WRITERS AND THEIR WORKS

On a Wednesday Night

The way the man has shoved the rickshaw from the rear, we were almost thrown out of it. Both rickshaw-puller and I were taken aback.

I could not see the man. I was certain that nothing could be seen from that height. So, I decided to get down myself what had really happened. The rickshaw-puller had also perhaps thought alike. Both of us got down at the same time, but none could utter a word.

The rickshaw-puller was, as usual, a man of gloomy nature. Besides, the unnerving situation had trapped him almost on the verge of collapsing. The unexpected jolt had dragged both of us very close to each other in respect of mental make-up, at least for the time being. The grim countenance of the rickshaw-puller hurt me. I smiled broadly in order to give him a sense of reassurance. It was merely a smile, no laughter indeed.

The moment I got down from the rickshaw I was confronted by a man in question. He observed me from head to foot. I guessed from the jerks in the rickshaw that the might be arrogant in nature. Seeing him later I knew that my guess was not baseless. I could not realise though what he was looking for, but I sensed that the man had the propensity to observe things in minute details.

What a physique he possessed! Since I was preoccupied with certain thoughts, I did not scream out of fear. Moreover, I was so exhausted, physically and mentally, that I could do nothing beyond a shock of surprise. I enquired softly, "What do you want?"

The man made no reply.

Often I used to come across such crazy men freely on the streets. So, I had no curiosity about them. It was quite natural. Besides, I had marked the lunatics were no different from others possessing the same repetitive mannerisms. I had, therefore, no curiosity about them at all.

I asked the man again, "What do you want? Tell me, do you want money?"
The man slapped me hard on the cheek. He gritted his teeth and said, "Yes, it's money. So, you know well what's money!"

I did not mark that a number of people had already gathered with a view of enjoying the incident. Reviewing their asserting mood I could easily sense that they were well acquainted with this mad man. It was not unlikely that he was one of them. They laughed out as the mad man hit me.

Initially I did not feel ashamed because nothing was clear to me. I could not find any reason as to why a few spectators laughed out as they watched the scene. I was caught in an embarrassing situation. That is why I asked them harshly, "What makes you laugh?"

My words bore no fruit. The thin crowd continued to laugh. Strange! They were really enjoying the dangerous confrontation I was having with the mad man. Feeling ashamed I refrained from staring at them.

The rickshaw-puller happened to be my neighbour. We used to live in the same area. I looked at him. Standing a little away from me he looked quite frightened. He was perhaps thinking of more events that might follow. I thought he might desert me and his rickshaw any moment. So I decided to give him some encouragement and said, "Don't be frightened, Kallu."

Kallu said nothing.

A middle-aged man from the crowd gave out a chuckle when he heard my words and made a contemptuous remark, "Mind your business, man! Don't you know every man is for himself?"

I realised that the chap I had been encountering might be a lunatic, but not an easy guy. My heart began to beat faster. But I pretended not to look very concerned. Of course, I had to make an effort to assume that pose.

The horrid mad man moved around me ceaselessly. He displayed restlessness all through and spoke highly of Pakistan at the top of his voice. The excitement among the spectators seemed to have died down. They were disheartened a little. In order to egg on the mad man further, a young man from among the spectators said, "He's an elegant gentleman. Leave him, Darvesh Baba (fatherly saint).

I got still more frightened to hear those words. It was quite evident that the lunatic saint possessed special fascination for genteel men. Strangely enough, whores and lunatics were alike in this respect! Darvesh Baba worked himself up into his usual mood. He gritted his teeth, laughed out, patted his own chest and said, "Guy, you stroll around to inhale air, don't you?"

I made no reply. Why was he referring to that specific matter? I thought it would be unwise to say yes. It was neither safe to say no. So, I kept silent. Darvesh Baba continued to say, "There's a blazing fire in your child's hear, while you are moving around in this fish-market!"

A fish-market was not the proper place for fresh air. I suppose he did not mean to say that. Probably he was referring to someone who had no sense of responsibility. The crowd around applauded the saint. They were laughing hoarsely. At that point I realised that perhaps the mad man often used to bother someone returning home alone midnight ad the people around were used to enjoying the sight. The mad man and his disciples clearly preferred genteel men for that purpose.

I did not know how long Darvesh Baba could go on playing with me. I grew impatient. I was too exhausted to have the least interest in that fun-making confrontation. Whatever curiosity I showed in the beginning had also vanished since Darvesh Baba had slapped me. The rickshaw-puller in the meantime had become chummy with the spectators. He was intelligent enough to sail the wind. I looked at my watch to read that it was one hour and a half after midnight.

The mad man was reeling around me endlessly. He seemed to have almost reached a state of frenzied dancing.

I glanced at the crazy Darvesh Baba and saw him growing more frightening every moment.

I looked at the face of the spectators around and found all of them quite happy. They were enjoying what they wanted to enjoy.

All on a sudden the mad man slapped hard his own thighs and cried out, 'Ya Ali!'

I remained standing there, erect and stiff. My mouth grew dehydrated. I was hit again very hard on my left ear by the saint. I fell down and heard the man saying, 'It's the King's order.'

I had never known earlier that a man could be beaten without any reason. Of course, there was nothing to wonder at. Both the spectators and I knew it well that the man was totally mad. The thoughts he used to nurture within his mind were not familiar to us. Hence, it was not possible for us to weigh his words or his action.

Bt I differed from the spectators at least in one aspect.

The spectators who had been enjoying the incident, I believed, were accustomed to it. They were quite friendly to the mad man. Consequently, they had formed some sort of kinship with him. They were aware of the fact that the mad man would not desert them and depart for some other task. So, they had already approved the mad man's deeds and chosen to enjoy his select utterances. But I was quite a stranger to them. I was an alien, so to say. I used to pass through that routine only when required. But now I had to fall a helpless prey to a mad man at midnight and get hurt. I might not meet the chap ever again.

All those thoughts bubbled in my mind when I was cleaning the dust off my body. I did not know why my mind was turned morose because of my helplessness. I had nothing to protest with. It was neither easy to forgive. To speak the truth, however, I was ready to forgive the mad man.

The surrounding crowd came closer as the brutish event went on. And they were smiling too.

The mad man again hurled himself on me. I fell down, but at once sprang to my feet. I decided to defend myself without any desire to go for a fray. I thought of fighting back only if required. And I met my waterloo there. The mad man hit me with smacks, blows and punches. I tried as far as possible to shield myself by raising my fists.

The crowd clapped their hands. At that stage one point was noteworthy. The mad man was again trying to thrust me to join the spectators. But I resisted and wanted to stay back as usual. I did not like to be one of the spectators to witness someone's craziness. I shuddered to think of it.

The mad man gritted his teeth and said, "It's the King's order. To quench my thirst I asked, "Which King?" He replied, "A new King."

In the meantime two policemen had gathered there among the spectators. They were also enjoying the matter.

The two policemen broke into laughter to hear the mad man saying 'King's order'. The other people around clapped their hands half-heartedly.

The mad man had stopped hitting me. He was then forcibly pushing me to join the spectators. I knew its consequences. So, I resisted him hard.

The two policemen jostled their way trying to come forward. They swung their batons and said to the mad man, "Baba Darvesh, go away from here".
The policeman's command worked. The mad man left me and went away. The policeman dispersed the crowd. My rickshaw-puller came to me and I said, 'Let's move'.

The two policemen diverted the direction of the rickshaw and showed us the by-lane. They said, "Don't move along this route".

I saw two more mad men sauntering a little away from the spot. I thanked the policemen for their advice and said, "You came here right in time. God knows what would have happened otherwise!"

One of the policemen laughed out when he heard my words and said, "What else could have happened? You would have got more smacks and then mix with the crowd to clap your own hands. But please be careful whenever you pass through that by-lane in future. I enquired, 'Why?'

There's a brothel ahead along the by-lane and crossing the brothel you'll reach a graveyard. My rickshaw-puller did not bother about the warning. He pedalled on.

It was an incident that took place on a Wednesday night one and a half years ago. It was all written up in my diary along with a brief description of the event.

Translated by Alfaz Tarafder

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