To the Gallows

The pouring rain outside reflected her gloom. Was the sky mourning with her? She cradled her head in her arms, drawing her knees closer to her bosom. She wanted to fold within herself, vanishing forever from the face of this ugly, unjust earth. The dark cell wall seemed eager to eliminate the distance between them. Wanting to embrace each other and crush her in their quest. The massive black door with a single barred window was locked from outside. There was no escape. Had air come to a standstill within the confines of her cell? Was there any air at all? Was nature too conspiring against her, wanting to suffocate her before the noose of the gallows tightened around her fragile neck? No. She was to die, rather hang, at the crack of dawn. There were precious hours of life before that.

She felt the tangled gooey mess that was once her long lustrous flowing locks. The ill-fitting jail garb had lost whatever little there was of its faded color. How many had worn it before their D-day? Sweat made it cling to her like a second skin. She smelled like a pile of manure. Would they allow her a bath or was the eventual death ghus'l all she should expect?

Forever a cleanliness freak, her stench made her retch. She hadn’t eaten anything to throw up. With only one day’s starvation, the authorities were sure she would live up to her hanging. She slumped back exhausted. Solitary confinement for two months was death itself. She still longed for a hot bath and peaceful slumber. Forever. Three more hours and that would be all. Twenty five years of existence. Sixteen years of education on the noose. A slight jerk of the lever. She would be another statistic.

How did she end up in this? She was to get married exactly three months form now, 4th July. What must be going through her fiancé’s mind? Not that it mattered any more. A true pillar of salt, he’d broken their engagement the moment he heard of her deed. For her it was heroic.

Cold blooded murder in broad daylight, correction, evening light. Five innocent men? She didn’t think so. The prosecution had presented a real winner in court terms. By the time they rested their case even she was convinced of being the foulest woman walking on the face of this earth. How trite. Not much hope is there when the defendant unrepentantly pleads guilty. A street full of eye witnesses and a half hearted, mostly incompetent defence. She still had no regrets. Those men deserved what they got. Pity her revolver had only six bullet. Pity one went awry. Pity she didn’t get a chance to reload it when there were at least half a dozen more she wanted to rid of.

A crack of jaundiced light whipped at her as the jail warden opened the window to check on her. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, “I’ll keep my tryst with the executioner.”

Enveloped in darkness again. Where was she? Yes, what made her do it? It wasn’t spontaneous after all. The gruesome murders. She’d planned days ahead and told this to a stupefied, packed court. No wonder she landed a death sentence preceded by two months of solitary confinement.

Life was going on so smoothly. Not a worry, no cares. That was when she had a student label stuck on her. School, college and then University breezed by. With a first class Master’s degree she launched a job hunt. Luck sided with her and she bagged a well-paid, respectable job at a prestigious organization. Those were the times.

Her parents bought her a car. She had to park her car at a considerable distance from the office. Some five minutes walk. And from day one those walks were nothing but an agony for her. Situated in a busy commercial locality, the labyrinth of streets around the office thronged with men of all sorts and all ages. The only thing in common they had was their fixation on ogling the fairer sex.

So every morning and evening, without fail, leery eyes followed her. She never thought of herself as a head turner. Passable yes, but she hated every second of this unsolicited attention.

“Bastards,” she muttered under her breath at each nasty repugnant remark tossed her way. One day a really shady character followed her to her car, singing lecherous Indian songs all the way. A week after this she found her car tire deflated in the evening. Right on cue, two men rushed forward to help her. The tire was changed but it also meant ten extra minutes standing amidst those malicious stares. Ten days later another flat tire jeered at her. She started back towards her office for help when a man offered his services. There’s not going to be a third time, she promised herself.

She knew her father kept a revolver in his bedside drawer. She stole it, checked that it was fully loaded and put it in her purse.

Three days went by. Stares, remarks, songs. Day four: stares, it’s routine; remarks, must be talking among themselves; songs, having fun, nothing aimed at her.

Then came this men on a bicycle singing ,“Aaja beja saikal te.” Leaving the whole street space he rammed headlong into her.

“Sarry jee,” he exposed his betel stained dentures. Others seemed to be amused at the spectacle.

“Sorry you all would be.”

She took out the revolver before a disbelieving crowd. “One, you and your saikal.”
Two, three, four, five and six, shot at a fleeing mob.

What was her score? Five lay dead before her. Why did one precious bullet go wasted?
The rest that followed was a blur. Her arrest, the case. The newspapers of course had a heyday. The money racking mongrels.

Her family had met her for the last time some six hours before, or was it seven? That was her only regret, they didn’t deserve to go through all this hell. That measly fiancé of hers; now if she had that sixth bullet…

The cell door opened. The time had come. She was lead towards the gallows. She’d declined to meet anyone at the last hour. Any last wish, she was asked.

‘How magnanimous, can you rewind the reel, I have to make sure that the sixth bullet does its job.’ She shook her head. No.

The jallad looked at his watch.

‘Does he enjoy this work, what must be his score so far? He is paid to kill and I am being hung by him because I killed.’

‘Close your eyes, one swift jerk and it would be over. One, two, three, four, five. Six eludes me even as I step towards the end.’

Her hands were tied back. A black mask lowered on her face. She felt the noose around her neck. Thud!

She awoke with a start. It was pouring outside and pitch black inside. The electricity had yet another excuse for a rest.

She felt in her handbag. The revolver was still there. Good. Tomorrow is another day.