The Easy Day Was Yesterday

by Paul Jordan

  An hour later, my new mattress arrived in my cage. It was an old, thin mattress so I folded it in half for additional cushioning, but it was 100 times better than the hessian sack on the ground. The old man nagged me to have my bucket bath and then the politician and I went for our nightly walk around this shit pit. Thankfully we didn’t talk much; I just didn’t think I could’ve handled any of his ‘deep’ questions today. We sat on the planter box and watched the lock-up process. He introduced me to a young lad and I suspected there might have been some after-hours activity going on there.

  After lock-down, the Warden visited and offered words of encouragement. I thanked him for his support and for tolerating all my visitors. He said he didn’t mind and only wanted the best for me. Manish brought some food; well, I think it was food. It looked more like baby shit in a bowl. He offered me his phone if I promised to eat the meal. I agreed and quickly called Sallie and asked her to call back on this number. It was great to have a quick chat with her. Then I threw the food in my rubbish bag. Manish took his phone and I was left in peace and on my own for the next 10 hours.

  My nights were now routine: I set up my mosquito net, I worked out in darkness for an hour doing push-ups and sit-ups until exhaustion set in and then I read or did Sudoku for two or three hours while eating a biscuit or two. I usually tried to sleep at around midnight and hoped for dreams so I could escape the thought of the rats chewing on my body during the night. But the sleep was too short and not deep enough for the dreams to take hold. So I was well awake by the time the caveman grunted at 5.00 the next morning.

  Saturday 31 May

  This morning I decided to remain where I was under the mosquito net for a while longer. When I first arrived at the gaol I assumed that I had to be out of bed at 5.00 am, but quickly discovered that others just stayed where they were. Now that I was resigned to the fact that I was going to be there for a while, I realised that I had no real need to spring out of bed. So I stayed where I was, still under my mosquito net which became my shield from the outside world. I thought about the day before and felt like a fool for being so emotional. I was in prison and needed to toughen up if I was going to survive this experience. If I cried like a woman again, one of these dirty bastards might try to treat me like his woman and then I’d be up on a murder charge. Now I felt more content with my situation. I knew I was going to be here for a few more days. This realisation allowed me to forget about being released and start thinking about adapting to this shitty experience.

  Ujwal visited at 11.00 am and told me that the petition submitted by the angry man had been thrown out, and that the angry man would be no more trouble. Apparently the angry man had another wife living just over the Nepali border and frequently visited her. The Nepali police visited the angry man when he was at his wife’s house and told him that, if I wasn’t released soon, and they saw him in Nepal again, they’d kill him. The angry man assured Ujwal that he wouldn’t cause any more trouble as long as the Nepali police didn’t hurt him. Ujwal agreed to talk to the Nepali police. It would have been easier for all if the angry man had just left me alone in the first place. I’d almost be back in Australia by now and would have nothing more on my mind than my holiday in Fiji. Damn that old prick; I’d love to see him again somewhere.

  Ujwal had to return to Kathmandu to apply for more leave and to stir up some government action. ‘Okay mate,’ I said, accepting that I’d be by myself for a few days without a visitor. ‘Have you got my cell phone with you?’ I asked.

  ‘No, it is in the car,’ Ujwal said with little interest.

  ‘Go and get it and give it to me,’ I said as Ujwal nearly fell over.

  ‘No, this is impossible; I don’t think you can do this.’

  ‘I can, Ujwal. Half the population of the prison has a bloody cell phone. Please get it for me.’

  Ujwal returned to the car as I waited on the other side of the barred gate. When Ujwal visited on his own he wasn’t allowed into the gaol. He returned and passed my phone through the bars and I immediately put it down the front of my underwear.

  ‘Thanks mate, I’ll see you in a few days.’ We shook hands and he was gone. I returned to the cage, but then became concerned that Ujwal probably hadn’t silenced the phone. I hoped it wouldn’t ring while I was en route.

  Back in my cage I couldn’t wait to read the history of text messages and see who had called, but Ugly Guard was sitting on my mattress enjoying my fan. I willed the ugly bastard to piss off, but he didn’t go anywhere. The other problem was that I still didn’t know whether the phone was on silent so it could ring at any minute. I had to somehow get him to leave. I decided to lie down and pretend to sleep, but he didn’t budge, and just sat there staring out the front of the cell. Then the loud-talking guard walked past and saw Ugly Guard resting in my cage. He ran into my cage and raised his beating stick as though he was going to belt me with it. Instead he brought the stick down on Ugly Guard’s back and there was an almighty crack, quickly followed by a torrent of abuse. I rolled off the mattress into the corner out of the way as Ugly Guard ran out the front of the cage with Loud Talker chasing him with more swings of his stick and abuse. As quickly as it started, it was over. I remained in the corner for a moment wondering what the hell had just happened. Holy shit, that was interesting. I didn’t think Ugly Guard would be back again, but one thing was for sure, he was going to be really pissed off with me.

  I was now by myself so I rolled over and checked my phone. Thankfully the phone was turned off, so I turned it on and put it under my mattress while it made its turning-on noises. I gave it a few minutes then went berserk sending text messages to everyone letting them know I had my phone with me. I even lay on my side and placed the phone under my ear risking a short call to Sallie. It was difficult; I had to whisper the words. Sallie told me she was leaving on Monday and would go to New Delhi first then come to me by Wednesday. I was pissed off that I’d even be here on Wednesday. When I was done with my phone, I turned it off and stashed it in a small plastic bag that held my socks, jocks and money. I put the money on top of the bag so a potential thief would take the notes and leave the rest.

  I slid my mattress to the back wall of the cage and sat against the wall reading more Primal Fear. I was approaching the end of this book so I had to slow down a bit. As I settled into the pages, Loud-Talking Guard came into my cage, but this time he approached quietly and sat at the end of the mattress. He said nothing about his efforts a few hours ago, but told me the Nepali journalists were protesting at the border today over my arrest.

  In the afternoon I felt a little desperate, so I went to the office to talk to the Warden. He was busy and told me to wait. When he was free I asked if he could pass a message to the kind man who had visited me the other day. The Warden had no idea who I was talking about so I pushed on with more descriptions. I figured I needed help and there didn’t seem to be much happening. That man had been kind enough to bring me a mosquito net, he spoke excellent English and he did say to contact him if I ever needed anything, so I thought I’d ask the Warden to please do just that. But the Warden had no idea who I was talking about so, after a few minutes, I let it go.

  At 6.30 pm, I was sitting on the planter box with the politician discussing the complex issues of life and watching the day come to a close at the camp — another day in hell. Thankfully the politician didn’t interrogate me with too many complex questions tonight; I don’t think I could have handled it. But at least today I had scored a tiny victory: my smuggled cell phone had become a lifeline to the outside world.

  15.

  NIGHTMARE DAYS NINE AND TEN

  Sunday 1 June

  At 11.00 am I had just finished a quick, covert chat with Sallie when Manish came to the cage and told me to go the office. The new High Commission guy had arrived. His name was Rajeesh and he seemed to be a nice guy. Like the angry man, Rajeesh suffered from terrible vitiligo. He asked the Warden if I could make a quick call to my wife, so I called Sallie. Sall
ie was delighted that we could have a conversation that was more than just whispers. I asked the guys whether they had spoken to the kind man who brought me the mosquito net. They said they were going to see the Sub-District Magistrate following this meeting. I asked them to explain to the Warden who the Sub-District Magistrate was. The penny dropped with the Warden and he laughed; of course he knew the Sub-District Magistrate and they agreed to ask him to visit.

  Back in the yard I decided to walk laps and I seemed to walk for bloody miles. As I walked past one of the cell blocks for what seemed like the fiftieth time, I could hear a TV running, so had a peek through the barred window. An old black and white TV with massive knobs to change the channel was mounted in the corner of the dormitory-style building. Something that resembled the Sunday matinee was playing and the movie looked old, although it could have been the effect of the black and white TV. A crowd of around 50 prisoners sat in front watching the movie and I found myself becoming absorbed by the show as well. I couldn’t understand what was happening because it was in Hindi, but it was something different to do. Then, inevitably, there was a blackout and, since the generators weren’t used during the day, that was the end of the program. The prisoners protested loudly and, if it hadn’t been for Loud Talker swinging his stick, there would have been a riot. Loud Talker pulled out his long stick, yelled a pile of abuse at everyone and then started to swing, which seemed to quiet everyone down. That was my cue to continue my Sunday afternoon stroll.

  That afternoon I was summoned to the Warden’s office where the Sub-District Magistrate was waiting. He said the High Commission guys had visited and passed on my message. He asked what I needed and said I should feel free to ask him — as a friend — for anything. I explained that I’d run out of soap and needed shampoo. He agreed to buy these things for me. I went to get the money, but he refused and sent his lackey to buy lemonade for us. The door to the Warden’s office was closed and the Sub-District Magistrate poured a glass of lemonade for us both. It was cold and I could see the beads starting to form on the outside of the glass as the bubbles rose to the surface. Finally, he handed it to me. I raised my glass in appreciation and took a little sip. I was certain that my mouth had an orgasm — bloody hell that lemonade tasted good. I finished the glass too quickly and the Sub-District Magistrate asked if I’d like more.

  ‘Sure, perhaps just a little,’ I said. In reality, I wanted to grab the bottle and run to my cage and scull the lot, but of course I played it cool. The Sub-District Magistrate insisted that I stop calling him ‘Sir’ and use his first name — Bala. Bala was younger than I was, possibly in his early thirties or late twenties. You’d probably describe him as handsome with a very gentle nature. We sat chatting about life and global politics for 20 minutes or so and then he was off and I wandered back to my cage.

  The old man was waiting for me back at the cage and started nagging me about the time and my bucket bath. I decided not to argue because the old man was so good to me and I had a soft spot for him. The old bastard washed my back again. I bloody hated it and could just imagine the shit I’d cop if any of my mates saw me, but frankly I was over fighting the issue. I missed the walk with the politician and just decided to relax and listen to the Hari Krishnas. The old man had taken to dropping rose petals all over my old mattress — fuck me, this was getting crazy. I had to say something and, just before the cage was locked, he placed a woven bouquet of flowers on my cage door.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, and mumbled, ‘oh God, please kill me.’

  As it got dark, I removed my light, stashed the globe into the Calvins and began a quiet work-out. I could now manage 50 push-ups without a problem and then continue in smaller sets until I’d done 100. Sit-ups were the same and, by the time I’d finished, my abs were screaming at me for a rest. That was it; I put the light back in and finished Primal Fear.

  Monday 2 June

  Dreams are freedom in gaol. This night I was blessed with a relaxing, sensual dream. I was on my back in Sallie’s bed and the feel of the soft bed and clean sheets were paradise against my body. I felt so relaxed and relieved to be out of gaol. Sallie was giving me a soft and tender massage after a long day of training. Her fingers were light on my body and seemed to be all over the place at once. I asked for a little more pressure and felt the sudden change. All her fingers were dancing up my legs towards my thighs and I relaxed further with anticipation. Then she was on my chest. Her fingers just seemed to be everywhere and it felt so good. One hand swept around the back of my head and then Sallie placed small tender kisses against my ear. I looked down at my beautiful Sallie as her fingers continued their gentle touching of my body. She wasn’t rubbing, just touching with her fingertips. Then I felt her bite, but I didn’t see her doing it. The bite was so small yet fucking painful. The pain dragged me from the image of my beautiful Sallie. The colours and warmth disappeared into the darkness and cold and, moments later, my eyes were open and I was back in the cage. Then the pain hit again, but I could still feel Sallie’s fingers on me and, for a moment, I thought Sallie was with me. I looked down trying to see her in the dark and saw a cat on my chest. Still half-asleep, I tried to pat the cat. As my hand got close to the cat, I suddenly realised that it was not a cat but a rat, and that there were about five of them on me. Repulsed, I sat up and the rats leapt for safety and scrambled out of the cage as the caveman appeared with a torch.

  ‘Shine that torch down here,’ I called to him.

  He grunted and left.

  ‘Fuck it, dirty horrible bastards.’

  I got up and dug into the Calvins for the light. On inspection, the bite was minor and only drew a little blood, but the thought ensured I didn’t sleep again. This was fucked, and what the hell was kissing my ear?

  My thin mattress supplied by the High Commission guys was great and made sleeping easier (or it would have if I could have kept the rats away) and my old bones didn’t hurt as much when I got up. I knew the day was going to be quiet so I didn’t spring off the mattress when the caveman grunted and unlocked the door.

  No visitors came today, so I spent the day very much on my own. I still had the usual morning routine to get through before I could relax. As usual, I emptied my pee bottle into the garden and then ran the gauntlet as I made my way to the drain for a pee. I walked with the politician, took my cold bucket bath, then relaxed with my book. The High Commission guys also brought me some additional food for which I had no appetite, so I gave it to the old man and the sick guys next door. They were rapt when they got more chocolate.

  I was slowly acquiring more and more possessions, so the politician told me to watch my belongings and ensure I always closed my cage door when I left. On one occasion he even told the old man to stand at the gate as we walked. I felt terrible for my old mate, but he didn’t seem to mind. I think my presence had taken the old man from a life of boredom to a life of purpose. He had gone from sweeping my floor to being my personal assistant. He did everything for me; it kept him occupied and he made a few bucks on the side and certainly made my life easier.

  There was a Hindu temple in the middle of the yard with a series of tiles depicting various Gods cemented to the side, and a bell suspended from the mango tree adjacent to the temple. The prisoners rang the bell at the start and at the finish of their prayer sessions. The politician told me that the prisoners rang the bell to wake the gods so they’d be alert when the prayer was said; then they rang the bell so the gods would know they’d come to the end.

  ‘I think the gods must be bloody pissed off because that bell rings every five minutes so the gods aren’t getting any sleep.’

  ‘Yes, you are for sure very correct. This is why all these people are here because the gods are tired and grumpy all the time.’

  Others prayed while they took a bucket bath. Apparently they worshipped a water god and uttered prayers as they poured water over their heads. Clearly they were not in drought.

  The police brought in a very old man who could barely wal
k. He moved along very slowly, was all bent over and used an old stick to avoid collapsing onto the ground. I wondered why the police had him in chains. He wasn’t going anywhere and if he did try to make a run for it, you could have put the kettle on, made a cup of tea, cooked a batch of Anzac biscuits and apprehended the guy before he got five metres away. He wore spectacles with one side shattered as if the lens had been hit with a rock. He was dressed in a filthy old sarong and nothing else. I later learnt that his family had him arrested because of dowry issues. He’d refused to pay a daughter’s dowry, so they had him arrested. Unbelievable! That old guy should have been in a nursing home, not in the prison. But they wouldn’t know what a nursing home was in Bihar Province.

  There was always some excitement in the yard when an interesting prisoner arrived. It certainly happened in my case — and I was generally still a curiosity — but the bloody old bloke created a stir and certainly some comment, and then a kid of about 15 years old arrived. He looked like I probably did, despite trying to look tough. He was clearly shitting himself and had a crowd of a few hundred milling around him. The poor little bastard was almost in a state of shock and I knew that this was going to be compounded after lock-in when some of these long-term prisoners got hold of him.

  Next door, the lunatic was at it again. He obviously had some severe mental issues going on and, like the kid and the old bloke, should never have been in the prison. Had he been diagnosed correctly, he could probably have been medicated and lived a relatively normal life. But this was India, and Bihar, so the chances of there being a psychologist close by were next to zero. He decided to take his pants off in front of my cage and go nude for a while. The old man, realising the guards would not be happy, pleaded with him to behave himself and put his clothes back on, but the lunatic seemed to have no idea what was coming and continued to enjoy the freedom of nudity. The other prisoners weren’t as kind as the old man. They yelled abuse and moved away. Nudity is a strange thing in India and is not culturally acceptable. The men bathe, as I did, in underwear, so having the lunatic prance around with all his kit hanging out wasn’t on as far as they were concerned. I just shrugged my shoulders and felt for the poor bastard as I knew he was in for it when the guards saw him. Sure enough, Ugly arrived and attempted to shackle the lunatic. The lunatic resisted, so Ugly let fly with a pretty solid short drive with his right fist into the lunatic’s solar plexus. This certainly confirmed that the lunatic was a bit slow, because the punch came from way back behind Ugly’s back and any normal boxer with very little training could have landed three straight jabs on Ugly’s chin in the time it took for his low punch to connect with the lunatic. The lunatic let out an almost silent noise as all the air in his lungs was abruptly forced out of his mouth, and he went down in a gasping heap. Then Ugly dragged his sorry arse to the front of his cage and shackled his hands to the bars on the gate. The poor bloody lunatic stayed on the ground struggling to find his breath after Ugly’s cheap shot had winded him so badly. He then proceeded to cry for the next few hours. Great. That was all I needed. Here I was just minding my own business trying to relax on a Monday afternoon with my book for company, and Ugly goes and destroys that by belting the only person in the place he stands a chance of beating in a fight. Now I had to listen to this crying. What was the world coming to?