‘What’s the matter? Why have you covered your face and head like this? Have you fought with someone?’ asked Dheesa, baring his toothless gums from behind his thick lips, and then munching the groundnuts he always carried in the pockets of his black trousers, he turned around and went towards the operation theatre.

  Without any hesitation, he opened the door of the operation theatre and took Melu inside. After dipping cotton in lukewarm water, he cleaned the blood out of his hair, and then snipped off the bits that stuck close to his ears. After cleaning up a big, gaping wound, he said, ‘It looks as if you have been hit by a lathi. What happened? Did you actually come to blows with someone?’

  Wincing, Melu said, ‘Why would I, yaar? In front of the district courts, a heifer suddenly came in front of me and I lost control. There was a wall, towards the left. I took a toss and crashed into it. It was the edge of the platform near the wall that hurt me.’

  ‘Melu Singha, why do you try and pull a fast one on us? It’s a routine affair for us.’ Dipping a piece of bandage into a red-coloured medicine and wrapping it over his wound, Dheesa said, ‘Oye, brother of mine, if you think that I’m only as good as an animal, then it’s all right.’

  Embarrassed, Melu started swearing in the name of all kinds of things. Tightening the bandage around his head, Dheesa said, ‘Doesn’t matter. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to. Even if you were to, what would we get in the bargain, daal? We go for a friend’s friendship, not his bad habits!’

  It was mainly to escape his insistent questioning that Melu decided to tie his blood-soaked turban over his head in a hurry. Then glancing towards the machines, scissors, stethoscopes and several other equally strange objects inside the operation theatre, he asked,  ‘Are you allowed to tie a bandage in this room?’

  ‘Did you come for the bandage because some sahab told you to?’ Dheesa first picked up the blood-soaked cotton and bandages, threw them all into a dustbin, washed his hands and then said, ‘Bhai Singha, it’s our writ that runs large here. Till four o’clock, no one even dares enter this place. Do you understand?’

  From day one, Dheesa had been so, both candid and carefree. In school, too, he had been the most mischievous of them all. Who knows what game he played, but he had joined as a chowkidar in this hospital. Slowly, he had worked his way up, and now, it was difficult to say what ‘position’ he occupied. But his writ actually ran in the entire hospital. He would make expensive medicines available to his friends, free of charge. If needed, he would put in a word with the doctor to examine his friends out of turn. He had become a ‘fixer’. He had been working in this very hospital for the past twelve or thirteen years. Who knows what kind of foxy tricks he deployed, but he would easily manage to make a good deal of extra money over and above his salary. When it came to gambling, he wouldn’t let anyone else win. In the basti on the outskirts, he had bought a four-marla plot, and constructed a kotha, too. But he lived in the quarters allocated by the hospital. Though one wouldn’t even give him a second look, he had married a second time. His first wife had either been poisoned or had died of some disease. He had two sons from his first wife, and a daughter from the second one. He would always flaunt his ‘position’ and talk in a rather officious manner.

  ‘Dheesiya, come, why don’t we go to the village together?’ Melu suggested casually, for lack of anything better to say.

  Wiping his hands on a white towel, he said, ‘Why would we go to the village now? Do we have to lick the leftovers of the jats, there? Here, everyone comes and touches my feet. There, no one ever spoke to me without hurling an abuse first. And if at this stage I decide to go back and become dependent on them once again, who would call me wise? Besides, what is left there now that I could call my own? My parents have passed away. There is a kothri, which my younger brother has grabbed. Do you expect me to set up a cold storage in the village and then look after it?’

  Without a word, Melu walked out. Turning back, he asked, ‘Do you want me to take any tablets?’

  Pulling three–four golden strips out of the deep, bulging pockets of his white coat, and handing them over to him, he said, ‘You take one before you go to bed. If the pain is unbearable, then take another one. I’ll do the bandage again tomorrow, around this time.’

  Walking through the verandah of the general ward, Melu was thinking to himself, ‘What kind of karmas had Dheesa done in his previous life that having been born in the same vehra as he, having studied up to class four in the same school as he, and having winnowed in the fields in the same way as he himself, Dheesa was now almost the owner of this hospital, but he, Melu, was no more than a rickshaw puller.’ (It was as though, in the last seven years, he had begun to hate this expression. On so many occasions he had thought of giving up this work, and starting something else. He had tried too, but it had not worked. He wanted to part with the body, but now this body would not let him be; and with each passing day, its burden was becoming more and more oppressive.)

  The moment Melu stepped out of the hospital, he wrapped the blanket around his face and head, the way he had done earlier, and started pushing his rickshaw. Rather than turn towards the school, he hit another road, the one that ran in front of the mill. From there, going past the railway crossing, he went towards the official quarters of the railway employees, located in the west. Peddling his rickshaw on the road next to the canal, he felt as though his legs were giving way. Stopping under the shade of a tahli, he took a tablet out of a small, plastic box and started chewing it. Replacing the box in his pocket, he looked about, but did not spot even a single person for miles on end. In order to tie his turban again, when he took the chaddar off his head and looked at his emaciated legs, he felt as though they belonged to someone else.

  ‘This body seems to be giving up. At this rate, how much longer will it work?’ he spoke aloud, as if he was searching for answers within. That moment, when he saw a jeep approaching from the direction of the canal, he simply stood there, with his back towards the road.

  Once the jeep had trundled past, Melu gently felt the bandage on his head, and covered it with a few, loose folds of his turban. After chewing the tablet, and swallowing it, he turned the rickshaw in the direction of the canal.

  On reaching the bank of the canal, he discovered that a stretch, which almost seven years ago was no more than a kuccha, pebbled track, was now a road that ran its serpentine course through a thousand-year-old fortress, and went circling the monstrous chimneys of the thermal plant, before merging finally with the Grand Trunk Road. Towards its right, starting from the canal and continuing down to the Grand Trunk Road, there was a huge parapet, more than the height of a man, made of wire mesh and iron poles. Towards the right side of this parapet, one could see a long stretch of thermal-plant buildings, residential quarters, and a strange-looking barbed-wire fence that blocked entry into that area; all in all, an entire new town appeared to have sprung up there. It was his first close look at this new town. As his gaze ran from below up to the large chimneys that looked somewhat like oversized buckets turned upside down, he trembled and got off his rickshaw, feeling as though the rickshaw was going to tumble into the canal.

  Somewhat restless, he started peering up at the chimneys once again. On top of the chimney facing him, he could see some eight–ten persons hanging, looking like small bers. Suddenly, he felt as though those persons were beginning to fall off. Blinking over and over again, he kept gazing at them, stunned. Owing to the fading light of the setting sun, the shapes of those persons were not clearly visible. But after a while, they became more well defined. Strapped to iron ropes, and lowered from the top of the chimney with pulleys, these persons were standing on swinging logs, holding on to the ropes with one hand, and cleaning the outer surface of the chimney with the other. The upper portion of the chimney was now shinning and appeared much brighter compared to the portion beneath the swinging logs, which still appeared smudged and grimy with long, irregular lines caused by constant exposure to rain.

  ‘What if someone were to fall from that height…?’ This time, again, the words just escaped his lips, involuntarily.

  That moment, again, he felt his legs trembling. Leaving his rickshaw by the roadside, he went and sat on the grass, along the bank of the canal, though his eyes were still fixed on those persons who were walking freely on the swinging logs, from one end to the other. Suddenly he thought of the day, Kalu, the chowkidar, had advised him to join this thermal plant, saying, ‘It’s a good job; much better than breaking your legs with constant rickshaw pedalling. Go ahead and join it.’

  When he heard the sound of a car honking from behind, he immediately stood up. On the road next to the canal, a green car was speeding along, whipping up clouds of dust. He immediately pulled the rickshaw towards the canal. Whizzing past, and flinging up pebbles in its path, the car went westwards, where the canal rest house stood.

  For a while, Melu just stood there, motionless, and then a thought flashed across his mind, as to why he had come there in the first place. That very moment, he turned back and started peddling his rickshaw towards the road. Suddenly he was reminded of how his son had called out to him near the petrol pump, and he felt as though he had come towards this side, only to escape the tyranny of that sound. Even now, he could sense that sound chasing him, almost like a steady shadow.

  Pedalling the rickshaw somewhat rapidly, when he came back to the same tahli, under which he had taken that tablet, and started gazing towards the kotha that stood close to a banana grove, he suddenly remembered why he had come over to this side. Turning the rickshaw towards the banana grove, he stopped it near a mulberry bush, and then after opening the latch of a ramshackle gate, walked right in. On hearing his footfalls, a dog as big as a bear barked from inside, and at that very moment, Shilte’s harsh voice was heard, ‘Who is it, oye?’

  ‘I, Melu,’ he called, stopping a few yards away from the kothri.

  After pacifying the dog, Shilta called out to him, ‘Come on in; come on in.’

  When he reached the front door of the kothri, Shilta was sitting on a cane stool outside, smoking his hookah. Scratching his topknot with one hand, and blowing out smoke through his nostrils, he spoke in Baghri, ‘You come any time you want to. Right now, I don’t have that “thing” for you. Come tomorrow, early morning.’

  Squatting near Shilta’s makeshift chulha, Melu said, ‘Oye, you big contractor, first ask at least, why I’ve come here. You just start shooting your mouth off, without any prelude… You’ll remain what you are…a dumb fool.’

  After dragging on the hookah deeply, as Shilta pulled the pipe away from his thick moustaches, it was as though the wrinkles on his wizened face had burst into a sudden, spontaneous smile. First, he placed his rugged hand, with crumpled, thick fingers, on his head, and then slowly dragging it over his broad, furrowed forehead, narrow eyes, bulbous nose and scraggly beard, he brought it down to his chin, and then scratching it, again spoke in Baghri, ‘I’m still as innocent as a suckling child, who doesn’t even know whether the likes of you come here to dig earth or just make rounds of this place to feed their addiction, for their own father’s sake?’

  ‘Oye bapu, I mainly came to ask you, bhai, whether or not Dulla had come here?’ It was as if Melu had conceded his defeat to Shilta.

  ‘Let the darkness descend, then all these Dulla-Shullas shall come cowering like owls into this dark kothri.’

  ‘Who can possibly argue with you like a dog, and waste his breath?’ Melu said, as he got up to move towards the so-called ‘palace’ of Shilta, right behind the garden, ‘I’m going to lie down for a while. If someone comes, do tell him that I’m here. Is it alright?’

  Shilta went back to smoking his hookah. He crossed the field where radish had been planted, and had barely reached the mango tree, when Shilta the gardener hollered out, ‘Oye, you… Put away “this father of yours” somewhere.’

  Melu remembered that he had left his rickshaw outside near the mulberry bush. Turning back, he dragged the rickshaw inside the gate and parked it in the shade of the kothri, and again, proceeding towards the manji outside the kothri behind the garden, he lay down upon it.

  Still, the day had not quite spent itself. And no one was expected to come here before sunset. Lying face up on that loosely strung manji, he began to feel somewhat restless. Turning over to his side, when he looked ahead, he saw that close to the bed of cauliflowers, two male sparrows were squabbling, as if they wanted to swallow each other alive. Sometimes, one would be on the top, and sometimes, the other. The one on top would drive the other one crazy by digging its beak repeatedly into its flesh. For a long time, he stared at them. Then another one came and swooped down so suddenly upon the male sparrow on top, that the squabbling duo abandoned their fight and flew off and perched themselves on the branches of the tree right opposite. Rather than follow them, the third sparrow flew towards the road, crying ‘cheen…cheen…’ with such a flourish as though it had already conquered the fort of Chittaurh.

  Watching this little scene had calmed Melu’s agitated mind, somewhat. For a long time, lying ramrod straight on his back, he stared at that tree with the sparrows on it. Once or twice, he tried to make sense of it but couldn’t, as he found it difficult to fathom what kind of land they were fighting over. And also why another sparrow had to intervene to settle their dispute or why she couldn’t let those idiots just kill each other. Battle-weary, they would probably give up on each other.

  Shilta hollered once again. When he looked in the direction of the kothri, he saw both Dheeru and Dulla walking towards him. Dheeru was sporting a polka-dotted turban and a dark blue wrap-around. Dulla was wearing the same old clothes, a khaki coat with torn pockets, and an oversized, crumpled pyjama, and on his feet were an old pair of juttis, stitched and repaired, many times. As Dulla approached him, he laughed out loud, baring his teeth blackened with overuse of tobacco, ‘So, you’re enjoying a good sleep, you leader of the gang. Scared of the lathi blows, look where he has chosen to hide himself, in the Red Fort of Delhi.’

  Tying up the loose end of his turban and smiling through his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, Dheeru said, ‘It looks as if he has won many “medals” today, no less than five or seven.’

  ‘So, vile one, how are things with you?’ Seeing him flat on the manji, Dulla came closer, shook him by his shoulder, burst into a guffaw and said, ‘You’re lying as if your mother is already dead. Oye, what is the matter, henh?’

  When Melu was about to turn over on his side, the loose end of his turban came undone. Seeing the bandage on his head, Dheeru spoke with some concern, ‘Oye, he is actually carrying a certificate of his “leadership”. Where were you at that time, bhai?’

  Melu wasn’t keen on responding to any of their questions. Settling down on the manji next to him and thumping his back, Dheeru said, ‘Doesn’t matter. The lions have to face all this. This is nothing. You have a long way to go. Bhai sahab, this is just the beginning of a long journey… Long journey, but eyes squinted; Shilta the gardener is on your side, so why should you worry?’

  Melu was in no mood to appreciate such juvenile talk. Trying to force him off the manji by humouring him like a small child, Dulla laughed and said, ‘Come on, get up now. Let’s play a game of cards.’

  ‘You play if you want to. I’m not interested,’ said an exasperated Melu.

  ‘That’s all. As they say, “she is looking for Baba’s shoulder after walking barely half a mile”. You’re really made for big things, man. You’ll go a long way.’ Dulla got up from the manji, making a face as though he had tasted something bitter.

  Letting Melu be, both of them went and sat down upon a pile of sacks lying outside the shack. Pulling out a pack from his pocket, Dheeru started shuffling the cards. Dulla sat down upon a mud-soaked sack, without even dusting it. They threw a small, tattered piece of durrie in front of them. When Dheeru was dealing the cards, seeing a forlorn look in Melu’s eyes, Dulla laughed and said, ‘You know, friend, his story is quite similar to that of Kamli, in whose case, it doesn’t matter whether or not she goes to her in-laws’ house… Once, someone like Melu went to Dilli. When he returned after twelve years, someone asked, “So tell us, brother, what all did you see in Dilli?” And the brother says, “Well, nothing really.” The questioner was surprised and asked, “Oye, you saw nothing? Then, where were you, all this while? In a dark pit?” And the fellow retorts, “I simply used to practise this trick of doing ‘labour without rewards’ there”.’

  On hearing Dulla’s words, Dheeru also started laughing loudly. Holding his cards close to his chest, he said, ‘Bhai Melu Singha, you are not fit to live here. It’d have been much better for you to have gone back to the village. There, you may still be able to do something. But what will a straight and simple man like you do in such a town? No one gives a dime if you ask for it. And they will take less than a minute to auction off a fellow like you, right there, at the crossroads.’

  Lying quietly, Melu was gazing at two–three leaves, hanging precariously from a nearly withered branch of the mango tree. His companions were so completely lost in their game of cards that they seemed to have become oblivious of his physical injury, even his existence.

  Carrying a hookah and walking in his peculiar flip-flop manner, almost like a plough heaving up and down, Shilta came and stood by Melu’s head. Rising, Melu sat up on the manji. First, Shilta kept staring towards Dulla and Dheeru, but when Melu was about to tie his turban, looking at his bandage, Shilta spoke in Baghri, ‘Bhai Melu, you seem to have injured yourself badly. You must apply a paste of turmeric mixed with mustard oil on it. It’ll heal very soon.’

  Melu paid him no attention, whatsoever. Appraising Shilta’s tough, supple body, his dumb-bell like, ebony-black calf muscles and his grimy dhoti, pulled up from behind his knees, his thoughts drifted away, and a smile appeared on his face. ‘Now, look at this. Here, Shilta is also behaving like Lukmaan, the legendary vaid,’ Dheeru said in jest, looking at Shilta furtively.