The Branded Criminal: In Search of Liberation

by Yakub Totanawala

  ‘Guddu wandered and peeped into the houses for the wrong reasons. Once he discovered a couple mating, he would pull me to witness. Often, we were caught, but people didn’t stop mating and we didn’t stop peeping. He identified spots and the time to view women’s cleavages when they bent while washing clothes or utensils. He was infamous for making peepholes in people’s bathrooms. By the age of 14, Guddu began molesting girls. Whenever he caught them unaware, he attacked. If she was a young girl, he clutched her private parts. If a mature woman, he would stumble upon her and squeeze her breasts. Women became used to his habit and stopped complaining after some time.

  ‘Guddu discovered dens where they screened porn. We became habitual. A year later, he began smoking, and his liquor consumption also doubled. Under his influence, I too started smoking and drinking. All said and done, he earned well through stealing. The troubles increased after Guddu molested women from around the city. By troubles, I mean, police settlements. None from our clan worried about his pervert habits. The society had crushed us, and therefore we never bothered over Guddu squeezing them. In fact, our tribe regarded us as heroes for the crimes we committed.

  ‘Guddu discovered local brothels and visited them habitually. At 16, he lost his virginity. I never investigated, but his secret was exposed six months later. Three prostitutes registered rape cases against their customers at the Satkarnagar Police Station. They claimed their clients denied payment after enjoying their services. The men stated their wallets had been stolen from the brothel, but the hookers disbelieved them. The clients had spoken the truth. Guddu had flicked their pouches but he made one mistake—he threw the purses in the backyard, which the policemen discovered.

  ‘Though it proved the accused as innocents, the cops needed to find the robber. If he was Habitual, they could demand their commission. Else, they must arrest him and earn a positive remark in their career. But the prostitutes refused to share their customers’ details. The police, therefore, laid a trap. They informed the Habitual Offenders about the brothel to search for clues.

  ‘At dusk, Guddu and I visited the police station to help an acquaintance of ours, Manoj, arrested on charges of murder.

  “Tell us the facts, Manoj. We will negotiate your release,” I said.

  “I didn’t do it, Vickybhai. A drunk rich brat murdered a bartender over a petty quarrel. The cops forced me to accept the crime, but in exchange of money. I accepted a Rs. 10,000 payment. They will work out my discharge after one or two months.”

  ‘We plodded out, disappointed. The Sub inspector called us and notified us about the brothel case proceedings. Guddu scratched his brows and tapped his foot. The possibility of sharing the booty annoyed him. He left with an excuse and headed to his second home. As a trap, the police threw the purses in the backyard and deployed a constable in civil uniform. Guddu sneaked in. He found the wallets and picked them up. The policeman yelled out from behind. “Ay, Guddu. Come, let’s go.”

  ‘Guddu yielded. He called me to the station, and I learnt the complete story. The police summoned the men accused of rape. Guddu paid the fees to the hookers. The cops collected their charges from everyone and discharged them.

  ‘The penalisation would’ve emptied our pockets but for my wits. I flicked wallets of two citizens who visited the station for passport verification. While returning, I winked at Guddu and informed him of the steal. He rolled his tongue on his lips and winked back. We relished some refreshments, and he took me to the brothel for a romp.

  ‘He directed a young woman to attend me. I lost my virginity that day. Woe unto pornography, my habitual viewing ruled my performance. Alas. No emotions, no kisses, no love; just the sex. I pounced on her breasts and squeezed and sucked them. She gave me a blowjob, and I pumped her in the missionary and then doggy style. I grabbed her head to come in her mouth, but she avoided it, so I ejaculated on her face and hair. The porn-clip enactment ended. My first union with a human being ended. The porn-film-type mating continued until I understood the emotions of love, and of a woman.

  ‘Guddu and I supported each other in crimes and respected each other’s stealing technique. We operated independently and under various powerful people and gangs. Robbery, kidnapping, financial recoveries, forceful loan collections from defaulters, liquor making and distribution, election preparations, arranging cash votes, managing people for political rallies, transporting illegal money to the required destination, premise vacating, automobile theft, land encroachment, working for contract killers, pimping, organising girls and sex parties for the affluent class, human and child trafficking, beggar trade, narcotics supply to schools and colleges, settlements for councillors, MLAs, MPs, builders and mighty people. We relished liquor, cigarettes, women, meat and gambling. For seven years, we ruled as renowned dons of Ahmedabad.

  ‘Our parents and community were proud of us. Hah. Prouder of me due to my affection towards them. Everybody hated Guddu Chhara but still chanted his name. Vicky Chhara was the name everyone loved and chanted.’

  Chapter—11

  White Cloth Test, Butt Hole, and Besana

  ‘I was the rising star of my tribe. My hard work put me ahead in my field and my tribesmen sought my help in their general and personal works. Throughout the day, I remained busy teaching my tribesmen crime tricks including disguised stealing, handling the family issues, helping my parents in the liquor business, managing the cops, and assisting Vivek Uncle in community affairs as well as in negotiations especially during the elections.’

  ‘Community affairs meaning?’ asked Zaheer.

  ‘Any and every issue. Livelihood, crimes, domestic or personal problems. More than the government’s agencies, Chharanagar relies on Panchayat, the community’s private Court. Headed by our leader and assisted by four, the council settles the matters internally.’

  ‘I see. So, you settled the disputes?’

  ‘Not by judgement, but my presence helped the Panchayat to control the tribesmen.’

  ‘Okay. Any memorable experience?’

  ‘Hahaha. Many and many. Infinite. The white cloth test.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘The entire world is fascinated by a bride’s virginity, right? A virgin bride brings pride to her family, and the Chharas have made a custom of it. On the wedding night, the pair consummate their marriage on the bedding which is covered with a white cloth. The next morning, the fabric must be stained with the bride’s blood, else, a lightning strikes Chharanagar.’

  ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘Ha-ha. I’ll tell you a funny incident. Once a guy married a girl from Bombay, and the next day, his family discovered the spotless cloth. Damn it, a calamity struck, and they complained of the girl’s impurity to the Panchayat. Both families attacked each other with the choicest foul words, which resulted in assaults. The Panchayat called an urgent hearing, and we rushed to witness it. That was hilarious. The girl claimed her man was incompetent and challenged the council to test her with another. Chharanagar gaped at her. Guddu jumped in, “I am ready. I am ready.” His father silenced him. Sniggers and lewd comments rained, and by the side, we cracked jokes and giggled. The Panchayat gave the couple three days to stain the cloth. For days, the girl screamed her challenge as the pious white fabric remained clean. After a week-long drama of penis, pussy, and the blood, the groom’s medical test proved him impotent. A thunder rocked Chharanagar. That was the first white cloth testing incident in which the girl broke the marriage. We teased the guy, calling him “Kaacho Popat.”’

  Zaheer smiled with his eyes, and it mesmerised my heart. ‘A brave girl. She challenged her in-laws,’ he said.

  ‘Rare case. Like human society, beating and abuse of women was more common. One midnight, a woman’s screams woke me up, and I rushed out. In the by-lane, my parents struggled to stop a wild Chhara, thrashing his naked wife covered in a bed sheet.

  “Vicky, control him,” said my father.

  ‘The guy growled, pushed my father, and kicked his spouse in her s
tomach. She howled and reclined on the floor, and he booted her on the face. I leapt and clutched the man’s neck. His mother pounced on me and pounded my hand. She hanged on my biceps shouting; “Leave him. Leave him.” I squeezed his throat. The man’s mouth opened, and he started quivering. When his eyes began shutting, I released him. He gasped and coughed and crouched, holding his neck. In a thin stream of vomit, his male potency retched out.

  “Ay, Vicky. Don’t interfere in our affairs,” his mother said, her face twisted into a scowl

  ‘I gritted my teeth, went near the guy and whacked his cheek hard. He fell to the floor.

  “Ay. Mind your business, Vikram,” his brother said, and his family charged at me.

  ‘I glowered at them. I bent, slapped the man hard, and clutched his throat again. They stepped back.

  “Free him,” his mother said.

  “Leave him, please, we’ll go,” said his brother.

  “Calm down, Vicky.” My mother too piped in.

  ‘I freed him. The man coughed aloud, and his mother grasped him and rubbed his back.

  “I’ll complain to the Panch,” she said.

  ‘They returned home murmuring, followed by the neighbours. My mother brought the woman home. The trembling lady stared at the wall while my mother checked and applied turmeric paste on her wounds. Her desires of love and care escaped from her bottom which was red in colour.

  ‘The next morning, Vivek Uncle called me for the hearing. Community members gathered to witness the showdown.

  “We don’t want her. How can a woman refuse her man?” said the man’s mother.

  ‘The wife stared at the ground with haunted eyes.

  “We must listen to her, as well,” said my mother, rubbing the young woman’s back.

  “I said, I have my periods,” she said, in a cracking voice. “He was drunk. He punched me on my face and entered my back.” Her lips quivered.

  “O ho ho. He is your man. All your holes belong to him,” said his mother.

  ‘Men laughed. A few women chuckled, a few covered their mouth, and a few looked down. My mother left from there.

  “I tolerated it. But when he inserted a wine bottle, I bled. How could I?” she said, and cried without noise.

  “And this Vikram. He assaulted me, twice,” said the guy glaring at me.

  ‘I crushed my cigarette with my foot, blew the smoke and going near him, I thwacked his cheek.

  “Vikram, behave yourself,” said the leader.

  “How dare you hit my son?” said the mother.

  “Vivek Uncle. Tell this asshole to manage his cock and his wife’s holes in his home. And not to drag it in the Chharanagar by-lanes. Already we live in fucking jammed houses. Every morning we hear our neighbours’ farts and every night, their pumping. And then such fuckers come out at midnight.”

  ‘Women covered their mouth. A few young guys glanced at my fat neighbour who crossed his arms and threw his head down. “She is my property. I hit her for disobedience but why did you slap me?” my neighbour said.

  “Yes. Why did you whack him?” his brother asked.

  “First time because he pushed my father. Second, because he disturbed my sleep.”

  ‘The gathering laughed. The Panchayat men also chuckled. The man’s mother thumped her palm on her forehead and flashed her teeth. “This hero is unique. Why did we go into his lane?” she said.

  ‘The youngsters whistled and cheered. “Yay, Vickybhai.” They showed their thumbs.

  “I’ll pray you get an obedient-holed wife,” she said.

  “I’ll marry a soul, not a hole,” I said.

  ‘The stunned crowd gaped at me. Women blinked at my alien words. The guys hooted again. Guddu clapped and said, “Dialogue, Baka, dialogue.”

  “Ay, man. Vikram is right. Don’t disturb others for such trivial matters,” said the leader.

  ‘An energised 40 plus plump woman sitting on a charpoy said, “Ask Vicky. What would he do if his wife refuses?”

  ‘The gathering chortled. Vivek Uncle pressed his lips together, and his tummy bounced. Guddu covered his mouth and laughed, and I pinched his ass.

  I ogled at the woman on the charpoy, rubbed my lower lip and said, “My system is different, Aunty. I ask the girl how she wants it.” I winked.

  ‘Females squinted at me with naughty eyes; a few at my face, some at my biceps and a few at my groin. The woman on the charpoy gazed at me, sucking her index finger.

  “Alright,” said the leader. “Lady, please satisfy your man, else, he’ll disturb others. And you, pervert. Whichever hole you chose, don’t let Chharanagar know about it.”

  “Be thankful for our Panchayat,” said a man from the council. “Else, you would have to approach the Court, and media would publish your story with a fancy tagline—Butt of a joke.”

  ‘The hearing ended and the laughing crowd dispersed. The horrified wife sucked in her asshole and plodded to finish the chores and prepare for the night. Females passed by ogling at me. The buxom woman neared and poked her elbow in my tummy. “I ask the girl how she wants, huh,” she said. Guddu chortled and said, “Only in Chharanagar, Aunty. In the brothel, he is a beast.” I whacked his head, and he skipped away, shrieking with laughter.

  ‘Hmm. So Guddu filled your friendship vessel.’ Zaheer said.

  ‘He overflowed it. With him, even grief failed to dent life’s enjoyment. Today, I cherish those incidents. You know we had once staged a naked protest.’

  ‘Oh, is it?’ Zaheer looked both shocked and amused.

  ‘Yeah. Once Guddu and I travelled to Surat for an alcohol deal. We returned one early morning to find a mangled auto in the open area. The by-lanes were filled with shattered glasses, damaged vehicles, and bloodstains. The broken windows and doors emitted grief that loomed on Chharanagar. We rushed to our homes. When I greeted my mother, she fell into my arms and cried.

  “What’s the matter, Maa?” I asked.

  “The police came at night. God knows what happened, but a fight erupted. The additional force arrived and they attacked us. They thrashed our properties, barged into our houses, and dragged men to the station. Vivekbhai and your father, too.” She hugged me tight and cried.

  “What? Ok. You calm down. I’ll check.”

  ‘Guddu dashed in. “Vicky, my father,” he said, with wet eyes and lips curled.

  ‘We rushed to the station and asked the constable at the desk about our fathers.

  “Saheb, you arrested our leader and my father?”

  “Bastards,” he flared his nostrils. “You attack the police, huh? We’ll fuck your asses.”

  “What happened, Saheb? What’s the crime?”

  “Crime? You gutter froth, motherfucker. Your existence is a crime.”

  “But what did they do?”

  “Your father attacked us. We’ll screw him.”

  “What? He is a peace-loving person, Saheb.” I said, and leaned forward.

  “He was in the group. We follow our rules, not yours. Fuck off, or I’ll put you inside with your father.”

  “Release my father,” Guddu growled and banged the desk.

  ‘The policeman sprung up and pointed his finger at Guddu, “I’ll throw you in the den, you scoundrel.”

  “Relax, Saheb. I’ll handle him,” I said.

  ‘I pulled Guddu aside and consoled him. We neared the cell, and Vivek Uncle and my father clasped my hands. They briefed us about the incident.

  “I’ll fight it out. You don’t worry,” I said.

  ‘The constable glowered at me. I approached him.

  “Fine.” I banged his desk. “Now, I’ll teach you a lesson,” I said, and grabbed Guddu’s hand and stomped out.

  “Get lost, you bastard,” he screamed behind me.

  “I’ll drop my pants and pee on his face,” Guddu said.

  ‘An idea clicked into place at his words. At Chharanagar, I assembled the men. “We must stand for our rights. Will you support me?”

  “Ready, Vicky. You c
ommand us.”

  “We’ll protest on the main road. Naked.”

  “Naked?” The members glanced at each other.

  “And also urinate,” Guddu added.”

  A man said, “A dozen times when I lay drunk in our area, the guys have removed my trousers. I am comfortable to strip.”

  “I sleep nude at nights, so okay with the morning, too,” said another.

  “What if people click our pictures?” A curious soul asked.

  “We drop our pants five times a day. Let’s do it,” roared a guy.

  “But no pulling, huh,” one said.

  “Eh, shut up. Our leader and members are in jail. Get serious,’ I said.

  ‘After a thunder of acceptance, we proceeded. A few of us wondered about the five times count. Nevertheless, we performed “Besana” on the main road. Naked.’

  ‘What is “Besana”?’ asked Zaheer.

  ‘A Chhara funeral ritual to mourn their member’s death. The community members contribute towards the expenses of this “Besana” custom.’

  ‘But what’s the connection of “Besana” here?’

  ‘We mourned the symbolic death of law and order. Over 500 men sat nude holding placards with “Sad demise of Justice” and “Rest in Peace, Law & Order” written on them. With the Naroda road blocked, traffic piled up and disturbed the humans. Media covered the protest with our genitals blurred. A man approached me and pulled me aside.

  “What, Baka? Why all this tamasha?”

  ‘I scrutinised him and asked, “Who are you?”

  “I work for Veer Dal,” he said. “The area MLA has warned you to stop this.”

  Oh, Veer Dal was a dominant organisation with political affiliation. “Tell them to acquit our members,” I said.

  “We’ll discharge your father.”