But Shilta turned solemn as he ran his hand over his topknot, flared his nostrils and rolled his eyes, no bigger than a ber seed, and spoke in Baghri, ‘Oye, who do you think I am? I’ve worked for an Angrez for ten long years. Unlike you, that Angrez was not a rustic lout. The lieutenant I served used to get something like four thousand rupees as his salary. He was a tall, strapping man, as young as a ghost and absolutely gora-chitta.’

  Dulla laughed heartily. ‘Unless the old woman dies, the plough will not turn askew’. Oye stupid fool, what are you trying to say?’

  ‘What am I trying to say?’ In a bid to shake the mud off his foot, Shilta thumped it on the ground, and then quickly thrusting the pipe into his mouth to drag on his hookah, he released the smoke and spoke in Baghri, ‘What do you animals know who the Angrez really were? During their Raj, both the goat and the lion used to drink water at the same ghaat. Now, do these buggers even bother about anyone?… This ox of ours goes around singing and dancing even if someone gives him a five-paisa coin by mistake. When the Angrez were here, I’d give away as much as five rupees as baksheesh to others. Do you have any idea when the frogs actually drink water? You’re just barking your head off unnecessarily.’

  The hybrid language Shilta often used made it extremely difficult for them to comprehend what he meant. His speech was never very coherent. That’s why most of them would simply laugh at his expense and let things be. But he was so stubborn that he would often argue with them, even when no one had asked him to intervene. On his own he would start talking about his wife, whom he had visited in his village no more than five or six times in the past five years. They had been married for thirty years, but Shilta had never stayed with her for more than two months; though they had seven children. The elder daughter had been married off, and two of his younger sons assisted his brother in farming, as they still retained some of their ancestral land.

  ‘Oye, you crazy fool, you just talk without any rhyme or reason. Sometimes you start abusing our “ox”. Why can’t you go and settle in your own village?’ Dulla repeated what he had told him on numerous other occasions, too, ‘You let your wife live like a widow, and here you are busy kneading dough all the time. Who will call you, the son of an Angrez, a wise man? When you already have four acres of land, why do you have to go through this ox-like grind of digging up grass?’

  In a bid to revive the flame, Shilta repeatedly pulled on the pipe and tried stoking the dying embers by blowing over them. A secret he had kept from all of them was that all his three brothers had failed to redeem the five or six acres of land his father had mortgaged long before his death. And now in order to marry off their children, they were planning to sell that land at a much lower rate.

  Looking at Shilta’s dark, rugged face, Melu felt as though his wrinkles had sagged, all of a sudden. Then suddenly Shilta changed his tune and spoke in a rather harsh voice, ‘All right, first you tell me, should I get the “masala” right away or a little later?’

  ‘We’ll take it from you before we go. It’s still daylight.’ After Dulla announced this, they paid Shilta no attention. Kicking the wet mud dykes, rather casually, he went off towards the other side of the garden.

  Today, Melu felt as if something in him was collapsing and sinking deep inside. His head injury had begun to trouble him now. Without a word, he lay down on the manji once again.

  ‘Oye Melu! Today, your delicate one was to come.’ It was as if Dulla had touched a raw nerve in him. When Melu didn’t respond, Dulla became somewhat serious and said, ‘Listen to me—just go back to your village. You’ve been here for seven years now. What have you gained? Of course, you own this rickshaw, now. But you’re also wearing out your bones. Aren’t you? Bachelors like us just get drunk at sunset and strut around like peacocks, and you keep peddling until midnight. You don’t eat or drink anything. If you have managed to buy yourself a rickshaw after all these years of gruelling labour, then cursed be such a way of earning money. You have had to pay a price for it as well. Oye, crazy fellow, half your energy has been drained by your family responsibilities, and the other half by your greed. What is the end result of all this greed? Now you earn five rupees a day, and need snuff worth at least four rupees to get through the day. How long can your woman manage with the single rupee you manage to save? You never know, some day, some bachelor might find her in that state, and run away with her. Then you’ll have to go around, drumming up support in your favour.’

  Dheeru’s laughter rang through the air. Melu felt that both of them were bent on humiliating him. Lying ramrod straight, he kept staring at the tahli leaves that were about to fall off the tree, and yet they didn’t. It was as if they couldn’t bear to be separated from the tree.

  Slowly, the sun melted. Dulla and Dheeru were busy playing cards. Dheeru was losing to Dulla. Riding the crest of victory, Dulla was on top of the world. When it had become really dark, all of them got up to leave. Handing over a five-rupee note to Dulla, Dheeru said, ‘Take this. You take another two rupees from me tomorrow. But make sure, this corpse has his drink before you take him back.’

  When both of them fell about laughing, again, Melu felt as though they were digging him out of his grave. Catching hold of him by his arm, Dulla spoke to him critically, ‘Why don’t you get up, oye, my house of poverty! Had you been beaten as much as we were, your wife would have certainly gone back to her parents and wailed her heart out. Come on, let’s go. Let’s arrange to eat a morsel or two.’

  Slipping into his juttis, Melu decided to accompany them, as though he had no control over his own reflexes. After buying half a peg of country liquor from a nearby shanty, Dulla paid him three rupees, and they came out on the road, each pedalling his own rickshaw. Turning his vehicle towards the canal, Dulla said, ‘Come on, today, we’ll drink by the bank of the canal… Sometimes, we should also kick up life, the way these affluent youngsters do.’

  Dheeru turned his rickshaw in the same direction. As Melu couldn’t think of anything much, he too started following them.

  As they hit the track leading to the canal, they found that the place was flooded with light. Melu had never seen so many power-house lights mingling with the street lamps and the green and red lights on top of the chimneys. Getting off the rickshaw, he started walking behind them, ever so slowly, staring at the glow-worms suspended right in the middle of this floodlight. And suddenly, the glow-worms rose so far above him that they almost began to touch the skies. Since the lights had suffused the ground, their faces appeared to be dark, and the shapes, too, looked much more ominous than they would by day. Suddenly, Melu’s eyes fell upon the patch of glow-worms to his left, above which he could spot men walking around on a wooden platform, and a sudden cold sigh escaped his lips, as though he was going to fall off the very same platform.

  ‘Come on, boys!’ Stopping his rickshaw as soon as he got on to the track, Dulla pulled out two glasses from the hollow under the seat, and went to sit on the grass by the side of the canal. Opening the bottle, and holding it up to the light, he poured small amounts of the liquor into their glasses, and then summoning Dheeru, said, ‘Come on, bhai, you first. Today, you’re the winner.’

  ‘No!’ Lifting his face, his hands resting upon his back, and then settling down in a somewhat awkward posture, Dheeru replied, ‘First you pull your bhai out of his troubles. He really seems to be down today.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right,’ said Dulla, looking at Melu, who stood there, with his hand upon his handlebar. ‘What kind of trouble is he in? Oye, come along, you, the perpetual worrier! Drink it and you’ll turn into an unstoppable parrot, right away.’

  Stepping forward as Melu saw Dulla hold up the glass in his hand, Melu felt as if he was actually tempted. But coming closer and sitting down next to them, he said, ‘Na bhai, I don’t feel like drinking today.’

  ‘Oye, you brother-in-law of mine, are you on a fast because it happens to be a Tuesday or something?’ Dheeru spoke somewhat peevishly.

  Then both of them tried very hard to persuade Melu, but he simply refused to relent. Guzzling down the contents of his glass in a single go, and filling it with water, Dulla said, ‘Bhai, it seems today Melu Singha is riding a high horse. Tell us, what’s the matter, really?’

  ‘There is nothing much.’ Melu’s voice was low, ‘I just don’t feel like it.’

  ‘He’ll not tell you; I’ll tell you what the matter is.’ Emptying his glass in a single swallow, Dheeru said, ‘Today, he is hurt because of what we said. Otherwise, there is nothing. You just ask him.’

  ‘All right, you declare on an oath!’ Dulla looked at Melu, as he spoke, ‘If this is the reason, brother, then please forgive us. You know, it’s in our nature to talk nonsense.’

  ‘No, no…there is nothing like that.’ With these words, Melu lay down on the grass.

  Dulla and Dheeru fell silent. After a while, tapping his shoulder, Dulla spoke in a somewhat tipsy, though solemn voice, ‘Do you think, bhai, we are just making up all these stories?’

  Then without so much as waiting for Melu’s response, he started off on his own, ‘Look, this moonlight is my witness. You may have just one cause for sorrow, but my guts are in shreds. These jats, my patrons, got me to serve a twenty-year term in jail in connection with a murder case. With money power, they managed to get away, clean. It’s my responsibility to marry off my three sisters, and all of them are simply waiting to be packed off. And look at their brother; he is not equipped to earn anything. All the chachas and tayyas are sitting around, watching the tamasha. I’m the only breadwinner. And I can’t do without these bad habits that are bleaching my bones. If we keep worrying ourselves sick over all this, then we won’t even be in a position to send whatever little money we do manage to send home… Now, you decide, how happy I really am! And as for Dheeru, all he has to sport is a colourful turban; otherwise, he is in a far worse condition than I am. It’s another matter that he keeps boasting without any reason. Don’t you know that his entire family is dependent upon his income?’

  Turning around, Melu gave Dulla a look that seemed to say he knew that what he was listening to were nothing but lies. He had never spoken of such things to him ever before. All he knew was that Dulla had come to town much earlier than he had (it had been several years now) and yet he hadn’t been able to buy his own rickshaw; he was still plying a rented one. Being from the same caste and community, they were quite close, but it was his first-ever glimpse of this particular facet of Dulla. Not only would he laugh and joke loudly all the time, or in his characteristic nonchalant manner, indulge in gossip, he would also make others laugh at his own expense. He was also quite friendly with other rickshaw pullers and members of their union. Whenever they held a meeting or a procession, he would be spinning around like a spool of thread. How many times had he been beaten to a pulp by the police. Even after five–six days in jail, he would return, laughing as though he were returning from a wedding.

  ‘Don’t do this to us, Melu Singha.’ Dulla’s voice had suddenly turned solemn, ‘Have a swig or two. Then I’ll tell you what you are, and what I am. And if you refuse to drink, you’ll have to swear in the name of my youth!’

  And after drinking half its contents, Dulla handed the glass over to Melu. Stretching out, Melu took the glass and emptied it in one swallow. He didn’t even drink water, thereafter. With a tingling sensation running down his spine, he looked at Dulla, furtively. Dulla was pouring whatever was left into the two glasses, and handing a glass to Dheeru. Looking at Melu, he spoke in the same tone, ‘Now, you listen to me carefully.’ Then holding up his glass in front of the lights, he kept staring at him, for some time. After a while, gritting his teeth, he shouted a filthy abuse, and throwing his peg into the canal, he nearly shrieked, ‘If I could, I’d set this bloody water on fire. O bloody hell, is there anything special about it?… Oye, the stubborn one, I’m totally drunk, now!’

  Speaking incoherently and almost like a man possessed, when he tossed his head, his turban went flying off and landed at Melu’s feet. Picking up the turban with trembling hands, Melu looked at Dulla again. His topknot had come undone and his hair lay tumbled around his neck.

  ‘What kind of an accursed existence is this, Melu Singha? We’re just like the dogs, dogs really.’ Pulling his hair together into a knot, Dulla shrieked in the same loud voice. Melu was terrified. Scared, Dheeru too started staring at his sieve-like face.

  ‘Look, this is what it is.’ Taking his turban from Melu and tying it around his head, ‘For our kind of people, the only liberation is what comes after death. Till now, we could still earn enough by the evening to be able to feed ourselves. Now ever since these auto-rickshaw drivers have deprived us of our livelihood, no one is ready to give us a pie. We aren’t in a position to do any other kind of labour—because of the bad company we are in. Wait and see the way we’ll all die. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  And then he stood up again. Removing the seat of his rickshaw, he put the glasses back into the hollow underneath, and without saying another word, he turned the rickshaw towards the station. Without arguing, Dheeru and Melu did the same. As he was pedalling the rickshaw off the raised mound, Melu saw that Dulla was wiping his eyes with a corner of his turban. From the raised mound itself, he had started plying his rickshaw at such speed that the moment he reached ‘Kohlu’s orchard’, his seat went flying through the air. But Dulla didn’t look back. Overcome by an unknown fear, Melu and Dheeru too had come speeding down after him.

  As they neared the railway track, Melu felt as though his legs were giving way. Rather than turn right towards the bazaar, Dulla and Dheeru turned left, towards the cinema hall. It was a routine matter for all of them to eat at one dhaba, in that very chowk. As he came closer to the chowk, Melu loosened one end of his turban and covered his face with it. Then after thinking it over, he plied the rickshaw right, towards the bazaar.

  Taking the outer road, he came towards the fort via a covered street.

  Seeing an eye-piercing light at the main gate of the fort, Melu hesitated. The huge gates of the fort were shut. After parking his rickshaw near an electricity pole, when he pulled at the gate’s five–six ser heavy knocker, Kalu spoke from inside at that very moment, ‘Who is it, bhai?’

  ‘Melu.’

  ‘What do you want here at this hour, to dig earth or something?’ Mumbling in protest, Kalu walked towards the door. Pushing open the heavy planks of the wicket gate, he peeped out and said, ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ll tell you. First, you let me in.’

  ‘Yaar, you really shouldn’t drop in at such an unearthly hour.’ Kalu spoke in a peevish tone, throwing open the wicket gate, ‘Today, we really gave them all a good drubbing. And if a police officer on duty were to see you enter this place now, won’t he beat the daylights out of me?’

  Melu couldn’t think of what to say. But he felt that Kalu was upset today only because he hadn’t had a drop to drink. Even Melu wasn’t carrying any on his person. He also realized that if Kalu were to smell liquor on his breath, he would be all the more disturbed. Settling on Kalu’s manji, he said, ‘I’m going to stay with you tonight.’

  ‘O brother of mine, I can’t allow this.’ Standing at a distance Kalu said, ‘Go and make this arrangement with someone else. I’m a family man, with a wife and children to support. If anything goes wrong, I won’t be able to recover from it, all my life.’

  ‘All right then, remember this day.’ It was as if Melu complained to Kalu with all the eloquence at his command and then opening the wicket gate, emerged on to the street.

  Lost in his own thoughts, Kalu kept staring at him. Then banging the wicket gate shut, he deliberately raised his voice and said, ‘Look at him. He behaves as if I’m living off his father’s pilshan. You are from the wretched caste of a dog! Once in a while, if you offer me a drink, does it mean, you have bought me over.’

  It was as though Melu hadn’t heard a word of what he had said. Stepping hard on the pedals of his rickshaw, he approached the station, after crossing the same covered street. While going past the station, he slowed down and that’s when a Marwari in a woollen cap, started waving out to him vigorously, shouting at the top of his voice, ‘Oye, you, come here, come here.’ Then he quickly turned around to go to the platform to pick up his holdall. But by the time he returned, Melu had moved several feet ahead. Muttering under his breath, the Marwari started looking towards the other side of the road. On seeing him get all worked up, Melu felt strangely gratified.

  ‘God bless you, O rickshaw pullers! If you were not to come for another day, we’d probably earn enough to last us for ten days.’ Right behind him, Rakha, the coolie, was invoking blessings upon all the rickshaw pullers as he went along his way, slapping his shoulder towel on his red turban. At first Melu felt enraged, but then seeing his rickety legs and his mud-spattered boots, which made a strange splashing sound as he walked, he suddenly felt a surge of sympathy for him. So without reacting to his comment or speaking ill or well of him, he simply went his way.

  When he took the same road that he had taken earlier to go to the canal, to return to the cinema hall, he saw a huge crowd outside. But entering the narrow street towards his right, when he reached Chaunda’s dhaba, it was completely deserted. Even though it was really very late, he couldn’t spot a single soul there. Chaunda’s assistant, the cook, was merrily sitting on the platform, next to the tandoor, warming himself. Shining in the bright, red glow of the fire in the tandoor, his face appeared to be floating, as though disembodied.

  Melu parked his rickshaw near the tap, a little away from the slush, and as he came in, asked the cook, ‘Oye, cook, what’s the matter? There is no one here today. Where is everyone?’

  ‘All of them have simply vanished.’ Blowing his nose with one hand, and clicking the fingers of the other, he spoke in Hindi, ‘You also make yourself scarce, or you’ll be nabbed like a rat in this chilly winter.’