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National Novel Writing Month

Red Blue Gray: Day 23 and 24

Chapter 1

My time is up as you all will say. These days the scenario has changed completely. Getting to the high is only climbing the stairs is a lie we all know. In this world you have to have the heart of the devil because ripping off the soul is not the work of a soul, even if it is the spoiled soul of an assassin. It takes not the courage but foolishness and the blindness that get formed out of being high on being an example of the success not the shadow of its.

He was the father I was looking for when I realized I am a bustard. Life sometimes proved to be rhetorical on some facts. In my case it was this father scenario. My mother was that class of women who does the odd jobs you can thing of in a village a woman can. Like collecting the dung of cows and making cakes out of it—you know the one they used to pressed on the walls, then collecting the leaves and old branches, etcetera, and etcetera. My father was a skin collector. He used to collect the skins of the goats from the butcher, and sometimes when a cow use to die and it was him who was called to rip the skin off the carcass. He died months before I was born and weeks after he got married to my mother; the cause as far I know was dispute over the cost of some leather and the man just slide his knife on his windpipe. He was a well-known crude person of the village and thus no body raise a voice against the crime. Even the police was not reported of this murder.

My mother was left alone in the village as he was tagged as the vile woman. Some tries to confer the title witch on her. But, my so-called grand mother said she was not. My grandmother had thrown her daughter-in-law out of the house. So, when I heard of it I think on the reason what had been going inside her mind. All these things I am saying were told by him before he made me the villain; the bad guy in the play. Brutus it was who had betrayed Caesar, right? He told me all these to blind me at first and then giving a new set of eyes so that I can accomplice what he cannot.

My mother was raped on a summer night by the man who had killed my father. It was stuffy inside the hut where mother used to live and for few nights she was sleeping keeping the door open. The man had observed this and on that night he took the advantage of the moon being new and environ being dark. It was though the first night. Next few nights till the moon started spreading its light, the man came and raped my mother. On the fourteenth day when the moon was full, my mother saw his face in the light of the moon. She tried to kill herself but every time she was saved by the neck of the time or maybe of some disruption. //After a time she stopped trying to get kill and started thinking of giving birth to the child.

I was born on a chilly night of late January. My mother goes in to the labour and gave me birth herself. No one came to help her or look after her. After I was born the scenario was the same. She carries on the jobs she had though people sometimes used to be in dilemma for being a mother of a bastard.

She never spilled the beans on who was my father. She always maintained this statement of her that it was dark and he hadn’t seen the face.

Few years just passed away. Ma was ill for some weeks. There were few more were affected also. It was cholera. And that time cholera had the ability to make a village ghost-village. A team of doctors arrived and started treating the suffered. It had gathered lots of attention but Ma was not a survivor. A group of politician and some official from varied government departments came to visit the village the day Ma breathes last. One of the politicians came forward when he saw me sitting beside my dead Ma and crying over her lifeless body. Later I came to knew he belong to the village and had rise to power in last couple of years. He also had another identity but I will prefer to keep it aside for the while.

Next morning I made the journey to city with this politician. He became the father that was missing from my life. He became Baba to me. Years passed and he made me his personal assistant at one time. I was one of the few who knew he was wearing mask when it comes to public appearance. As politician he was the white knight who had rise to power with honesty and dignity. As personal appearance, he was the devil you cannot think of. Every weekend he needs some underage girl in his bed in his farmhouse. The boys were not exception.

Once someone tipped the police regarding this side of him, and he was arrested for being with an underage girl. But later the girl was compelled to confess that she was his wife and he was unaware of her age being under the age. It created a lot of scandals and speculations tarnishing his character. He remained quiet for a while till the matter cool down. In this whole time he entrusted me to find out the man who had given the tip. I find out using varied methods which I entitled myself not to share with you.

When he found out the time is right and everything has gone mum, he get down to what he does perfectly. He asked the man to invite him over a dinner as he had a proposal of a promotion for the man and he wanted to discuss it with him in person. After dinner, goons break into the house and captured the man and his family which was made of his wife and twelve-year old daughter. The man pleaded for his family’s life. But, once Baba had decided on something he would obviously go for it. He raped the man’s wife and daughter in front of him. Then one by one he killed the family in full, and then burning their house down. I was at the end when he was sitting there in front of the dead bodies. I remember this look of him which calm and composed with eyes sparkling in the ecstasy of the violence he had committed in the last hours. I was scared of Baba that day for the first time in my twenty-two years life.

Next morning when the reporter asked him for this ghastly murder of an entire family of a man who was close to Baba and was a prominent figure in every rally and meeting of the party, Baba smiled a little dry and passed on his condolence for the man. When asked whether he had a role of participation in this all, he replied controlling his temper that he was clean. The scandal that had tarnished his character was a plot to dethrone him from the possibility of becoming the president of the party. And already the police had passed this report regaining his honour and dignity.

Then started the movement of Naxalite and he was still not made the president of the party. So, he asked me what shall be done in that scenario. I had came to know of this man who almost looks like Baba and on further digging it came up he sometimes play the double for Baba. Another thing that came up on digging that he was inspired very much by some Kafka, a Russian or something like that author, and this inspiration gave him the second identity—a hunger artist. He sometimes used to remain without eating a bit and thus earning money when he had been not playing the dummy of the great politician. I share these details with him, and he patted my back I can recollect. He never does that to me. So that was a moment of cheer for me. He plots a plan soon, and only we two knew of it. The reason for this was there was information that taking advantage of the then on-going movement some were planning to assassinate him.

We place the man on the stage declaring Baba was going for a fast for a month to stop the movement. If the movement had stopped before that he would broke his fast, and if it continues then his fast will continue. He was a great influence over the youth for his chosen and selected words in the speech and also setting example to standing against the corruption. In this scenario let me share an incident. He once appointed a killer to shoot at him when he was in a procession against the hike in tax. He acted like he was going to die and remain in coma for three days. And all this was known by only the doctor and me. If you search the record you will find murder of a nurse after a couple of weeks of the shootout. It was him who had killed that nurse as he didn’t trust her and had doubt on her being spilling the beans.

So, the hunger artist sat there on the stage. He took a bullet passed him which was marked for his forehead. Baba secretly went away to the prison by the moor, few miles from his village. The prison from his letter I came to know was a deserted one. It had four constables and a jailor—mid age one. And this was the time I started becoming blind, and also started having the tantrik in my dreams. He started whispering in my ears the story of the time before I was born followed by the time after I was born.

I came to know Baba was the father I was looking for. The face Ma had seen on that full moon night was of Baba who was then a trader of the leather for the tannery. I do not know whether he had taken care because I am his son or whether it was out of maintaining the image of integrity. (Cont’d)

By Sangbad

A poet, an author, a reviewer--in one word I'm a literaturist (means one who is trying almost everything that Literature is made of). My books are available at Amazon. I'm a Bengali, born and raised in Kolkata, West Bengal.

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