"The vermin deserve no mercy. None will testify against them and they're guilty anyways, to hell with them."
"Are you saying you'll gun down any one associated with the Committee the moment you find them?" despite his loathing for what was happening Jagat was focused on Gogi.
At the moment he was no freedom giant of yore, only a supplicant trying to save Gogi.
"I can't protect Gogi. The orders come from above," said the SP nervously playing with his short police issue steel shod cane, thinking about the many unnamed Naxalites shot to death under his command; for him killing a Naxalite was like slaughtering chicken for the evening meal.
"Tell whomever your orders come from that Jagat Singh Qaadian was in. If you or anyone else captures Naxalites, don't kill them. As for Gogi hand him over to me and he'll be a danger to none."
The SP told him the police orders emanated from the Chief Minister of Punjab; the state and the police were the first in the country to invent the fiction of fake encounters to hide extra judicial killings.
The stench of the open sewer invaded Jagat's nostrils as he exited the complex. A few feet away waiting for Jagat was Kirti,
"Baba ji I saw fear in the SP's eyes," he said. He had figured out Jagat's identity. His father was a fan and Kirti insisted Jagat not travel this late to Chajjuwara. Kirti talked of his poverty as they rode to his village nearby and soon they were at his mud home where his only sibling, the sixteen years old Pammi, no longer enrolled at school since her mother Samundi's death, was at the chullah. Afraid of increasing the family debt Samundi had suffered severe abdominal pains in silence and died from appendicitis. The stomach pains took my Samundi would say Samunda, both heir names shortened from 'Samundar' as in ocean.
"Bapui, look who's here to meet you?" said Kirti to Samuinda returning from the khooh. Even in the dim light of the deeva, Samunda who lived with an unfathomable depression recognised Jagat and huge grin appeared on his wrinkled and toothless face;
"Wow Jagat Singh Qaadian, my lion of Punjab!"
Jagat, too, smiled and said, "Our work not finished yet."
"Yeah, we're still not free!"
Jagat nodded as Kirti served them a simple meal.
Chapter 59: The Outspoken 'Vaginas'
The night and the road were silent except the chirping of birds and the creaking of the peasant Bujha's gadda. In the light of the lantern hanging on the gadda's right front post behind the oxen, Bujha noticed a bundle of something curled up on the road and near it lay what looked like a bike. He alighted from his perch between the oxen, walked over and bent down. The bundle on the ground said,
"Brother, hold and pull me up; I've been trying to get up but my left arm and leg..." Bujha pulled him and helped him limp up on to the khes on the gadda and loaded the bike on the gadda. The injured man asked if Bujha could take him to the hospital and Bujha rode to the Government Hospital. As the injured man was taken into the emergency, the gadda moved on but the doctor asked Bujha to stop and give his name and address. Nobody ever wanted to stand witness to an injured or dead person on the roads of Punjab only to be cruelly grilled by the cops at best and charged with injuring or killing the person at worst. But Bujha had recognised the injured man and left his name and address with the doctor.
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