Chapter 55: Lethality and Illegality
The evergreen leaves of mango trees of the Nath mansion seemed discoloured and its brilliant roses dull. The most talked bout home in its glory day had lately suffered its share of bad luck; Ram and the Congress had won the first round in the legal battle over the Trust. the court decision had cast doubt on the extent of the Trustee's discretion and thwarted the clear expression of the Nath's' intention to vest sole power in Jagat to do as he saw fit but the question of possession was yet to be determined by the appellate court in the appeal filed by Jagat.
The hostel had been closed because assessing the scores of annual applications and the selection of students had become quite overwhelming for the aging trio of Ratno, Sujata and Jagat. The Trust continued to pay Sujata's caretaker's salary, mansion's basic expenses and distributed the remainder of the Trust's earnings to the deserving and needy educational institutions.
Jagat had been anticipating hearing from the lawyer Gobinda Singh about the appeal. For quite a while there had been no communication from hi; so Jagat decided to take the bus to Zillapur to go see him and Shiv insisted on going with him to see Sujata and Teg. From the bus stop Shiv walked to the bungalow and Jagat to Gobinda Singh's home to discuss the case. Not finding Gobinda home, Jagat left a note with his Munshi asking for a progress report. On the way to the mansion, after a long bus ride and long walk in Zillapur, he savoured the thought of sitting in the garden sipping a steaming tea with biscuits talking to Sujata before dinner.
As he neared the mansion he noticed household things strewn outside in front of the gate and hurried wondering what lay ahead; Besides the padlocked gate a bloodied Shiv lay comatose and Sujata sat against the wall crying in pain. Waving his arms for someone to notice he yelled and screamed for help. A rickshawala stopped, helped Jagat load a limp Shiv and wounded Sujata on the rickshaw and rushed to the hospital. Shive died in the doctor's hands and holding his dead son in his lap Jagat's emotions overpowered his steely stoicism and silent tears, threatening to become screams, poured out of him. Sujata's wounds dressed, broken arm plastered and placed in a sling, she sat next to him with her uninjured arm around him. Her weeping eyes darted from the corpse to the near corpse Jagat as the doctor advised her bed rest in the hospital but she insisted on leaving with Jagat and Shiv's body.
Jagat and Sujata took a cab with Shive to Chajjuwara and all the way he story of what killed Shiv tumbled forth from Sujata's lips repeating itself. Ram showed up at the mansion with uniformed police and goons wielding Guns and lathis. Shive and Sujata stood at the man-gate screaming for help from the onlookers and passersby but seeing policemen, goons and Ram in pure white ironed khadi, the new symbol of absolute and corrupt power in independent India, none came to their aid. Shive and Sujata placed their bodies in the way denying Ram and his henchmen entry into the mansion; the armed men broke Sujata's arm and Shiv's skull; two men with guns dragged them out and stood over them as they lay bleeding while their companions ransacked the house throwing Sujata's and Teg's personal belongings out on the road and that is where Jagat had found them. Sujata talked nonstop; she would tell Jagat what happened ending at the point he found them outside the locked gate and she would begin a new and retell, and tell and retell she did until the taxi entered the bungalow. Jagat hadn't her retelling thinking it may be what she needed at the time to live on; he certainly did. From the moment he saw them injured and bleeding amid the scattered personal belongings he had moments when he wanted to kill Ram, shoot him with guns Jodh brought him during the raullay. He knew it was wrong to even think that; he was no longer the man who had almost killed Jewna. Hearing her tell and retell the tale of woe, like the woes of the countless others of new India, helped him grieve.
The family and friends from Qaadian, Chajjuwara and Shiv's classmates and friends attended the funeral following which Sujata and Jagat submitted a written report to the superintendent of police for Zillapur. Despite his repeated entreaties the police didn't commence an investigation because it would have meant investigating itself. He took some solace in the bitter truth he wasn't alone, most were suffering at the hands of the new rulers. When the country killed the Mahatma, Jagat had comforted himself by saying it was the work of the right wing religious fanatics but now with increasing frequency the governments betrayed Mahatma's creed, his people and his country.
A month had passed since Shiv's murder; it was just before noon; a full cup of cold tea sat on the stool next to Jagat in the rocker as his mind wandered; no sparrows chirped in the yard; the thorns overwhelmed the roses in need of deadheading. The postie walked through the gate handing him a letter from England, Jaggi's first, and he savoured caressing it between his old wrinkled hands; Jaggi had been gone for over two months. Jagat called Ratno to come read it aloud to him and Sujata who was in her spot in the veranda; her hovel taken over by the squatters, bungalow was now her home, too; her arm had no sling or cast but she hadn't fully recovered.
Ratno tore open the aerogramme and began reading: "Dear Father ---"
"Stop stop, read it again it sounds so nice to hear 'Dear Father'---both words beginning with capital letters, at least in English."
Sujata and Ratno just watched him in silence, his eyes shut and a smile on his lips under he said, "Alright Ratno, read."
"When I got here Sameer was no more."
"What? Are you sure you're reading it right? Read it again!"
She did; he let our a scream which the neighbourhood couldn't have missed. Ratno and Sujata, both wiping their tears, stood next to him, patting his shoulders and back until Sujata tore away, brought a glass of water and put it to his lips; he took a sip, amid the sniffles cleared his throat and said, "Okay Ratno." Ratno read:
"Sameer and Dorothy Doherty had met at college, both taking evening classes, he to do his masters, she to take courses preparing to go to university to do her Ph.D. in English literature. A plumber's daughter she had battled her widowed racist mother to maintain her romantic relationship with Sameer. They loved each other and planned o marry. Every week, once or twice in the evenings, after the classes, they trekked to their favourite, low ceilinged and old watering hole near the college for rendezvous over pints of Guinness; the beer Dorothy told me Sameer loved. One night as they exited the old pub through its squeaking doors, a group of Teddy boys were walking by Dorothy and Sameer holding hands walked on. 'You dirty Paki bastard, a fucking coolie, how dare you touch a white woman,' said one of the Teddy Boys. 'And you white trash whoring yourself for this ugly Aladdin,' said another before they Jumped the couple. Both were pushed down to the pavement. Dorothy told me that he loved you so much papa and she says as he fell to the pavement he must have felt more humiliated than hurt, imagining you sitting in a British Indian prison cell on the other side of steel bars scolding him for coming to England to do cheap labour for the erstwhile Colonisers. The less than a minute the Teddy Boys' steel toed shoes rained on his head had felt an eternity to a horrified Dorothy pinned on the floor b one of he attackers until some patrons leaving the pub came to their rescue and the attackers fled. One patron ran into the pub to call the police and ambulance while the other opened Sameer's mouth to ensure his tongue wasn't obstructing his breathing. Ambulance took Dorothy and Sameer to the hospital where he was pronounced dead."
In the eerily quiet bungalow, Sujata, Ratno and Jagat sat quietly sobbing and consoling each other before going to bed on hungry stomachs.
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