by Farahad Zama
“No, ayy – ” Sivudu shook his head and straightened his shoulders, casting off the habitual subservient stoop that he adopted in his employer’s presence. He said, more strongly, “No. I do not want to work here, but I have no choice.” He pointed rudely to the landlord. “He claims that I owe him money and I have to work for him until I repay the loan fully.”
“And do you owe him money?”
“No! I borrowed two thousand rupees for my wife’s treatment when she was unwell. I repaid that a long time ago, but he says that it is still outstanding.”
“What about the work that you have been doing here for all these years? Surely that should be enough to pay off the loan?”
“I don’t understand these matters, ayya,” Sivudu said. “I am a simple man. I keep paying every month, but the debt never seems to reduce.”
“If you think you have paid it off, why don’t you leave? If you cannot stay in the village, then just go to the town. The landlord cannot trace you there.”
“I am afraid of the police. My master is a big man; he has friends among the officers. They come here for festivals and feasts. Even if I run away, my whole clan is in this village – my brothers and cousins and uncles and aunts, nephews and nieces. Who knows what will happen to them if I run away and leave my loan papers behind?”
Leninkumar turned to the landlord. “Big man,” he said. Some of the young men in the Naxalite group sniggered. “Where is the loan document? Show it to this court. Let us see if Sivudu is telling the truth.”
After some not-so-gentle persuasion, the landlord produced two long keys to the safe in the bedroom. Three of the men were dispatched to empty its contents and bring them in front of the judge.
Leninkumar looked around the room while they were waiting. Why was money so important to some people that they would do anything to get it? By forcing the young girl to work all day, the cruel landlord was not only stealing her childhood, he was robbing her future too. He stole a glance at the landlord’s daughter. He knew that she was a rich bourgeois brat, spoiled and unaware of the cruelty that her class was perpetrating on the proletariat. She had probably never wondered how the water for her bath warmed itself or the clothes that she changed out of were magically washed and pressed.
Their eyes met and, to his annoyance, it was Leninkumar who turned away first. Why was he getting flustered by a woman – especially a rich woman, who represented everything that was wrong with the world? He was a soldier of Marx and Mao, fighting for the revolution. She was a parasite on society. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He looked at her again and she stared back at him.
Leninkumar’s eyes moved to the little servant girl sitting with her mother. Roja’s gaze followed Leninkumar’s and her face flushed. In Roja’s defence, he thought, now that she had come face to face with the reality of the situation, she appeared remorseful. He decided, for her sake, to be less violent with her father. There was no need to hit him, really.
The insurgents came back, heaving in a bed sheet by its corners. When they let go of the sheet, spilling its contents on the floor, everybody gaped in amazement. There were gasps from the servants and the insurgents alike. Kilos of gold jewellery, much of it set with sapphires, emeralds, diamonds and other precious stones, bundles of one-hundred and five-hundred-rupee notes, and pages and pages of official documents representing acres of land, loans and, Leninkumar thought, people’s lives lay spread out in front of them.
Sivudu suddenly pointed to a small booklet and said, “There, that’s mine.”
Leninkumar bent down and picked it up. “How do you know?” he asked.
“I recognise it,” said the illiterate villager.
Leninkumar examined the booklet in his hand. It had a red vermilion mark halfway down the front cover, as if asking for the Lord’s blessing. Truly, Marx was right, he thought. Religion is the opium of the masses. He opened the book and saw Sivudu’s name on it. He glanced at the older man and nodded.
Holding it aloft in his hand, he said, “Let it be recognised that this book was found in the defendant’s safe.” He turned to the landlord. “Is this a true record of your dealings with Sivudu over the matter of the loan?”
The landlord nodded.
Leninkumar leafed through the book until he came to the last entry, made two weeks ago. “It says here that Sivudu owes Reddy three thousand and two hundred rupees.”
“That is a lie,” screamed Sivudu. “I only borrowed two thousand rupees and I have paid far more than that over the years.”
Leninkumar said, “I see a thumbprint here against the figure. Is it yours?”
Sivudu peered at the book and said, “Yes, that is mine. I put the mark there.”
“Then how can you say that this is a lie?” said Leninkumar. “If you put your thumbprint in a document, we have to assume that you agree to what is in the document.”
“I am illiterate. I don’t know how to read what is in the book. The landlord or his agent tell me to put my thumbprint every month in that book and I do it. They give me a little money and tell me that the rest is going to pay the loan. I know that I am being paid less than what I can earn outside, but the landlord told me that, until I clear the debt, my whole family can work only for him. We are not allowed to work anywhere else.”
Leninkumar’s heart tightened painfully in his chest. He pointed to the servant maid and her little girl. “Are they your wife and child?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the man, nodding. “There were complications when she was pregnant with our second child and I borrowed the money to pay for her treatment. It was all in vain, however. We lost the baby anyway, and we are still trapped here.”
Leninkumar felt as if his blood was boiling. He shook the landlord’s shoulders violently and gave him a blow on his back. “How do you face yourself in the morning, you rascal? Aren’t you ashamed to make a little child work to repay a loan that doesn’t exist?”
He raised his hand before remembering Roja and lowered it slowly. His eyes flicked towards her. She had her face in her hands and she was sobbing in her cousin’s arms.
Leninkumar stepped back and went through the book more carefully.
“According to the records maintained by Reddy himself, over the years Sivudu has paid back more than four thousand and five hundred rupees and still owes more than the original amount of two thousand rupees. I don’t think I need to waste the court’s time with any more evidence. This Reddy is a counter-revolutionary of the highest order. He is a parasite, a leech who sucks the working class dry to further his own ambitions. I ask that he be declared a class enemy and punished accordingly.”
The leader of the Naxalite squad, Adi, stood up.
“Do you deny any of the evidence that has been presented tonight?”
He waited a moment and when the landlord did not say anything, Adi took Sivudu’s loan book from Leninkumar and handed it to the landlord along with a pen.
“Write on it: paid in full. And sign it.”
The landlord did as he was told. The writing and the signature were shaky but legible. Adi handed to Sivudu the book and thirty thousand rupees from the pile on the sheet. “That’s ten thousand rupees in wages for each of you for the time you have worked here. The debt has been officially cleared fair and square. You can go wherever you want.”
Sivudu took the money and the document, tears rolling down his craggy cheeks. “Thank you, kind sirs. You have given my life back to me. I will leave the village straight away.”
Adi nodded. “You do that,” he said. “It is probably for the best. But if anybody dares to hassle you or any member of your family over what happened today, they will have me to deal with. Is that clear?”
He looked around the room like a bull elephant trumpeting a challenge. Nobody responded. He turned back to the landlord.
“I declare you a class enemy. All your gold and money is forfeit to the People’s Struggle to help us fund the revolution. And I sentence you to death.” Adi raised his gun.
The women moaned and Roja’s sobbing became louder. Leninkumar moved forward and put a hand on Adi’s arm. “Let’s take him hostage,” he said. “He has much more money and properties in the town. He can be more valuable to us alive than dead.”
Adi’s finger tightened on the trigger and the hammer on the gun drew back a few millimetres. The bloodlust in Adi’s eyes was clear but Leninkumar regarded his commander steadily. Finally Adi relented, the trigger moved back to its position and the gun was put away in its holster. Leninkumar released the breath that he had not realised he was holding and turned back to the group of prisoners. He said to Roja, “You!”
She lifted her eyes to his, her face ravaged by tears.
“You are responsible for paying a ransom for your father. We will be in touch with you soon about where to deliver it and how much to pay, but, rest assured, it will be steep. You had better start collecting the money straight away.”
The landlord was blindfolded with a heavy gunny sack placed over his head and shoulders. A loop of rope was tied around him, effectively putting him in a straitjacket, and a length of it was used to lead him out like a cow on a leash. Some of the young men gathered up the gold and cash, ignoring the documents and books lying on the floor, while others in the group emptied cans of kerosene throughout the house. Finally, everybody was driven out and the building was set on fire. The chickens squawked in their coop. One of the servants raised its vertical door and they rushed out. Leninkumar saw Sivudu lifting the heavy dog in his arms and carrying it away from the yard.
The insurgents left with the landlord, leaving the household silhouetted by the inferno. Leninkumar wondered what Roja and the others would do. Would they try to extinguish the flames? The way the house had been doused in fuel, it would be impossible for them to even approach the fire, let alone to put it out. The nearest fire station was more than ten miles away, in the town, and by the time the firemen arrived, if they ever did, the house would be a cinder block.
Sixteen
Rehman woke up suddenly, disoriented. It was dark and a ghostly veil seemed to be covering the bed. To one side he saw the obscure shape of a loose-limbed man sleeping next to him, before realising where he was. Pulling the mosquito net out from under the edge of the mattress, he got out of bed, tucking the net back so that Dilawar would remain protected, and left the room.
He walked into the living room, stubbing his toe against a chair, before making for the clay jar that held cool water. After a long drink, he found his way on to the verandah. It was difficult to make out anything, not even the faintest pinprick of light – either from distant stars or from neighbours’ lamps, but there was a strange, flickering luminescence that he didn’t understand. The branches of the surrounding trees wavered broodingly over him, like a witch’s claws reaching for their victim, even though it was windless. Rehman felt breathless in the stillness and an unexplained sense of foreboding filled him. He had stayed in villages many times before, but well within their perimeters, surrounded by other houses, and there was always the sound of somebody coughing, a buffalo lowing or a dog barking. This was the first time he had slept in an isolated house like this, remote from other human habitation.
He padded softly along the verandah round the side of the house and was shocked to see a bright orange glow looming through the darkness. A fire – somewhere in the direction of Mr Naidu’s village. Rehman stared open-mouthed for a moment before turning back for his mobile phone. His heart gave a leap and almost stopped when he saw a man standing in front of him. “What – ”
Something heavy hit Rehman on the back of his head and his legs buckled.
His body hurt. Vaguely, he heard a voice say, “If he is not ready to walk in five minutes, shoot him. We don’t have time to waste.”
He was too dazed to be afraid. His mind seemed to be moving like treacle. He drifted off again.
Suddenly, Rehman felt as if he was drowning. He spluttered and shook his head violently. A heavy kick landed on the side of his stomach, below his ribs, and he groaned, curling into a ball. He heard a feminine gasp and then a rough, baritone voice saying, “Get up now. We don’t have all night.”
He struggled into a sitting position and found himself face to face with a man about to empty a pot of water over his head. He squinted, thinking that the pitcher was familiar. “Thatsh ze shame one I drank from,” he said, wondering why his tongue felt so thick and unwieldy. It was obviously important to listen to what the man was saying, but Rehman found his mind wandering. What an artful dodger the tongue is, he thought. He tried to articulate the thought, but his tongue kept getting in the way, somehow. He felt like laughing. Not so dodgy, after all, he thought, and this time he did laugh.
A few drops of water were sprinkled on his face and soft hands patted his cheeks.
“Rehman, wake up. These people are in a hurry and you have to recover soon.”
He peered at the woman kneeling in front of him. “Pari, when did you come here?” he asked, smiling dreamily. “You are sho beautiful. But what happened to your noshe? Why hash it become shorter?”
The woman stood and tried to pull him up by one arm, but he was too heavy for her and she sank back to the ground next to him. “Come on, Rehman.” She seemed desperate.
“Pari, will you marry me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But only if you get up and walk.”
Rehman beamed beatifically. “There are many conditions of love,” he said. “But that’s a funny one. For you, Pari, I will do anything.” He pushed himself off the ground and stood up groggily.
“He’s up – good,” said a man. “Tie him to the others and let’s start moving.”
Rehman continued smiling widely for a long time while the struggling train stumbled through the darkness, feeling the effects of every stone and projecting branch. Only the woman was free, darting along the length of the line, lending a hand to the men to keep their balance or to help them rise when they did fall, until eventually she too faltered. She was reduced then to plodding miserably along, her entire universe shrunk to the simple act of dragging one foot in front of the other.
After several hours, when the horizon was no longer black and the trees around them had started taking on a definite shape, the leader of the kidnappers called a halt. The prisoners sank to the ground, their legs too cramped even to feel relief. They fell asleep where they lay in the open.
♦
When Rehman woke up, his neck was burning under the scorching sun. He tried to move his hands to feel it and found that they wouldn’t budge. He looked down to see that his wrists had been tied in front of him and that the rope was attached to Dilawar, who was tied up in a similar way. Beyond him, the leash was also connected to Ramanujam and a tall, fat man who seemed familiar. Rehman squinted at him and realised that this last was Mr Reddy, the president of Mr Naidu’s village council.
He twisted his head and gazed around. They were in a clearing in a forest; the sun had risen above the trees and was shining down on the entire group. Aruna was sleeping next to Ramanujam, even though she wasn’t tied up like the men. She opened her eyes and stared back at him – the poor woman looked exhausted.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Rehman opened his mouth to answer but his mouth felt as if it was filled with sand from Vizag beach. It took him a couple of tries before he could say anything. “Yes,” he said. “Was Pari with us?” he asked.
“She is in town, thank God,” she said. He thought she blushed, but it was difficult to say, because her skin was already red from the sun.
Rehman had a horrible suspicion. “What exactly did I say last night?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about it, my friend,” said Dilawar, who had woken up in the meantime. “You had a pretty serious knock to your head. You looked like Baloo, the bear, in Jungle Book after the monkeys had finished with him.”
The previous night was a blur to Rehman. The last thing he remembered clearly was the he
art-stopping moment when the man had appeared in front of him at the guest house; the endless plod through the forest was a confused jumble.
“Hey!” shouted Dilawar. “Untie us, you bastards.” A mynah flew away, its wings flapping loudly, at the sudden noise.
After several minutes of shouting, a couple of men came into the clearing and approached them slowly. “My name is Adi,” said the burlier of the two. “I am the leader of this dalam, this squad. A number of my men think that it is too risky to take you with us. Leninkumar here thinks that you can be held for ransom, so I am making him responsible for looking after you. Don’t give him – or any of us – trouble and you can crawl back to your miserable, parasitic lives soon. If you become a nuisance, you will be shot and your bodies left for vultures and jackals. Is that clear?” He looked at each of them in turn and they nodded. “Good,” he said, and turned away.
Dalam, Leninkumar, parasites – Rahman was horrified. They had fallen into the hands of left-wing insurgents. He looked at Dilawar and mouthed, “Naxalites. Sorry!” Why had he brought his old friend – and Paris fiancé – to the village?
Dilawar’s eyes widened. He struggled to remember what he knew about them. The movement had started in the sixties – the late sixties, he was sure – in a small village near Darjeeling called Naxalbari. A poor tribal man had been granted ownership of the land he farmed by the courts and had been attacked by upper-class villagers. The tribals counter-attacked and claimed the land and from this ‘Naxalbari uprising’ had come the word Naxalite.
He was sure that Rehman knew a lot more about them than he did. He wouldn’t be surprised if Rehman had flirted with the Naxalites during his college days. It was students like him, highly intelligent and socially conscious, who were the most attracted to their left-wing ideology. Dilawar shook his head. Rehman would never be attracted by a movement that believed in violence to achieve their ends, he thought. And, over the years, much of the original vision of the Naxalite movement had been lost and they had split and splintered, and they had become another violent movement, preying on mid-level landlords and extorting mining companies – which invariably had to operated in remote forests – in the name of the revolution, prompting the Prime Minister to call them the most serious internal threat to India’s national security.
