‘Suraj, what are you doing?’ she was light at first. ‘Where are you taking me?’ (Not a word from me.) ‘Suraj, this is not right.That kiss, I didn’t object to it, only because I thought I’d hurt you enough before and that you deserved it this time. It was only my way of saying sorry.’
I moved my eyes from one room to another.
‘Why don’t you say anything…why are you quiet?’ she gained on her decibels. ‘With what intentions have you come here? Tell me. What do you want from me? I knew something was wrong. I knew you had plans the moment you entered my house.Where are you taking me, you son of a bitch?’ She struggled to escape my grip. She felt like a slippery, helpless fish trying to break away from the net thrown for her. ‘You scoundrel! I have a husband and I love him. He won’t let you go just like that, you bastard!’
Having learned of the futility of all of her past attempts, she chose to try another way out. ‘Please… why are you doing this to me?’ Subjected to the element of terror, she started crying now. ‘Please,let me down… please… I swear I’ll start screaming… please…’ she begged. ‘Please let me go, please… please stop!’
‘I didn’t come here to stop…’ I said.
What is the humility of a defeated man? To rise? Ascend? To accept defeat? What is the grace of a man who has learned he’s just lost everything? Do the right things, take the right steps, move forth? Vow to be one’s own impulse? Strive to achieve what he couldn’t?
Hadn’t I done all of that?
Chapter 21.0
I threw her on the bed and mounted her, before I secured my clutch on her palms with mine. She tried screaming so I covered her mouth with her own elbow, which of course, I had under the control of my left hand.Able to deal with her with one hand, I deployed the other to peel her clothes apart, one by one… and then, I stripped her of everything she had…
She dug her teeth deep into my hand. Sure, I couldn’t handle the pain and had to dislodge my arm off her face… sure, she started screaming, but I didn’t care anymore. I had subjugated her most treasured possession, I had left her bereft of her most precious thing, the thing she held dearest—her honour, I was inflicting on her the pain she’d injected into me, had left to intensify, to worsen, an eon ago.
I was giving her what I thought she deserved best. I was reciprocating the hospitality she’d offered me long ago. I was revelling in watching her scream, not because it depicted the pleasure she endured, but the pain she sustained…
‘Kabeeeeeeeeeeer…’ she screamed the name of her husband, she cried for mercy, but I had no kindly intentions.
I brutalized her. I functioned as mercilessly as I could. I applied myself to pile up all the wretchedness in the world and pay my tribute to her with dedicated hands. I worked with all my power to summon the most despairing, the most inconsolable afflictions in her name. I mortified her, I victimized her, I fed upon her; I wedged her soul apart…
Chapter 22.0
I was done with it. But just before I was to embark upon my plan to victimise my next target, someone came from behind and pinioned both my arms and pulled me off my victim.
It must have been the neighbours; they must have come hearing her scream. I only have a vague remembrance of it, but I can tell there was a second man too. Keeping that aside, I must tell you, whoever it was, he had strong arms. But with a strong jerk, I was able to break myself free from his lock.
I don’t know when I did that or what made me do it—I instinctively picked up a metal vase that lay on a nearby table and hit that man’s head with it, the one who’d tried grappling me. He fell to the ground with a loud sound. His head was bleeding profusely. Everything happened so fast I didn’t realize I’d hit him so hard. Seeing so much blood, I went into a state of shock and grew helpless. I didn’t realize when I lowered my defence and gave the other man enough time and room to pick that very vase up and hit me with the same implement.
The next thing I remember was waking up on an oversized bed in a hospital, with a bandage around my forehead and a handcuff around my left wrist, tethered to the corner of the bed. I saw people around me—nurses and doctors, people with gigantic cameras, with enormous microphones and busy writing pads, people in khaki uniform, with clubs in their hands and pouches on their belts. Someone brought a clipboard and I saw some kind of paperwork being done between a man in a white coat and another in khaki.That must’ve been the doctor and the policeman.
Thereafter, one of the khaki-clad men unhooked the handcuff from the bed and used the jewellery to couple my wrists instead, before two policemen came to lift me off the bed.Assigned with the burden of supporting me to stand on my feet and of ensuring that I wouldn’t try running away, the two of them held my arms tight. Thenceforth, I was followed by my entourage and escorted to the entrance of the building.
It was my time to face the world! It was my chance to extol my stardom. Overnight, my life had flipped upside down. I’d become a celebrity; my fans were legion! In that daylight, I could hear the sounds of the shutters of a zillion cameras. I was faced with a colossal mob, which began whirring as I emerged before them. I was causing a whirlpool in the crowd.They looked at me with such awe, as though they were witnessing the manifestation of Satan himself, before their very own eyes.
With the sunshine illuminating my presence, venerating my revival, my eyes were more cunning than that of a famished roving wolf, my face paler yet more vicious than a roguish wild cannibal. I stank of the rotting corpses of dogs. My clothes were shabbier than that of the most wretched man on earth, my demeanour more wicked than of the most cold-blooded slayer.
The phalanx of policemen escorted me to a jeep.With gyves around both wrists, I was required to sit on the cushiest seats in the world in the middle row of the vehicle, guarded by two policemen on each side, three at my front and more in the rest of the vehicle.
In no time, I was taken to one of the most prominent government establishments in town. ‘Govindganj Police Station’ was embossed on the railing of the building’s rooftops. Thereafter, they temporarily removed the ornament off my wrist—for safekeeping, I suppose. I was allowed to enter one of the cells.And guess what? I didn’t have it to myself, either. I was in the company of another man. We didn’t really make friends, nor was he exactly a pain in the arse. Mostly, he would sleep through the day. But after having the pleasure of my company for two days, he had to leave.
This was bliss, divine bliss. I can’t but rhapsodize about my life in there. I didn’t have to worry about paying my taxes or my electricity bills. Food was free, and so was accommodation. Food was served in my room and I could sleep or wake up any time I wanted to. I didn’t even have much work to do. And you know what, I had the luxury of round-the-clock protection! Overnight, my status was elevated to such a rank, you’d have to seek permission to meet me. I was having the time of my life in there. Everything was super-fine, except for one thing: for some godforsaken reason my room reeked of urine.
In four days’ time, I was taken to a more secure place, perhaps one of the securest in the country: the Central Jail. Life was more or less the same here—only, my room was bigger now and I didn’t have to share it with anybody.The meals, that included morning tea and evening milk and eggs, were tastier and more nutritious from those at the previous place. I was also given a uniform free of cost, which I didn’t have to wash and could wear as much as I felt like.The onus of my healthcare was on the treasury of the state.
One extra facility at my new abode was the library, to which I was provided access on the eighth day of my visit. I was allowed to visit it for one hour every evening and I didn’t let go of the opportunity the first time I had it.
I picked up three or four daily newspapers and would you believe it—they still hadn’t been able to stop talking about me.After scanning through them, I couldn’t tame my curiosity and fetched for myself the old copies of the entire last week.At my petty behaviour of transporting such a pile of literary material to my table, I was even t
icked off by the librarian and the guard, but was that going to make me stop? I pleaded that it would take not more than twenty minutes for me to complete reading them.
My heart was enraptured and exultated. Through the first two days post my feat, I’d made it to the front pages of all of those publications, and I’m talking about national dailies. Now is that a joke or what? My photographs had become positively eye-candy for them.
I’d always wanted to do something big, become popular… super-popular. And I was living my dream…
After having soothed my eyes with my pictures in the dailies, I chose to peruse some of the stories about me. I was being talked about in connection with another major gang rape-case that’d happened in one of those Tier-1 cities of the country, a month ago. And I’m not sure if I’d taken a bite upon a large piece of their share of media coverage, if I’d become a bigger sensation than the six of them, or what.
There was a huge uproar in the entire subcontinent. People glorified me by burning my effigies and shouting slogans.
I was big news.The person whom I’d hit had ended up dying.The other person who’d hit me on the head testified against me.Among the four people who’d testified was also the driver, who’d dropped me to the house of my victim. Another one for the job was a man who said he’d seen me entering the house. I often walk the lanes of my memory, but I can’t recall any such person, whom I can remember having seen me.Whatever…
The police had lodged the FIR against me and had forwarded my charge sheet on the fourth day from my act. They charged me with 302 and 376 of IPC, along with some other relatively minor charges, in order to make the case against me stronger. (Sure, the dossier on me must have been unputdownable.) My case lay within the jurisdiction of, and was being looked into by, a local Fast Track.
I was under trial.
Chapter 22.5
I had remained a regular visitor to the library—I could keep track of myself that way. My trial continued over a period of seven months and fourteen hearings.
They’d let me have my bit of sight-seeing every now and then. Very often, I was brought to the court. The Peshkaar would call up cases only after getting his chai-paani baksheesh. Since there was no one to pay for me, I had to wait for quite a while before any hearing of mine. While I waited, I observed closely the business of justice. I’d watch lawyers crowding outside the temple of law, jostling to grab the litigants; I saw news reporters running to secure their positions, all agog to briskly interview the advocates in major cases, to get their share of news.
When I’d finally be in the witness box, I was highly entertained.Witnesses were examined, and cross-examined. I was amused by their knowledge and the vivid descriptions they would give, as if they were all actually physically present behind me, while I’d preyed on my victim.
In the preliminary stages of the case, when the facts were yet to be proven, the prosecution lawyer would ask me the sort of questions that did not come to me as a surprise: had I committed the crime, whether I knew the victim personally, how did I learn where she lived and whether I recognized the metal vase with which I’d killed that man, were some of those questions.
It was the defence lawyer, that fat, old bloke, my supposed saviour, who had put up quite a show in the court.
‘So you say this man hurt you, do you?’ was his first question to Malvika, my victim.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘You mean to say he raped you, to be precise? Will I be correct in saying that?’ he questioned, displaying the typical lawyer-like wiliness in his mannerisms.
‘Yes,’ she said again. For some reason, it took her longer to speak this time.
‘Thank you, Madam.’ He continued: ‘Do you remember the kind and colour of the dress you were wearing on the day you were raped?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, without hesitation this time. ‘I wore a yellow sari.’
‘Right. In your statement to the police, you have mentioned that when you were crying for help, screaming your husband’s name while this man was raping you, two men from the neighborhood came to your rescue.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Would you then, Madam, enlighten the court of the circumstances in which these two men found you when they first saw you in the room in which the accused, as you’ve alleged, held you captive and raped you? To begin with, could you tell us the condition of your clothes, if you remember?’
After a brief pause, my victim spoke. ‘I … I don’t know how to answer this…’ she stammered. ‘I can only say that my legs weren’t properly covered.’
‘What parts of your leg were covered? Did your yellow sari, as you’ve informed the court, cover your thighs? I suppose you’re aware of the part of the human leg that is known as the thigh. It’s the part above the knees, as you know it.’
‘N…’ she faltered. ‘No.’
‘Would that imply that apart from the sari which couldn’t cover the upper parts of your legs, you were dressed adequately?’
She didn’t speak but could only shake her head a little in negation.
‘And what was the accused doing with you when these two men entered your room? Was he on top of you or were you on top of him?’
‘No,’ she uttered an exasperated answer.
‘You mean to say he was on top of you?’
To this she nodded her head in affirmation.
‘Madam, could you be more specific? For instance, could you tell us where his hands were at that time? Were they on your breasts, on your arms…where?’
‘I don’t remember,’ she replied disgustedly.
‘All right, I will take that for an answer, assuming it is possible you can’t remember the exact part of your body with which the hands of the accused were in contact at a particular point of time. But I suppose answering if he kissed you anywhere on your face throughout his alleged act of rape, shouldn’t be difficult.’
‘No,’ she gave a single-word answer again.
‘Right. Keeping aside for the moment a few questions I do want to ask you later, I believe I’m going to jump to another important question. And it would be immaterial if I were unwilling to use the language I am about to use, but for the sake of exactness and the inevitable nature of the requirement to establish the facts correctly, Madam, I am compelled to ask you this. When you say you were raped, do you mean to say that this man inserted what in normal medical terms would be known as his penis inside what would also in medical terms be called, your vagina?
Her gaze lowered. She looked at the floor of the courtroom, almost about where my witness box was situated.
‘Mrs Kabir,’ the defence lawyer spoke again, infusing as much courtesy as he could into his voice. ‘I am sorry, but you have to answer my question.’
I noticed that she turned towards her husband, who nodded up and down.
‘Yes,’ she finally managed to speak.
‘Thank you Madam. Having said that, would you please care to tell us more about the experience? For example, how did you feel upon…’ he said and pointed a finger towards me, ‘… the insertion of this man’s male member into yours? Did you sustain injuries on the wall of your vagina due to such penetration?’
‘Kabir,’ she screamed this time, looking at her husband again.
‘My Lord,’ long before the defence could speak again, the prosecutor spoke at the peak of his voice and raised an objection, ‘the defence is trying to unnerve my client by asking her questions that have no relevance to the case, but questions she would be uncomfortable and embarrassed in answering.’
‘Your honour,’ said my lawyer, ‘what possible shame or discomfort could this woman have in answering any of my questions? I have used a terminology, which is not only medical but also legal, to the best of my knowledge. Furthermore, my lord, these questions are definitely relevant to the case.They will help the court find the truth in her statements, if any.’
‘Overruled,’ said the judge.
‘Obliged, your honour,’ said the defence
and bowed down before the judge. ‘So, Madam, would you please care to answer the question I asked you before my learned friend objected to it? You still remember the question, I hope,’ he said curtly.
As I saw it, Malvika, my victim, was terribly uncomfortable in answering what she’d just been asked. She was once again looking at the floor, helplessly.
‘All right, let me make this a little bit easier for you, Madam,’ he said, trying to seem the unyielding interlocutor he rightly was. ‘For this one question, I will allow you to answer in a yes or no.That’ll do, I suppose.’
He went closer to her and looked straight into her eyes. When she could not speak, he chose to take over. ‘Okay, did you suffer some kind of bleeding due to the alleged penile insertion by this man?’
‘Your honour,’ the prosecution rose from his chair and objected.
‘My Lord,’ prayed my lawyer.
‘Overruled,’ said the judge.
One could distinctly hear the things people present in the court had started to murmur amongst themselves at the cross-questioning by the defence lawyer. The judge’s eyes glued to the woman standing in the witness box, perhaps in anticipation of an answer from her. But she was constantly looking to her left, perhaps because she couldn’t even look into the eyes of my lawyer anymore. Oh, so brilliant he was! At intervals, she would turn to her right and look at her husband, who, as earlier, tried to nod to her. But she was still unable to voice a word.
‘Mrs Malvika,’ the defence lawyer tapped his hands on the witness box; his voice roared in the courtroom. ‘You must answer my question.Was or was not your vagina hurt or wounded, owing to the alleged penetration by this man?’ Silence crept into the courtroom as though everyone inside it had been struck by lightning, even though many among them would’ve been everyday visitors to the court, and would’ve watched such proceedings on a daily basis. All one could hear were about a hundred people breathing.
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