BENEATH -- 2 (Co-written with Aparna Salvi Nagda)

What lay beneath the surface of these grounds were secrets that he had long ago locked in his mind and thrown away the keys.

Rameez Chacha went about his work as the wind whistled and rustled the dried leaves from the Noor Baug cemetery grounds whipping them into a euphoric dance.

The moon was shyly peeping from the clouds, emanating a very eerie glow on the land of the dead.

The loudspeakers attached to the minarets of the surrounding mosque blared out the muezzinn’s adhan.

The seventy-year-old kept on the digging producing a rhythmic whack sound every time the spade hit the soft soil in the ground.

He was a gravedigger in this cemetery and had been doing this job for years and years.

He was not sure if he was living, was dead or was a living dead.

His small kholi on the border of the small cemetery was what is called his dwelling but for him, the whole graveyard was his home.

Looking at tonight's scenario his mind travelled back about a few years ago to a similar night.

He recalled the screeching of tyres as the car drew up to his kholi and Lotiya Pathan the 6.2-foot masculine gangster got down from the driver's seat.

Rameez chacha recognised him as the local Dongri hot-headed gang leader and muscle man.

He had visited many times in the past attending the funerals of a few of his relatives and many of his goons.

There was a period when the Bombay gang wars were at peak and the frequency of his visits had increased.

Whenever he had entered the silence that was normally present in a place out of respect for the dead became even more icy cold silent out of mixed fear and respect for him.

The stories of his escapades outran his arrivals

People knew about him even before he arrived.

Chacha was a few speechless years younger and it was one of the slack nights at the cemetery.

It was past 10 pm and was dark outside.

Inside his kholi, a stark naked light bulb hung suspended from a holder in intertwined red and black wires.

The lumen was just about sufficient to create a golden glow. Fireflies buzzed close to the hot glass bulb throwing darkened moving shadows in the room to match their fleetings.

Rameez Chacha was mopping up the mutton Rogan josh (from the local Ahmedia restaurant) with the pieces of fluffy taftan bread when he heard the tyre screeches and ambled to the doorstep.

Washing his hand with a ’lota’ of water on his doorstep itself, he went out wiping dry his hand on his baniyan (vest) which were full of holes and his dirty folded chequered lungi (loincloth)

White laced skull cap on his head, he walked out as Lotiya Pathan, who was alone, beckoned him to the back seat of the vehicle.

He stood transfixed for a moment as he saw the dead body lying spread flat on the cloth-covered seat.

There was a slit on her throat and blood was seeping out from areas where the slit was deep and blood clots were not holding back the flow.

Lotiya Pathans eyes were moist and for the first time, he looked disturbed.

His eyes and the silence told him that he had to do the needful and bury this beautiful lady (who was now just a dead body) beneath the earth in his cemetery -- putting her to a final rest deep in its womb.

As he was getting ready to pick up the dead body he heard a sob and in a very gruff but emotional voice, Lotiya Pathan narrated the story of how this had unfolded.

This was the first time in so many years that Rameez Chacha had heard his voice.

He started the narration ...........

“Shabnum. .naam hi kafi hai… jannat ki noor, hamare kalejeka ka sukun. Subah ki pehle kiran uski hasi toh raat ghan andera uski udasi. Surma lagaye toh chav cha jaye, jhumka giraye toh aahat ho jaye…..

Shabnum humare jalte sholo ki rahat hai.

Kai saal pehle jab hum Shakeel ke janaze mein phoolo ki chadar kabra par odh rahe the, achanakse ek mohtarma aa lipti uss bejaan pe… ’’Bhaijan hume akela na chodo… hum aap bina lavaris hai’’… futfut ke roye ja rahi thi wo. Puchtach pe pata chala wo Shakeel ki eklauti par ab lawarish behen thi.

Ek Shakeel hi tha, saaya uska ab wo bhi asma chu gaya tha. Der der raat uski awaz hamare kano mein goonj ti rahi. Jane jaise bula rahi ho.

Keh rahi ho… le chalo humein inn tanhayeo se dur, bahot dur.

Bas! Hum le aaye uss. Wo aana chahti thi ya nahi, hume koi parwah nahi thi. Bas apni dil ki suni aur uss apne dil mein basa liya. Wo rehna chahti thi ya nahi, hume kabhi nahi pucha. Bas uss apni mashuka bana liya.

Mohhbat bhi kya chez hoti hai Chacha, pure ek saal tak hamare hathon ne kisika khoon nahi chua. Hath laal hote toh uski hooton ki laali se, rang ghera hota uski heena ke mahek se.

Zindagi khubsurat hone lagi thi par kambakat ye sharab kab behka de iska koi andaja nahi laga sakta.

Chacha kal sham sharab ke nashe mein humne Shabnum ko Shakeel ke katil se pehchan karva di. Cha cha, pata nahi kaise, humne kaisa apna gunaah kabul kar liya. Aaj subah hosh aate hi humne uske pairo tale gir kar, gidgidakar maafi mangi.

Wo kuch nahi boli, hume laga waqt ke sath bhul jayegi. Par aaj sham jab main ghar lauta toh wo khanjar lekar khadi thi. Apne bhaijan ke mout ka badla lena chahti thi.

Bahot samjhaya par nahi mani. Ladti rahi, war karti rahi… .achnakse pata nahi kaise khanjar uske gale ka haar ban gaya. Aur phir.. phir… ye ho gaya.

Shabnum hamare ruh hai. Haan Chacha ab bhi hai.. Dekho shayad bula rahi hai hame… keh rahi hai ab sukoon mila iss dhadakti dhadkan ko, ab kinara mila inn machalti lehro ko….Aapko sunai de raha hai na Chacha?”

As the leaves rustling reached a crescendo Rameez chacha was brought to the now as he continued the thumping and whacking of the soft earth while digging a grave for Lotiya Pathan’s throat slit body.

The unsuspecting silent chacha had somehow managed to complete Shabnum’s ’bhaijan ke mout ka badla’

Chacha never ever spoke after digging Shubnum’s grave and not even now after digging Pathan’s grave.

His silent demeanour was Pathan’s gift to him on the night of Shubnam’s burial.

His life had been spared but his tongue had been chopped and fed to the dogs, that night least he purges the truth.

Who knew that by having mercy on him, Lotiya Pathan had dug his own grave!