Halloween Party

It was a chilly October night, but it did not seem to deter the mosquitoes. Raju pulled his blanket sheet firmly over his face – the constant hum and bites were driving him crazy. He felt the cold from the cemented verandah floor seep through and touch his back. The thin mat did not help much.

It had been a tough day – he had driven the length of the small town several times over, yet barely broken even. The weather had been pleasant – which usually created a monetary disaster for rickshaw pullers – it increases the number of people who would rather walk.

Raju was qualified for little else. Every day, he would be exhausted by his 20th ride or so – which, on an average day, was the break-even point for the rental fee. The only good feeling came from knowing that all subsequent fares were his own. It was hard work but it beat being idle in the village – like his two brothers. He had never been to school – not even the first grade.

He closed his eyes firmly and started thinking of his wife back home – she was not getting along too well with her in-laws. He hoped that someday she could join him – the main problem was he himself had no place to stay.

The Sethji had been kind to this fellow villager from the ancestral place – the second son of a laborer who tilled a part of his lands. Raju was allowed to park his bicycle rickshaw in front of the house and sleep in the verandah at night – and was expected to stay out of everyone’s way otherwise. The stench from the adjacent open sewer no more bothered him.

The arrangement suited Raju fine because he was seldom back from his driving shift before midnight and was usually out by six a.m. or so. It also suited the Sethji because it reduced chances of thieves breaking into the house. Raju needed to be up early so he could visit the bushes next to the pond about a mile away – before its adjacent walk path got too busy – even though he was not too bothered by glances from passers-by as he squatted – attending to his morning business – then heading to the pond for clean-up and a bath.

The sounds from the house next door were loud for the time of the night. The house belonged to a local police sub-inspector. The whole family had just converted to Anand Marg and a party was on to celebrate the event. Raju had seen a whole bunch of people arrive – strangers he had never seen before – all dressed in long-flowing saffron robes. The voltage was low as usual and the lamps glowed dim – the figures walking around appeared ghost-like. He could hear chanting in the background and tried to push the sounds out.

A letter had come from his wife today and one of Sethji’s little kids had read it to him. She had asked him to bring a sari on his next visit – likely to occur in the next few months. He used his limited math skills to estimate how much more money he needed – it did not look very good.

It was tough to save money from what he earned – after paying the rental and the cost of subsistence. He did not spend on luxuries, except for an occasional movie. But he did sometimes use ganja – a habit he picked up back in the village – and was now trying to fight off. To help him save, he had bought an earthen piggy-bank – its slot was just large enough to let the coins in, but there was no way to take any out no matter how strong the craving for ganja.

He drifted off to sleep – remembering the face of his young wife and the few times that they had been together.

“Wake up, hey you! We need a ride!”

Raju came awake with a start. Three shadowy figures loomed over him. He had difficulty recognizing Vinay – the sub-inspector’s eldest son, who looked rather unfamiliar in saffron robes. The sleep had not fully left Raju – he continued staring at that robed figure and trying to morph it into a sari-clad beauty – it just did not seem to fit.

Vinay shook him hard, “Are you going to wake up or do I have to slap you?” he had inherited his dad’s aggressive style. Even in his most tender moments, he would appear to be the roughest of villains – and he was not in a tender mood right now. He had the zeal of a brand new Anand Margi and the desire to impress newfound friends with his clout!

“I am sorry – the rickshaw tire got a puncture!” Actually, Raju had released its air earlier that night himself – it served the dual purposes of being able to decline unwanted passengers overnight and of deterring theft – the five rupee lock was not much of a deterrent!

Vinay was not falling for the ruse – “You get your ass out of there and take these passengers home! And get that bike pump from under the rickshaw seat!” Vinay went over to the rickshaw, lifted its seat and reached under to search for the air pump he expected to find.

Raju suddenly remembered that a fellow rickshaw puller had borrowed the pump that evening and neglected to return it. The two had also shared some ganja together. Raju had been unable to decline – it was free after all! He was still a little groggy from its effect.

The tired limbs suddenly seemed unable to move.

Somewhere from within him, a stubborn streak emerged and took over – “I am not going anywhere tonight!”

The unexpected statement was received by Vinay as the worst possible insult in front of company. He returned, picked up a piece of chopped wood lying nearby and struck Raju hard, who turned sideways to deflect the blow. The wood piece slipped from Vinay’s hand and splashed into the open sewer. Vinay took his turning as a sign of further defiance. He returned to the rickshaw, reached into the hollow space under the seat again – continuing to look for the pump but all he found was the earthen piggy-bank, which felt quite heavy – it was almost full with coins.

“You motherf***ing son of a bitch, how dare you refuse!” Vinay hurled the piggybank with all his might at Raju, who was just beginning to turn his head again. The piggybank caught the right side of his head. It broke into tiny pieces – the coins went clattering in several directions, mostly plopping into the open sewer. The blow opened a gash in Raju’s head. The blood spurted out and wetted the blanket sheet, the mat and parts of the verandah around him. His left arm instinctively reached out to stop the coins from rolling away while he tried to cushion his head with the right arm.

As he hit the floor unconscious, more blood came out and gathered around his head – where it would thicken over the next few hours – mostly looking like pinkish-brown mud except for a thin stream which would make it all the way to the end of the verandah from where it would drip into the sewer – its color lighting up in a reddish glow when exposed to the morning sunlight – a reddish glow that would contrast sharply with the emerald green color of the moss next to the sewer, and the reflected glint from the nickel coins all around it.

The partygoers walked on – looking for a different rickshaw to take them home that night.

It would be almost two weeks before Raju would return from the public hospital – recovering mostly through the body’s own healing process, since he had no money for medicines – and would be asked to find other accommodations by the Sethji – who wanted no further trouble with the inspector sahib.