Culling the chicken

“So you think you like peanuts?”

“Huh?”

“I said, do you think you like peanuts?” He repeated just as innocently as he had first put forward the question. And it was perhaps the innocence which got her to respond.

“I guess so”, but she immediately regretted saying so. She had been taught to know better than to speak some random, slightly-odd looking man sitting on a park bench by the lake. Another girl, another time would not have even sat on that bench next to him. But Megha was tired today, as tired as someone not used to wearing high heels for six straight hours while walking in the blazing Kolkata sun. Arun said he would be there on time, but he wasn’t. He never was. It was very frustrating to have to wait nearly half an hour for your boyfriend to come and meet you, and as usual she was absolutely livid about having to do so. This time of her day was usually spent in calling her boyfriend all sorts of names that were absolutely unlike the mushy ones they were prone to address each other with during their more intimate moments.

But she did not really fancy being livid and calling her boyfriend all those names while standing on her high heels in the blazing albeit slightly more comfortable evening Kolkata sun. All the other benches in sight were occupied by noisy and sweaty school children after a dirty game of soccer, local hoodlums who passed rather predatory looks at anything passing by in a skirt and couples two or three of whom would squeeze together on a single bench (for the lack of space elsewhere) so closely, that it is really a wonder how they could carry a conversation between themselves without overhearing the others.

“See that’s the problem, nobody’s really ever sure of anything” He said with eyes that were so dead and devoid of emotion that it almost made Megha sad. But it was an odd comment to make. You don’t really expect the unkempt timid looking guy, who has not shaved for what seems like more than a couple of days but less than a week, sitting next to you on the park bench to really say anything to you. And when he does you are bound to be a little apprehensive of sitting on the bench in the first place even though you know it is probably not as bad as sitting next to three loving couples or hoodlums with x-ray eyes. But you should know better nonetheless especially if you are girl and have been taught to know better.

So naturally Megha’s first instinctive reaction was to dissuade the person by being cold and aggressive

“What do you mean?” she enquired sternly.

“Nothing” He immediately squealed and turned his gaze away from her to a point on the ground maybe two or three feet away from where he was sitting. He looked very timid and fragile. You could sense that he had suddenly become very nervous, his fingers were twitching in a weird fashion and his eyes squinted for a few moments as if someone had just presented a tight slap on his flushed cheeks.

“I am sorry… I didn’t mean to startle you” she said somewhat apologetically.

“It’s… it’s ok” He replied easing up a little. “I get nervous very easily”.

“Oh, well I am sorry again” Megha spoke again, this time in a patronizing maternal tone prompted by his nervous demeanor. “You were saying something about peanuts. Are you hungry? There is a peanut-seller right there on…”

“No, no… I am fine” he interrupted. “I don’t want to eat peanuts. I just wanted to know what they looked like today”

“You mean you’ve never actually seen peanuts?” She asked incredulously.

“Of course I have. Peanuts, walnuts, cashew nuts… what’s the difference? I’ve seen them all. In fact I’ve seen everything. ”.

“Then why’d you ask me that?” she questioned somewhat softly, still unsure whether she should just shut up and ignore the person or continue the conversation.

“I wanted to know if you like peanuts, so you could describe for me what they look like today”.

Hearing this, Megha thought it best not to respond. She gave a polite smile and turned her face away. He was a weird looking man, conservatively in his early thirties. His hair was unkempt and his shirt, a couple of sizes too big for him, seemed to float on his thin, wiry frame that sat on the very edge of the concrete bench. He looked very fragile, in fact almost so fragile that it would have scared you. It seemed if even the wind blew into a bit of a gust, it might cause him to crumble and fall into little pieces. But his eyes were absolutely dead, and his left arm kept fidgeting with a small piece of coloured chalk with which he kept on scribbling on the bench. Megha, sitting on his left, tried to notice what he was scribbling out of the corner of her eye but her curiosity could not sustain the efforts it warranted and she gave up very soon.

As far as she was concerned this was just some random person speaking gibberish on the park bench by the lake, where she was waiting for Arun. She could very well ignore him from this moment on. Arun should be here anyways. She glanced at her watch again and cursed him again.

“That’s a good watch you know” he observed. She ignored.

“I used to buy Sara watches like it. Of course not entirely like that you know. They were made of plastic and did not really tell the time, but Sara could not tell the difference. It’s easy with kids you know… sometimes you can get away with stuff like that”.

He scratched his bearded chin with his right hand and looked around at random, but nothing of consequence arrested his attention.

“Of course I did not really want to cheat my daughter forever you know. I would have brought her one of them real watches when she would’ve grown up. But they burnt her. I was wondering yesterday though, if I had to buy a watch for her where should I get it from… I don’t know any good shops”.

“You mean your daughter was burnt?” She asked shocked.

“Raped, disembowelled and then burnt” He replied matter-of-factly. Then suddenly became nervous again and started casting furtive glances to his right and kept scratching his chin. “You see I am new in Kolkata…” He stopped again to cast another quick glance to the right before continuing “… and, I don’t know any decent watch shops”.

“How awful” Megha cried. “Where are you from?” She asked now absolutely concerned.

“Dinajpur Colony of course”

“Where is that?”

“Baroda”.

“Godhra?”, She asked almost in the same concerned tone as a terminally ill patient would enquire his doctor prior to receiving his reports.

“No. Dinajpur Colony, Baroda”

“What’s your name?” She asked eagerly.

“Murad Hussain”

“Where do you stay?” She asked eagerly.

“At the Kolkata Communion for Communal Peace, near the …” he stopped abruptly and looked straight into Megha’s eyes. It was the first time he had done it so far. It was a cold look; nervous, violent, scared and implosive. Suddenly his face contorted and his cheeks started to quiver.

“What happened?” She asked eagerly.

No response. Her mobile phone rang. She ignored it.

“What happened?” Silence. The phone ringing. “Hello?”

“Darling, sweetheart… I am sorry, I am sorry… I am so sorry” A voice exploded very fast, perhaps so because it anticipated a retaliatory barrage from the other end. Finding only a confused silence instead, it slowed down to a more comprehensible tone. “I got stuck with some work at office and boss just would not let me leave. I know I am already very late. But I am leaving now. Are you still at the lake?”

“Er… yes, I am” Megha responded.

“Good, I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Got to go now, love you honey… Bye”.

Click. Silence. Tension. Confusion…

At that very instant a couple of men, easily in their early twenties and dressed in cheap and colourful shirts and caps, passed by. Seeing Megha they proceeded to sing some rather suggestive Hindi film songs. They seemed amused at their own attempt of having thought of something as innately clever as singing a song to illicit a tailored response of practised ignorance from Megha. After having exhausted their intellectual faculties in this endeavour, they soon proceeded to move in a different direction where one of them had just spotted a couple get a little cosy. They left amidst much laughter, in fact almost rolling with it… still singing the song.

As the sound however, faded further and further away, Megha relaxed and looked over to Murad. He sat there on his bench, with fists clinched so hard that the knuckles had almost become white. His gaze was directed firmly at the ground and he looked as if he was going to explode any moment.

“Are you alright?”

“I would’ve killed them” He hissed, his fists and teeth still clenched.

“Who? Them?” Megha enquired referring to the singing road-side Romeos

“Yes them. I would have killed them, wrung their necks with my own hands” He paused for a moment, easing a little but becoming more nervous “… if only they did not have knives”.

“But they did not have any knives” said Megha, while trying to recall if either one of them was indeed carrying one.

“They looked like they were carrying knives”

“Oh”

“You see, I am not scared of dying. I think everyone should die. But there should be a method to it. Something inspirational. Something which shows the way forward.”. He paused for a second. “Everyone notices that kind of thing. Getting knifed in the face in a park is a stupid way to die won’t you agree? That’s what I am afraid of… dying in a stupid fashion”

“That and of course, long knives” he added after a short pause. “I am very scared of long knives”.

“Who else was their in your family” She asked sympathetically.

“Everyone”. She left it at that and did not push it further. There was an awkward silence for a few moments. The evening sun was dying on another sky waiting to be washed anew by a starless night and a lazy moon. The clouds seemed bored with everything else and spread themselves out at random across the entire expanse of the vast, orange sky like grazing sheep left alone on a desolate hillside. All of a sudden a cool breeze picked and combed through Megha’s hair. It passed on caress Murad’s face, as the last glow of the evening sun on its way to tomorrow’s history painted his cheeks a fiery red. His eyes were dead. Hair ruffled, and shirt loose… but his gaze was intense. Megha felt dwarfed. She wanted to ask a thousand questions but groped for meaningful words, wanted to give a thousand assurances but lacked the commitment… she wanted to do a lot of things, but just impatiently looked at her watch, reminding herself that Arun was just on the way.

“What do you want to do in your life?” asked Murad all of a sudden, his face determined and intense still. He had stopped fidgeting with the chalk and was staring at his hands.

“Law… I am studying law”.

“No, no. I am not asking what you will become. I am asking what do you want to do?” He spoke slowly in clear and precise words, measuring out the whole universe in his palm with his intense gaze.

“Er, I don’t know what you mean”

“I want to cull the chicken” said Murad ignoring her words.

“Huh?”

“Arrange all of them in sixteen rows, ten deep and wring their necks with my bare hands… one by one, throttle them and twist them…” his voice petered off.

“Why one-sixty?”

“One-sixty, One thousand… One million, it’s all the same! I just want to cull the chicken”. He repeated even more firmly this time.

The phone rang again. “Where are you sweetheart?”

“Have you reached?” fumbled Megha. On receiving an affirmative, she twitched in her seat for a moment and looked around nervously not knowing what to do or say.

“Ok, you just stay there… I’ll come in a minute” She finally managed to instruct.

“I’ve got to go Murad. I am sorry for leaving so abruptly, but my boyfriend is here. But I would love to come visit you again sometime. Where is this Kolkata Communion thing?”

“I am not really sure I will ever know” replied Murad honestly.

“Huh! What do you mean?”

“I mean things keep changing everyday. Peanuts, neighbours… the whole world. So, I am not really sure”.

“Oh tell me Murad where do you stay now?” Running out of patience.

“Do you know any decent watch shops?”

“Oh, forget it. Kolkata Communion for Communal…” She tried remembering. “I’ll look it up”. She turned around and quickly walked away down the path. While walking down, she adjusted her hair unconsciously with her left hand, fidgeted with her watch and put her phone in her bag.

“Hey honey, I am so sorry you had to wait for so long” Gushed Arun as soon as he saw his girl walking towards him.

“It’s ok, I found an interesting person”. She said while walking towards his bike.

“Interesting person, eh?” He said while getting on it.

“Yes, he’s some kind of riot victim or something. Speaks mostly gibberish though”.

Arun kick-started his bike and Megha hopped on clinging tightly to his firm body “We must visit him sometime”

“Of course we shall. These riot victims and all… we must do our bit to rehabilitate them and everything…” He mouthed the words while speeding his bike.

“Oh Arun, you are such a sensitive baby. That is why I love you so much” Squealed Megha, her words barely reaching Arun as the bike picked up speed.

“Where does he stay?”

“At this Kolkata Community thing…”

*

Meanwhile the vision of Ramsukh Desai, the man who had virtually raised Sara in his arms closing the door on her face as three men with long knives chased her… played itself for the umpteenth time in front of Murad’s dead eyes.

“I just want to cull the chicken” he muttered to himself, as he nervously and agitatedly scribbled away anew on his seat with the piece of coloured chalk.

Somewhere beyond the calm and placid waters of the South Kolkata lakes, the sun had settled for the night. Only a few dying embers of it remained now, a few tinges of purple in a fast darkening sky… …

*