PLUTON'S PYRE
EVOLUTION OF A DEMON
PLUTON'S PYRE
EVOLUTION OF A DEMON
Gyandeep Kaushal
Nitin Kulkarni
© Gyandeep Kaushal & Nitin Kulkarni, 2017 First published, 2017
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Dedication
To the most loving parents in the world.
This is for you, mom and dad.
– Gyandeep Kaushal
To my adorable and caring wife Suman
and the apples of my eyes,Tejasi and Shreeyash
– Dr. Nitin M. Kulkarni
Everything has been said before,
But since nobody listens,
We have to keep going back,
And begin all over again.
—Andre Gide
Contents
Introductory Note
Foreword
Prologue
CHAPTER -1.0
CHAPTER 0
CHAPTER 1.0
CHAPTER 1.5
CHAPTER 2.0
CHAPTER 3.0
CHAPTER 4.0
CHAPTER 5.0
CHAPTER 6.0
CHAPTER 7.0
CHAPTER 8.0
CHAPTER 9.0
CHAPTER 10.0
CHAPTER 11.0
CHAPTER 12.0
CHAPTER 13.0
CHAPTER 13.5
CHAPTER 14.0
CHAPTER 15.0
CHAPTER 16.0
CHAPTER 16.5
CHAPTER 17.0
CHAPTER 18.0
CHAPTER 19.0
CHAPTER 20.0
CHAPTER 21.0
CHAPTER 22.0
CHAPTER 22.5
CHAPTER 23.0
CHAPTER 24.0
CHAPTER 25.0
The Last Chapter
Acknowledgements
Introductory Note
In Greek mythology, Pluton, God of the Underworld, son of the Titans Cronus and Rhea and brother of Zeus and Poseidon, is also known by the names of Haides,Aidoneus, Pluteus, Dis, Orcus, Tartarus and so on. He abducted and raped Persephone (or Proserpina or Kore), Goddess of spring growth and daughter of Demeter, the Goddess of agriculture.
Pluton is said to never have been punished for this act.
Foreword
I have been doing what I do for a little over three decades and social issues lie within my domain of interest. Film, I believe is a powerful medium to convey thoughts, raise questions and also entertain us. Through my films, I have endeavored to capture and bring social issues to the forefront of the public fora. To understand and share my understanding through the medium has been my purpose.
Not long before this book came to me for perusal, one fine morning a particular front-page news caught my eyes.
A girl had been raped, again.
The commission of every criminal act, I believe has a purpose, which its perpetrators seek to fulfill. Murderers, for instance, kill to seek revenge, or for they need the money and so on. But what do rapists seek? What is their purpose?
Do they do what they do for lust of flesh, to satiate their carnal desires?
And if it were all for the flesh, why then, did it have to be so brutal? Why did girls have to die miserable deaths? I don’t think India has been able to yet overcome her pains of the Nirbhaya case and I don’t know until how many more years will she have to endure such pains.
The issue of rape is central to India and to the world at large. And much to our dismay, even after almost three years from the brutal Nirbhaya rape, despite stricter law enforcement standards, in defiance of the many novel legislations and amendments, in the face of all deliberations, men determined to rape see no obstruction in their way.
They do it because they think they can… And can get away with it.The figures continue to surge.
It occurs to me that the reason why none of the solutions to the problem of rape that work purposefully is because we’re unable to understand the problem correctly.And how do we plan to decipher a question and seek answers when we don’t understand the problem itself.
Perhaps the real substance of the problem is not in the question ‘how to stop men from raping’ but in ‘why men rape’. Perhaps that is the root question. Perhaps that’s the lab we should be working in.This book is a sincere attempt to understand this.
It plucks all the right strings. The story will take you through an eventful journey and as the plot thickens, you’ll understand the character of Suraj.You’ll watch innocence metamorphose into monstrosity. The event when Suraj goes to the brothel is a turning point in the story, if I were to say.The climax will send thrills down your spine and the advent of Shruti might moisten your eyes.
I wish I could speak more about the story but alas, if I would do that, I would be betraying the authors by robbing them of their right to unfold the story.
Before I conclude, I have to share with you, reader of the book, that when Nitin came to meet me with this young man Gyandeep, I was skeptical about the chemistry of this duo. Indeed, I must say their chemistry has worked just fine and has resulted into a healthy product.Writing this book would have been no less than a challenge. I congratulate the authors for the excellent work. Not a word out of place.
Prologue
The dawn, as I see it is yet to break, as they hold me by my arms. I see a loop of rope hanging from an iron bar, noosed to the size my neck would fit in, crafted as though by artisans.The air is brisk; their breathing is calm. I see an old, yet stout hombre, his sheepish eyes, the firm grip of his palms that clench a somewhat thick wooden shaft, the handle of an impending death. I see my death—a rare one, one that shall be the harbinger of peace.
I used to be part of society once, but now I am an outcast. They say I don’t belong there – in the open. I wanted to be popular. Now, I am popular, quite popular! My name is Suraj Deoria and I’m the ‘curse of society’. I’m not a human anymore, just a soulless savage. Even the murderers and the burglars have an inch of dignity left in them, but not me. I have lost my very existence to oblivion.
My offence? I raped a girl and killed a man.
I am a rapist and I may not have
a present or future, but I certainly have a past. My history is more deep-rooted than that of the greatest dynasties that ever ruled and conquered. I have seen Lords and Queens colonizing clean cities, I have been through the reign of the dire Mughals, I was there when Mahmud invaded and plundered and here I am today, among you, the people. They believe death shall mark an end to my presence forever, but I am immortal, and will be until the day of doom. I’ll be here among you until the day mankind prides itself with the traits of blind hatred and wayward avarice.
Can I be killed? I am the banner carrier of the ultimate, most gruesome and the wickedest evil in you. No matter how much you loathe me, no matter how much you protest, I cannot be negated or ignored. Because I am part of you and in each of you.
Can you really deny me? Can the loudness of your lordly screeches really skin the weak substance, which lies within each one of you, the very one that made me? Can you really kill me? No, you cannot, for I come from you. Your kinsmen have forged me; piece-by-piece, day-by-day, and I have lived among you all my life. You cannot deny the fact that I belong to you.
My ashes shall be the souvenir of the darkness within each one of you, my quivering body only shall tell the saga of the filth you people hide. Pretend to hate me more and more, as much as you crave to. Tell each other how nobly you think and how principled your lives are. But you have to know how you created me…
This is my story, the story of a rapist. I will let you through everything that’s been me. I will hide nothing, for I and you know, in the months to come I am a dead man.
Once, I was loved and I could love.
Chapter -1.0
It is one of those evenings, when you don’t feel the cold. The sun still beams yellow, almost smiling, were it not for the few begrudging clouds.The pigeons retreat, flying back to where they belong.You don’t want the stillness to break; you want to hold back the song of the birds as they fly past, the sound of water falling on stone, and the music of the wind.You aren’t exactly happy—maybe a bit melancholic—but you don’t desire a change.
I’ve been there before. I love the dead silence there, as it asks me to soak up the life I am, and be aware of the death I will be one day. Only, I wasn’t alone, not this time.
Unlike ordinary town life, there was no commotion of ordinary people talking about mundane things, neither were there lofty, abominable buildings. The scanty low grass on the ground was barely visible, but there were a few trees at a distance, some behind a pond, and the rest, scattered sparsely around.
I stood by the pond, and so did she. She was wearing a carmine churidar and a virgin-white kameez, laced with a black border, embroidered with a motley assemblage of birds and swirls. Her silver hoop earrings, a sparkling bindi, and matching Bengali bangles added to her beauty, but what completed it was her enticing bridal smile as she looked at me.
She was looking at me, from a short distance, and I at her. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, and what she did to me. I wanted to take a step forward and empty out my heart. But before I could move an inch, for some godforsaken reason, Aditya showed up at that moment and did something I couldn’t really appreciate.
He drew closer to her as she turned towards him. Grabbing her by the waist, he wrapped his arms around her without causing a change in that smile of hers. Then she closed her eyes and he kissed her. I stood transfixed, just watching.
***
‘Son, hold on,’ somebody yelled into my ears, clutching my skinny arms.When I opened my eyes, I saw Daadu, my grandfather.
‘What happened?’ I forced myself to speak. I glanced at my watch. It was ticking at 7:20 am. I’d slept for a few hours.
‘What happened?’ he echoed me, his furrowed brow yielding weight to the frantic state of his voice. ‘Have you gone mad? You were about to fall from up there. Do you know how badly you could’ve hurt yourself?’
Oh.That’s when I realized I wasn’t there; I was on the coach. I had had a dream. For some reason, I was relieved. Malvika was the girl who had been smiling at me. She studied in my class, in my new school.And Aditya, well, he was just a new passive friend there.
I was travelling with Daadu on the Magadh Express, back to Kanpur.After a couple of weeks’ stay at Naanima’s—my maternal grandmother’s—house in Delhi, I had to return to Kanpur, where I lived with Dad.
I remember it was Ma’s first barsi, just a year since she died. I recall how tough it had been to convince Dad to let me go.After Mom’s death, the rest of the family decided that, after completing my seventh standard in school, I shouldn’t continue at Don Bosco Boys’ Boarding School, in Bareilly. I should live with my father. So I was moved to St Joseph’s, Kanpur, which had day schooling.
I had been only three months there, when the entire newness of things started smothering me. Dad wasn’t the most loving father and St Joseph’s wasn’t really my dream school. I was missing my friends in Don Bosco’s and I was missing Ma. I wanted to get out, I needed an escape route, and well, the summer vacation at St Joseph’s came with supplies.
I thought it would give me a chance to ask my father if I could holiday with my old schoolmates in Dos Bosco’s for a while. But a couple weeks’ stay? Well, that wasn’t going to happen, said my father. After all, I didn’t study there anymore, he said. And Daadu wasn’t the kind of swinger who would take me on a trip to Goa. Where could I go? Who would be with me? I only had Naanima.
Dad wouldn’t understand. Well, he did offer that I go to his office and be with him all day, if I wanted to. But he wouldn’t go with me to visit Naanima, and neither would he let me go alone. He wanted me to sit and study. Dad would’ve never taken a couple weeks’ leave for me. It’s not easy to do that when you work at a bank.As if it had been, dad would’ve had nothing else to say. It was only because of Daadu that I could go. He’d stepped up and told Dad that he would accompany me to Naanima’s, although he’d never liked Naanima, nor my late Naanaji, much anyway.
Dad couldn’t say no, as he was short on options. But he made us promise to be back by 23 May, the day my mom had left us, a year ago.
I wanted to talk to her, my Naanima, that is, and be with someone who really cared. After Naanaji passed away, she too had been left all alone. Her only son lived with his wife and children in Nainital. I knew she’d love it if I could see her. I wanted to relieve my pent-up feelings to her. I wanted to tell her how hard things were for me. I don’t know how far it had worked, but now there I was, on the train back to Kanpur.
‘Sorry, but I guess I had it perfectly under control,’ I said to Daadu, as he tried to help me come down and get seated.
‘Really? All right now, get yourself down here.’
‘I think I’m okay up here,’ I said.
‘Come on, son. I’m bored here all by myself. Talk to Daadu. Give me some company.’
‘Fine, give me a second.’
‘Right, I’ll get us some coffee from that guy over there. I hear the coffee is nice on this train,’ he said and his face wrinkled into an old man’s grin.
‘Okay, Daadu,’ I said obediently.
I slid my water bottle and the novel Daadu had bought for me at the Delhi Central Station (which I did not look at again, let alone turning its pages) and now lay beside the air pillow, in the company of which I’d slept. I had to wipe my mouth off the saliva that’d found its way out, while I was immersed in my so-called reverie.To tell you, I’d been working at it, trying to make my lips kiss one another while I’d sleep, but that grotesque slimy thing and my face were two star-crossed lovers.
Dawn had begun. I could see the dark wither away from my window. I could have never taken that nap had the train not arrived a few hours late, at the Delhi Central Station.
‘Here, grab your cup,’ Daadu said in his warbling voice, as I’d barely begun to put my feet on the iron steps that led to the lower berth. He handed me a cup with his shaking hands, spilling a bit of the boiling liquid on the berth.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, I�
�ll wipe it up right away,’ he said, as he pulled out a hanky from the pocket of his loose pajama-like trousers.
‘It’s okay, I’ve got it. I’ll do it,’ I said with a gentle smile, as I took the hanky from his hands and did the mopping. It took me barely a second.
‘Thanks, son,’ he said. ‘So, I’m actually an old man now—can’t even hold a cup of coffee! I thought I was eighteen and could flirt with girls your age,’ he said, chuckling good-humouredly.
‘No, Daadu, that cup was really hot. Rocky Balboa couldn’t hold it.’
‘Oh, don’t try to make me feel good about it. Who’s Rocky Balboa, by the way?’
‘Ah, just some dude from Hollywood, nice packs and all.’
‘I see,’ he said and waggled his head up and down, ‘That fella better than me?’ he laughed again, patting me on my back. ‘All right,sit with me and let’s sip our coffee—like gentlemen.’
Just then, the train stopped for a brief halt at some station called Tundla.
‘Or maybe,’ I quickly added, ‘I’ll just go get myself washed up at the platform, perhaps take a loo-break before the coffee. I’ll be back in a minute.’ I sidled away, praying, silently, that my grandfather would not realize that the train had all the facilities I wanted to avail of, and that I didn’t need to get off.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘But don’t be late. Let’s hope the coffee remains hot.’
‘Hope so.’
I pushed my feet into my slippers. Stepping off the coach, I ran, hunting for a phone booth, which I found near a bookstall. I inserted one of the two fifty-paise coins I had with me into the machine.
‘Hello,’ said a voice at the other end.
‘Hi, is this Aditya?’ I asked, just to confirm.
‘Yeah.’
‘Hey, mate, Suraj here,’ I said.
‘Oh, hi, how are you?’
‘I wanted to ask you something.’
‘Sure, shoot.’
‘Do you like Malvika?’ Yeah, I was that blunt.
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