NOBODY LIGHTS A CANDLE
Anjali Deshpande
20
He placed two bottles of beer in front of Bharat. He had bought them form the liquor vend in the village. Chilled beer. The shop had both country made liquor and that strange breed Indian made foreign liquor. For the first time he had inspected the little market closely. Even in such a small place there were two shops selling meat! Four sold laddoos. One ‘doodh, dahi, caream, desi ghee and makhan’ shop. Then there were shops selling agricultural implements, light bulbs and plastic ware. There was also a ‘Shonu hair ishtylist’ and on the platform outside it sat the Pradhan.
The pradhan asked him, “Why sir, making many rounds of the place I see.”
“looking for land,” Adhirath said and before the conversation could proceed said Ram Ram to him and escaped. Whether the pradhan had seen him that first day standing in the crowd or not he had recognized this dictator of the village.
“Pradhanji is sitting at the hair ishtylisht’s,” he said taking out the opener from his pocket and popping the bottles open.
“That is the only thing he does. He became pradhan once so he remains one forever. That shop is actually his. He has rented it out. Used to be a big zameendaar, now he may have about three keelas (acres). Sold all the rest.”
“You have zamindars even now?” asked Adhirath surprised.
“Not that way. Whoever has zameen is zameendaar. About ten people had a lot of land in the village. The rest you see, are workers. They grow something on shamilat land. You know land around the village is counted as a part of the village and it is known as shamilat. They work as farm labour. Or do some other work. Work in the village sachool.”
“Did you find out about the land for me?” Adhirath asked afraid that if he enquired too closely Bharat may get suspicious.
“Had you told me earlier, I would have got some radishes,” said Bharat having taken a swig and nodding his head at the bottle. “Drinking on empty stomach can give you gas. It has a lot of gas. That is why the lid pops open like this. Did you see how it flew off?”
“Get those radishes then. I will get two more bottles,” said Adhirath. He had begun enjoying himself too much. Today Pushpa had even packed four rotis for him. Who knows whether Bharat gets something to eat or not. His scooter was parked close by.
“I have rotis,” said Adhirath.
“That I also have got from home. Will eat later.” Bharat took out a fifty rupee note from his pocket. “This time my treat.”
Adhirath refused to take the money. Bharat promised that next time he would get the ooze. They would drink with a dish of wild Hare. A Honda city passed by with the Pradhanji on the back seat. Bharat raised his hand and said Ram Ram loudly.
“I feel so good here,” said Adhirath lying on the cot. After two beers, two radishes, pickles, aalu baingan ki sabzi and rotis had made his stomach heavy and his heart light. Bharat had spread a sheet on the heap of bricks piled high like a platform. When they both woke up from their nap the sun was about to set. Had he come here to get some rest? How all the tension had vanished. He had forgotten everything, his office, the pending enquiry. Had Nitesh come this way today? Had he seen them snoring away? Tension returned to ride his brain.
“What will I tell the boss?” asked Adhirath waking up to his assumed identity. “Must leave now. Takes a long while to get back. Today it took me three hours to get here.”
“My ancestors were in the army of Surajmal Jat. Tales of those times are recounted in the family. It is said that if they left in the morning they reached Delhi in the evening.”
“Did they walk?”
“On horses. They would not have made it in one day if they walked. They used to have horses.”
“Nowadays there is only horse power!” said Adhirath patting his motorcycle. “Horse power. An animal that never tires. Even then it takes so much time.”
“The story of that faramhouse is this that more than half of the land is in the name of the daughter-in-law. Some part is in the name of the son. So actually there are two registries. If they want they can sell half also. I don’t know who owns the strip that gets them access to the entire plot. Meaning the pathway that leads to the house. If it is registered as a joint property with the buyer of half of the land then the problem of access can be solved. We can calculate the value and the buyer can pay half of the value and get his name added to the ownership deed. It can be done. There is no legal obstacle. But the parties have to agree. I will have to ask them. If you give me the go ahead I will.”
Adhirath was looking at Bharat’s face. A broad face that looked like it was made of sand. A simple face of a simple man. He may even be clever for all Adhirath knew. You have to be a little crooked to be a property dealer. He may have learnt some tricks of the trade too, but he looked like a simple honest man who said what he felt. In only two meetings he had come to get to know him so well. Adhir felt bad at pulling the wool over his eyes. Both of them left together.
Near the station Adhirath stopped next to a small pothole as if his motorbike had some trouble crossing it and stood to one side holding it. Bharat turned his scooter towards the village. When he saw the scooter vanish he turned towards the Bindal farm. The gate opening onto the narrow pathway was as usual closed. He inserted his hand through the gap in the iron grille. It was bolted and locked. He shook the gate forcefully. “Open up” he said twice in a very loud voice. At last a man emerged from somewhere behind the house and limped towards the gate. “Who” he asked as he came close to the gate.
“I have come to see the farm. It is for sale, isn’t it? I am planning to buy it. Want to see it from inside.”
“No order to open it,” said the man.
“Do you have orders to allow the pradhan in? You are Chetilaal aren’t you?”
“No, sahib, nobody entered.”
“Open,” barked Adhirath in his cop voice.
“Will get the keys,” said the man turning back towards the house.
Fishing out the mobile from his pocket Adhirath put it to his ear and said, “Oye, come here, listen to this.”
“Who is it?” Chetilal turned towards him.
“The driver. He says you were here only that night, the night of the murder,” he said pressing a key on the keypad. The mobile lit up. Chetilal pushed his hand through the grille and took the mobile with a trembling hand and put it to his ear. He kept helloing into it but got no response for there wasn’t anybody at the other end. Adhirath took his phone back and said, “Looks like he disconnected. He said that you did it, that murder. Must have got scared of you.”
This time Chetilal took a set of keys from his pocket and opened the gate. Following him to the verandah of the house Adhir said, “Listen, Chetilal, I am not the police. I have some other work here. MY employer wants to buy this property. If he is about to buy he will also seek some information. There has been a murder here. Now tell me the truth what happened that day. Do the villagers invite outsiders like you to come paint their wives’ faces with gulal? If you tell me any lies I will break your other leg also.”
Chetilal collapsed on the floor and began to hit his forehead with his hand. It was truly a very ill muhurat when he took the advice of his uncle to take up the job here. He used to manage a half roti where he was earlier. It is not as if he got any roti smeared with ghee here. his uncle, chacha works at the manure farm at Amirpur just behind the farm here. Chetilal used to carry headloads of dung there. Only two months ago he became a caretaker here. This place had manager to. Nachchatar used to work here. he left the job. Last month even the manager left. He cut the mustard only after the manager left. Took three days. There was so much work to do. Then you got to cook your own roti after laboring the whole day. They get electricity only at night and that too is errant. He has to stay up at night to water the plants. There are such long and vicious snakes here. The poor have nothing but problems. Now the police is thrashing him. He is paying for the sins of some kullachini, a woman of bad character. She came here three, no may be for times ever since he started working on the farm. The Chote malik would come with her.
“Who is chote malik? Udairaj?”
“Yes, that is him. That direver used to bring them. Always came at night. Once he spent two days here.”
“Direver, that driver? Would he also stay or leave after dropping them?” Adhirath heart began to race.
“He also stayed. He used to sleep on the cot outside my room. On my cot. I would spread a durree on the floor. Nobody cares for the poor,” Chetilal said with grumpy face.
“What did you say the name of the girl was?”
“How would I know her name? She used to be so arrogant.”
“When was the last time she came here?”
“Must have been a month. I was preparing to cut the mustard. That is when they stayed for two days. Manager used to come in the morning.. To him she said, here, right here on the verandah where you are sitting, she sat here and said to him, she would buy a faram nearby. She asked him won’t you will manage my faram also?”
“Really?”
“Yes. I was watering this climber that is how I heard this. She used to really show off a lot. Would give oders like she owned the place. Get me this. Or that. Those days there used to be a lot of vegetables here. jhukni, broikli. I had never seen such vegetables in my village. Chote malik left only after sacking the manager. He never came this side again. Since then I am alone here.”
“Where does the manager live?”
“Sahib his fate was even worse than mine. His daughter had had a daughter. He was going to do her chochak, you know, the ritual you have to do when your daughter becomes a mother? The tirain had an accident and he died in it. On the spot.”
“That train, the one that was going to Gorakhpur and had an accident? He was on that train?”
“Yes, yes. That one,” Chetilal said.
“What happened on the day of Holi? Did they come here?”
“No, sahib. Nobody came the whole day. I just went and got eh people on the nearby farams to put a tika on my head,” Now Chetilal began to seriously cry. “A day of tevhar, festival. Everything so quiet. When it was late afternoon I went to Nachchatar’s place. When I got there I saw they had opened a bottle. I also gave twenty rupees. Nachchatar’s son went on his cycle and got another bottle from the village. Everybody got nicely drunk.” He said he slept at Nachchatar’s place and he also had the ‘permisan’ of the malik so he felt free to do as he chose.
“You had permisan?”
“I had called from Nachchatar’s phone. To chote malik. I asked only then I stayed there. He said, very well, enjoy your Holi.”
email: anjalides@gmail.com
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