Give me the ocean, the desert, or the wilderness

BY Unni R, Translated by Prabha Zacharias

A key, a sea shell, a leaf. These are what they got from him. They checked him again doubting that he had hidden a secret somewhere between his graying hair, between the beard, in the mouth or inside his anus. Under the dim light of that small cell in the station, that seventy year old naked body hung like a shadow.

'Look at the way he stands, son of a whore...' Said the inspector, sniffing something he took out from between his teeth.

'As if he doesn’t care', the policeman beside him added. The policemen looked at the Inspector with disappointment. He could find nothing from the man. The  inspector continued shaking his legs and head and staring at the man inside the cell, while sniffing excitedly each time at the leftovers he dug out from between his teeth.

'Is he standing and sleeping?' the Inspector asked.

The policeman went and opened the door of the cell. The inspector went inside and smacked the man on both the ears.

'Medicine to ward off your sleep', the policeman said.

The man was startled for a minute and then helplessly looked at them. Then he tried to smile lightly. ‘Nice Smile’, said the inspector. The man looked at the  inspector quite thankfully. He held up the man’s face and in a flash, pushed him down and hit him hard on his back with his elbow. Then the inspector held him straight and ordered, ‘Laugh now.’

While he tried to obey the order, his body doubled up in pain, the inspector’s fist shut his mouth and nose up. After wiping the blood which came out from the  corner of the man’s mouth onto his chest, the inspector yelled: “Son of a Whore, I will kill you.

While the inspector was walking back, a lame voice reached behind him: “Sir”

The inspector turned and looked back and saw a distorted figure from some stage of evolution, trying to tell him something. He kicked at his chest violently and  asked, “What is it, you swine?”

Leaning to the cell wall and panting heavily, he tried to say something. The inspector grabbed him by his hair and said: “Shut up.”

He couldn’t see or hear a thing. He was in that moment where the last stream of life too was draining away.

“Pig, he is very tricky”, the inspector said while coming out of the cell.

“These people undergo special training, sir”

The inspector nodded.

The Policeman brought a chit and gave it to the inspector.

“The I.G and D.G.P will reach here in an hour.”

The policemen looked at the inspector.

“Now I have to stay till this thing is hanged” The inspector let out a long fart. “Hasn’t had a wink since last night”

The clock struck four in the cell which smelled of rotten coconut husk.

When the man tried to move slightly inside the cell, a lightning pain went past, splitting his backbone.

Three hours earlier, he was standing under the moonlit sky. Even before that, he was beside Soufia, leaning on the door.

While he was about to step out, Soufia asked: “Are you crazy to go for a walk this late?”

“Yes”, he laughed and said.
“You don’t want to carry a torch?” He pointed to the sky.
She smiled. “Where to?”

“First to the seashore, then…” “Then?”
“Insha Allah”
The houses were sleeping. A snore would peep out once in a while from a roadside house. After walking for a while, he found a dog barking from behind the gate.  He looked at the dog’s face for some time and introduced himself.

“I am Badusha. What is your name?”
It tried to reply by wagging its tail. He said. “I will call you Badu. It was what my Bappa1 called me when I was a kid” The dog wagged its tail again.

“Are you coming for a walk with me?”
It looked at him with a look of doubt as if it is asking ‘where to’. “Let’s just walk.” The dog stood silent. There was helplessness on its face; of not being able to  come out of that house. Saying, ‘that’s ok, may be sometime later’, he searched for the road to the seashore. He wet his feet in the waves; lifted both his arms  up towards the sky, as if praying; touched the foreheads of sleepy boats; urinated on beach sand and ran behind crabs.

A ship slowly moved, shaking the milky films of cataract. That is the ship of Koja Kasim’s brother’, Bappa used to say.

Kids will look to where Bappa has pointed his finger to and nod their heads.

‘Vasco da Gama burned that ship which had brought pilgrims from Mecca. Men, women, and children, everyone was burned to death.’ Children would look at Bappa  with sadness. Bappa’s eyes too would be teary then.’

In the ship there was the Egyptian Sultan’s minister, Jawed Beig with them.’ Children would nod their heads.

‘Now all of you close your eyes.’
Everybody would close their eyes.
‘Can you hear the sound of the waves?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you hear the cries of children?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now open your eyes all of you.’

Everybody would open their eyes. All that while, Bappa would be pointing his fingers to a faraway place. Beyond that pointed finger there was the wall of the faded  oom. Till his death, Bappa lived in his past; like a watchdog, barking memories. In this seventieth year, he closed his eyes to listen to those secrets Bappa did  not reveal. The sound of waves was like a prayer. In the touch of the sea-sand rested the solitude of desert. When he opened his eyes, there were war ships,  scent of gun powder, and cries of children and destitute. He sat in the seashore with the worry filled mind of an old man who had only a short life to remember. A  silver owl flew past sounding like a TB patient.

From the seashore, he kept walking through the road which led him to the island, the road the Portuguese, the Dutch and the English walked through. He could hear doves cooing from inside the old store houses. The ancient symbols of power stay prominent still.

The salty sea breeze slowly touched his net cap and went past.

The police jeep came and stopped in front of him while he was on the road deviating to the island.

“Where are you going to?” the inspector asked. He looked at the inspector without saying a word.
“Didn’t you hear?”
“Nowhere, just walking.”

“At this hour?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“I like walking.”
“Your name?”
“Badusha.”

The inspector looked at the policemen. He fell down with the unexpected hit from the policeman behind. The policemen threw him to the back of the jeep and  stamped on his head. The clock struck five. The call for the Subahi2 prayer woke the man up. He was droopy eyed and leaning on to the walls of the cell which  wouldn’t let sunlight pass. Badusha, the seventy year old, kept his forehead marked by the earth to the floor which stank of shit and urine. While he was  prostrating one more time with a shooting pain inside, the inspector yelled, Are you shitting, you stinker? Stand up.