been given a chance to be rulers.’
In the end the British gave her the title of nawab. Thus she held court and discussed the affairs of government with her ministers, travelled the country, and went hunting in her veil. She lay on her bed—one half of which remained unoccupied—which was covered with the soft pelt of the Bengal tigers she had hunted, and wrote her autobiography, perpetually troubled by the eternal war between organized religion and the woman’s body.
‘Okay, okay, what do you plan to do now?’ Father asked, as if throwing a challenge.
‘I performed the sandbag test today,’ I said. ‘It was a success. I will go there once again tomorrow. Before that, tonight, I will smoothen the rope. Then I will discuss the condemned convict’s health status with the jail doctor. Speak about other things with the IG babu and Superintendent babu. After that, I’ll sign the papers. I’ll tell them that I will want the remuneration right then, and in cash.’
Father kept gaping at me.
‘And then?’
‘I know what to do, Baba, don’t worry about me.’ I sounded vexed.
‘Okay, okay, how much did you get from the channel? Give it to me; I need to meet the lawyer tomorrow.’
He held out his hand. I continued to sit there, holding him fully in my gaze.
‘Stop sitting there pop-eyed! Hand me the cash!’ He leapt up, scowling.
‘Tell me first why you killed Kakima.’
He didn’t expect that. ‘You needn’t know that!’
‘If I need not know that, then don’t harbour hopes about the money I earned!’ My voice became louder.
Father squirmed as if he had been hit and stood glaring at me. ‘What did you say, you arrogant—’
‘I’ll give you the money if you tell me why you killed her.’
He got up and went into the house, then rushed out in a frenzy and hauled me up by the neck. I thought he was about to strangle me but I didn’t struggle or fight back. I knew by then that I had not just the urge to kill but also the urge to die.
‘Baba, I need to know!’ My voice was unforgiving.
He released me then, weakly, went inside, had a drink and came back. Ma came in with a pot full of water on her hip. Seeing her, he grew weaker and more helpless.
‘Why, what’s happening here?’ Ma placed the greenish pot in the courtyard and hurried back into the room.
‘I asked Baba why he killed Kakima. He hauled me up by the neck.’
Ma’s voice was lethargic. ‘Who knows? Maybe he grabbed her forgetting that she was his brother’s wife?’
‘Chi! You beast!’ Father lunged forward, caught Ma by the neck and shook her head hard. ‘I’ll kill you too, you fool! I killed her so that I won’t have to grab her! I can’t accept a cheap whore as my sister-in-law!’
Ma freed her head. Father beat his head with both his hands and looked at us, trying to control his panting.
‘I saw her at Kalighat . . . in a place where she shouldn’t be seen . . .’
I stood still, overwhelmed.
‘Do you think I will suffer that?’
The room was filled with quiet.
‘She went there to make money to take Sudev for treatment to Madras,’ said Ma, without the slightest hint of bewilderment, untying her hair and tying it up again. ‘Treatment here would have cost three lakhs. There, it’d cost only one and a half. That’s why she . . .’ Ma’s voice choked. ‘If I were in her place, if it were you who suffered, bloated up, in pain, not able to pee, I’d have gone there even now, in my sixties. Or taken this girl to sell. What else is left in this house to sell? Your family history from four hundred years before Christ?’
When Ma stepped out of the room, laughing loudly, Father’s eyes bulged
and his mouth opened and shut desperately, as if he were drowning. A veritable lake welled up in his eyes. He hobbled to his cot and stretched out on it. Ma and I stood near the door and looked at each other. We heard a sound, like that of a very, very old clay idol falling to the ground and crumbling into dust. Ma rubbed her chest and went into the kitchen. My wet hair dried instantly from the heat of my body.
Thakuma returned with little Champa and Rari. She had brought prasad from Hemu da’s temple. She came in, rubbed a little ash from a pyre on my forehead, and daubed some sindoor paste made with the blood of a sacrificed fowl. ‘Everything will go auspiciously,’ she said to no one in particular.
I hugged Rari and Champa, and sat on the cot. ‘Chetu di, when you kill him, will his eyes pop out?’ Rari asked.
‘Will he cry out?’ Champa wanted to know.
‘No.’
I held them closer and laughed. Champa was beginning to ask something else when a loud knock was heard at the door.
‘Grddha da, open the door!’
That was Sibdev babu. When Father opened the door, I too got up.
‘You’ve got into a fine fix, haven’t you? What all did you blab on TV?’ he asked, deeply perturbed, seeing me.
Father and I were both equally perplexed.
‘The telecast is still on. Before it ends, the reporters are all going to mob you here. Whatever you say, it will affect the government badly! We have orders to remove you quickly.’
‘To remove her! Where to?’ Father’s voice boomed.
‘For the time being, to the jail. Till the hanging is over, no one from the press is allowed to have any contact with her!’
I stood there, dumbfounded.
‘Bring enough clothes for two days, and the rope, of course.’
‘Babu, she is a child. Will she be able to do it alone?’ Father’s voice was feeble.
‘Grddha da, you should have thought of that earlier!’ Sibdev babu lost his temper.
‘Better do it well . . . remember, the chief minister and his wife and many other important people are coming to watch it!’ Father said.
I didn’t even know what to think.
‘But Babu, to take a girl like her to a jail where there are only men . . .’
‘Don’t you worry about that, Grdhha da. She will not come to any harm in Alipore Jail. No one will utter even an indelicate word! I assure you that. Chetna, quick!’
I went mechanically to my room. Ma, Rari and Champa watched, electrified. I gathered my clothes into a plastic bag, and then Champa and Rari came and hugged me tightly; I kissed them. After I had soothed them both, I opened my purse and took out five thousand rupees and gave the money to Ma. Thakuma held me by the shoulders and kissed me on the forehead. I then hurried to Father’s room to get the rope. When the sack was opened, Thakuma came in and lifted it effortlessly towards the pictures on the walls, closed her eyes and prayed. She then placed it on my shoulders. I stood up straight, like a young warrior bound for battle with the bow on her shoulder.
‘Bless me, Baba,’ I whispered.
‘Stop.’ He wiped his eyes, lit the sandal incense sticks, and waved them before the images of Ma Kali and Bhagawan Mahadev. I folded my hands in prayer. When he gave me the sticks and told me to place them before Dadu’s image, his eyes welled up again. When I moved them in front his face, I looked sadly into his eyes which were still moist with the memories of his lost love. Father then fished out the liquor bottle from behind Dadu’s picture, poured a little into its cap, and held it out to me. I did what I had seen Father do: think of Dadu and our ancestors and splatter a few drops three times. After having made the offering, I looked at Father, who was watching me with hands folded, and Sibdev babu, and poured the rest into my mouth. Everybody gaped. Like Faizunnesa who wore the veil and went off to the jungle to hunt, I too felt the urge to declare, I am not a begum, I am a nawab. When the grating taste of the liquor seared my tongue, I said to no one in particular—I am not the hangman’s daughter, I am the hangwoman. There was a distance of just hours between me and that status; fifty-four hours, to be exact. When the rope, worth just one hundred and eighty-two rupees, which lay on my shoulders, poked my arms and breasts and gave me pain, I thought: This too is a man. Till then I had thought otherwise. I had the wrong idea that the rope, which lay bent, waiting for a chance to straighten its spine, was a woman like me.
50
Sibdev babu found a space for me to make a bed in the welfare office of Alipore Jail. It drizzled all night. The dust-covered files and the papers that rustled in the breeze from the fan overhead reminded me of the Bhavishyath office. A young woman constable, Kadambini Ghosh, had been deputed to keep me company. Whenever Sibdev babu moved away, she chatted joyfully on the cell phone with her boyfriend. I found the delicate smile that bloomed on her lips as she looked at the cell phone both attractive and irritating. I could never create the fantasy of such a man; nor could I claim for myself that smile which made a woman exquisitely lovely. Therefore, when they chatted, I threw open the windows on the left side wall of the office. I saw, immediately, Netaji’s cell in the yellow light, like a sunken ship. Behind it towered the gallows tree. Late at night, I woke up to the sounds of a wrestling match somewhere nearby. Kadambini Ghosh was fast asleep on her back, hugging the cell phone to her chest. I went to the window and looked out. Below the gallows tree, two old men were locked in mortal combat. One of them was about seven feet tall, and heavily built. His skin was completely wrinkled, like the folds of a bag; it was impossible to guess his age. When he stepped up and moved away, when he raised his leg or attacked his opponent with his fists, his flesh could be seen crinkling inside his infirm skin. The other was a middle-aged man, much shorter. One of them wore a blue loin cloth, and the other a red one. I knew their faces well but could not recall where I’d met them. After some time I heard someone mutter from just below the window, ‘Today Mosh will throw Grddha.’ ‘If so, let’s call Agnimitra,’ someone else opined. ‘It’s time to draw a black curtain between a red and a blue, Satyanatha,’ said a woman’s voice. Women? Here? I was flabbergasted. ‘Pingalakeshini, where is Ratnamalika?’ asked another very roguish voice. Suddenly light dawned in my brain—they were my ancestors. I had only heard of them and so could not recognize them by sight. My hair stood on end; this was simply unbelievable. I was assailed by waves of heat and cold simultaneously. I woke up with a start to find myself standing beside the same window. The yellow light burned bright behind the gallows. I could see cell no. 1 and no. 3 vaguely. I felt someone stand holding its bars. I went back to bed breathing hard. Even when dawn arrived the heavy breathing had not left me.
‘IG babu is here.’ Sibdev babu hurried into the welfare office at nine, when the police convoy reached the jail gate.
‘Don’t argue with him,’ he said, ‘he is a difficult man.’
‘He is a Mullick. So am I.’ I tried to laugh.
‘Don’t laugh. He is angry enough to kill you. Just wait till the hanging is over and I’ll teach her a lesson, that’s what he bellowed when he saw your show on TV. He’s surely going to give Grddha da a hard time.’
That didn’t scare me at all. Before long, Srinath Mullick entered, followed by some policemen, anger and embarrassment written all over his face. Our eyes met when he reached the office; his were fiery with rage. But that didn’t affect me even a bit.
‘It’s time to examine the gallows. The hangman should come along.’
He gave me a severe look. I went down the steps smiling at him and walked, in no apparent hurry, towards the gallows. My eyes darted towards cell no. 3. Jatindranath stood there looking at us, pressing his face on the bars. As I set my dupatta right and got on the gallows platform, I felt that I was stepping on a theatre stage. A group of prisoners from the two-storey wards came out to watch. I pulled off the plastic sheet which protected the rope from the rain.
‘The noose
! Where is the noose?’ The IG addressed me wrathfully.
‘Babu, the noose is knotted just before the hanging,’ I told him humbly.
I tied the end of the rope and hanged the sandbag. The sandbag which had soaked up the night’s showers weighed heavy on the rope and turned round and round. Suddenly, it looked like Father’s body. I broke out in a cold sweat.
‘Babu, it weighs more than seventy-five kilos. One and a half times the convict’s body mass,’ Sibdev babu stepped up and told him.
‘How much does the rope weigh?’ he asked.
Sibdev babu looked at me.
‘3.2 kilos,’ I said, after a moment.
‘How are you so sure?’
‘Familiarity. From seeing it all the time; hearing about it all the time.’
My smile provoked him further. In truth, that smile had become a part of my face.
‘You talk too much. I will teach you a lesson!’ he said, as though throwing a challenge.
I laughed again. He stormed off towards Jatindranath’s cell. Sibdev babu threw me an anxious glance and hurried after him. I could hear him ask something when he reached the front of the cell; in the strong breeze, it wasn’t really audible. After speaking with Jatindranath, he spun around and walked back towards me with large strides; he looked like an assassin approaching me. Sibdev babu had to run to catch up with him.
‘Babu, as his last wish, he asked for three inland letter cards,’ he told the IG.
‘Uh-hum?’
‘To write to his wife, brother and father.’
‘Will they come to receive the body?’
Sibdev babu’s voice grew as heavy as his face. ‘No.’
‘Is anyone from his family coming to witness the hanging?’
Now we were face-to-face. He fixed his eyes on me while talking with Sibdev babu.
‘Two male relatives can witness it. Haven’t you told them?’
