The bravest man I knew

They say my father once jumped over the fence of the cemetery by the woods to catch a thief. He had been running from Leela chacha’s compound around midnight, stealing some of his chickens, and instead of him my father got hold of a ghost of a tall man. He refused to let it go until someone from the mob catching up to them shouted behind him that they had caught the thief and to get out of the damn place. My father always used to say that if not for the terrible lightning which struck the big banyan tree, setting it on fire, he would have dragged the ghost by its hair and tied it on the same post the thief was being tied, but the storm had let the ghost slip out of his grasp and vanish as soon as he took two frantic steps back. It had started to rain terribly and they had left the thief tied overnight in the heavy downpour to have him arrested the next morning. My mother, who was pregnant with me at the time, could have sworn he was not older than 17 and that several times in the night she wanted to run out and free the boy. However, all night the mob stayed at our place, drinking several rounds of tea, which she had to prepare, talking about the ghost my father had held by the neck. Every twenty minutes the man, who had called out my father, would be asked if he saw him too. He would say,” I would never set foot in the cemetery even in daylight baba,” and the crowd would laugh, continuing the line of ghost stories. My father was hailed a true brave man, and every now and then he would be called to shine his double barrel in front of people’s houses who would complain of apparitions and shadows. “Out, all you ghosts!”, he would shout,” aren’t you afraid of me?”, and the next day the family would bring a big plate of gifts, with dhoop burning in it, turn it in circles three times in front of my father and thank him for they had been saved.

I, on the other hand, turned out to be a big coward and would run to my house the moment darkness would begin to fall over the sky. My father would be furious when I would refuse to fetch him a bucket of water from the well at the back of our house when he came back home from the panchayat meetings late in the evening. “You have raised a mouse of a son, Santu!”,he would thunder at my mother. She would gather me up sighing and whispering to me how relieved she was that she had. The other children would play around the burnt black stump of the Banyan tree and dared each other to touch the gate of the cemetery. Several of them would run at once, while I would sit on the big stump with my legs up, rolling my precious blue marbles between my fingers. Sometimes Harshi would come sit by me, keep her big bamboo basket filled with grass on the ground and smile. “They can find something better to do,” she would say. I did not understand why she would say that when it was only her who ever made it inside the cemetery in one of those runs. But those days she used to wear a rugged dhoti and ran around with her short hair all greasy in the heat. Over the years her hair got longer, which she tied neatly in two braids. Her long skirt would flair along the summer breeze as she would strongly pull the bucket out from the well. Once I gazed at her too long that she noticed, splashed some water at me to bring me to my senses. I blushed, but to tell the truth I was terrified that her small feet would slip at the edge of the well and she would fall inside.

That was the Monday morning, that I was fluctuating between visions of Harshi’s beautiful feet and her falling down with a big splash, when I came home to find my mother crying in big sobs. My father’s voice was booming inside the house as he was pacing about red faced with a piece of paper clutched so tightly I feared it would turn to pulp. “ Would kill me!”, he cried angrily,” like I am some pig!”. He put on his black loafers and stormed out. I ran to my mother trying to calm her down by putting my arms around her. She sat down on the ground, weeping in the end of her saree and told me that an envelope was found by the door. She gave it to father who read aloud the contents, getting angrier over every word that followed. Someone had sworn to kill him this Thursday and that was all that was written in it.

Death threats weren’t uncommon however someone would dare it to give it to my father was unimaginable. There were several levels of inquiries which followed with my father and a band of men visiting the nearby village, one of the land owner of which was slapped by my father at a marriage for groping women folk. I was later told that he was made to write the letter and then satisfied that he wasn’t the culprit they ate lunch there before leaving. As soon as they set foot outside the house the landowner, who was bubbling with shame and anger, called out “ I hope they kill you, Bedi ji!”, for which he was slapped one more time by my father.

The following day another envelope was there by the door which I found coincidentally. I looked inside and found two red batteries, or what looked like batteries. I took them inside and gave it to my father who got furious again. I ran out of the house scared of all the shouting and found Harshi sitting under the Jamun tree. She smiled at me and asked me to sit with her.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“ Yes.” I murmured.

“Is your father alright?”

“ Yes, I suppose. A bit angry though.”

“ It’s ok. He is scared after all.”

“What? “I exclaimed. I stared at her in confusion then shaking my head I told her that it’s my father she is talking about. Who could be braver?

She laid back her head on the tree stump. “ I would be terrified if someone was out there to hunt me, you know? He has all the reasons to be scared. Even a little bit.”

I did not say anything for a while. “ Didn’t you go inside the cemetery once? You are quite brave yourself. I have also seen you go to the well around midnight from my window. I do not know anybody who can do that.”

“ Maybe I should be scared of you stalking me,” she laughed and I blushed. I wanted to insist the opposite but I knew that I liked looking at her so I kept quiet. After a while she silently went away and I walked back home for lunch. While mother was serving me rice I saw father putting the two batteries in his gun, snapping it straight like the vein popping in his head.

Wednesday brought gloom and another envelope. The skies were turning darker each day, the clouds flying in from everywhere refusing to let in sunlight in the village. My mother was ranting, in a paranoid voice, about her pickles being spoiled as father opened the envelop to pour out handful of ashes on the ground. He sat on his haunches and stared at it as mother continued to point at pickle jars and the sky. I looked at his face, not a bit of anger crossing against it. He stood up after a while and rubbed the ashes with his foot. “ I’ll buy you your mangoes and chilies, woman. Please be quiet,” he said walking inside the house. There was a certain twitching around the corner of his mouth and to my horror I saw flashes of dread fall on his face. He came back with his gun and said he is going to the bazaar. I ran up to him panicked at the new color my father’s forehead was colored with and insisted that I go too. He glared at me as I tugged at his dhoti and begged him to let me be with him. He snatched himself away and slapped me hard before storming away. It was the first time and the last time he ever rose his hand on me. I ran away crying. Tears streamed down my stinging cheek as I ran fast towards the well where Harshi was rinsing some clothes. I did not care that she saw me crying, I was probably a coward in her eyes too, but as I ran by her, she got up and holding her skirt up with her hands started running behind me. She called out my name several times soon catching up when I reached the black stump. Panting heavily she let her skirt go finally and dropped on the ground, letting her head fall dramatically on the stump.

“What is the matter with you?” she asked, wiping sweat off her forehead.

“ I need to save father,”I said in a small voice,” I need to be brave.”

She took deep breaths and grabbed my arm to stand up.

“ Nothing will happen to your father,” she said, trying to comfort me.

I was not looking at her. I stared at the gates of the cemetery as she patted my arm. I started walking towards it. Harshi, knowing instantly what I was up to, started walking with me. Unknowingly I grasped her hand tightly trying to calm my heart beating out of my chest. I could see the little gravestones erected side by side and somehow my mind formed people sitting on them staring at me. I shut my eyes as I walked Harshi’s one hand around my shoulder keeping me from shivering. When I reached the gates Harshi told me this was enough and I had been very brave. I ignored her and pushed aside the bamboo gate to step inside. Harshi said nothing and walked in with me. There was a crow cawing somewhere above us and somehow that was the only sound I could hear now. Not even the sound of our steps reached me as I walked stiff as board, my head hung low so I saw only the ground. It was as if the crow was standing on my head calling the dead towards me to devour my coward little head. I felt a pang and digging deep into my pockets of my half-pants took the two marbles out and aiming at the crow threw them at it. It flew towards us and I let out a shriek running back to the bamboo gate. It looked like I was passing by shadows as I ran hard crying aloud.

We walked back to the well where Harshi’s mother was waiting looking furious. She shouted at her about the wet clothes that were lying around and asked her to wash them before she throws them and her inside the well. Harshi went back to work and would not even look at me again. I wanted to talk to her but the fear of her mother made me walk home to mine. That evening after dinner father asked me to sit by him as he lit his cigarette. His face looked dark and sullen. Babbling about Leela chacha cheating him of two rupees at the bazaar today he started asking me to be big and strong so I could take care of mother. I wanted to tell him all about the endeavor I accomplished today but I let him talk. All of a sudden he was talking about the day the thief broke into Leela chacha’s compound and whispered, to my great astonishment, that he had never caught a ghost. I looked at him, my mouth open, as I found it hard to believe what I was listening to. My father won’t look at me. He took a long puff as he said that it was just a rotting kurta on a tree branch, that was all his hands had grasped. He got up and I thought he would ask me to stay silent about the matter, but he just flicked the cigarette away and walked slowly to his room. All night I tried to sleep, tried to cover my head with the pillow as the crickets chirped so loud it made it hurt, while trying not to think about the stupefying revelation.

The next morning I woke up to find my father gone and my mother at the little temple with smothering herself with the smoke of dozens of incense sticks. I wandered drowsily towards the door, almost forgetting that it was morning because the clouds made it so dark almost no light passed through. There was another envelope lying by the door, a little dusty and wet. I picked it up and two blue marbles fell out of them. A strange shiver ran down my spine as I ran out of the house. I asked and pleaded everyone I found to tell me where my father was, and ran towards the direction they pointed. I bumped hysterically into a group of people and as I pushed through them I saw my father pointing everywhere with his gun frantically, shouting to come get him whoever wants to. “Baba!” I shouted at the top of my voice. As soon as he looked at me there was a loud bang and my father’s eyes looked as if it would pop out of their sockets. He fell clutching his heart and everyone ran towards him. I stood like I was, shutting my ears tight. Lightening had fell somewhere by the graves and the sound of thunder had killed the bravest man I had known.