Wake

A cold wind blew that night in the street, blowing around bits of newspaper and painting the world with a general air of poverty and depravity. You know how those certain winter nights are. One doesn’t need to look at poor, blackened faces huddled around a burning tyre or the urchins sleeping under polythene sheets stolen from shop-fronts; one can sense their existence. These nights carry the sound of distant barking dogs in a howling wind, and make the window panes tremble and shudder.

I was coming back from work, hugging myself tight and trying to compact myself into a small ball so that less of the icy wind would hit me. A few urchins passed me, and a few beggars. That time in winter nights, everyone concentrates on reaching home soon. I walked fast, trying to generate a little heat. I was thinking of home. I had a small room that time, in a cheap area in Delhi. I kept all windows closed and boarded, and the room took in a little heat from the walls in the day and I think its own breathing in the small sealed space kept it warm, or at least much warmer than outdoors.

I was in the lane now, out of the main-street blast, and walking in the small space close to the walls that held a pocket of still air. To keep my mind occupied, I kept kicking a pebble along the pavement. I lost that pebble in a drain.

On normal days, I would have rushed up fast, avoiding the warm food odours that crept out under the doors mixed with happy sounds of children squealing, couples fighting and televisions and radios. I hated to hear all that. But when I pulled at the heavy iron gate, the soft orange glow of a fire caught my eye. Sundar, the night watchman for the society, had put in broken twigs and garbage together and made a small fire in an old oil-can. He huddled beside it, on haunches and completely wrapped up in his standard chequered shawl that was almost a blanket. By the time I had clanged the cold gate shut, I had an irresistible urge to warm my hands on the fire. And Sundar was an old confidante. He used to beat his stick on the water pipe when the landlord came so that I could clean up the place or maybe run away if I didn’t have the money for my rent. I had brought him cigarettes a couple of times, but he seemed too fond of his all-leaf-no-tobacco bidis. He looked up as I came and nodded slightly. Any other gesture, like a wave of the hand or a salaam would have let in cold air into his cocoon. I sat down on the other side of the fire and rubbed my hands together.

For some time, none of us said a word. I tried breaking it with a casual, “…it’s increasing every night…the cold…” kind-of a comment. But he sat still, made of wood. No wrinkle on his face moved as he stared into the fire. I kept quiet for some time and then again asked him what happened, or if he was trying to hypnotise the fire – a comment that, in usual times would have him cracking with loud hoarse laughter, and a standard, “Kya saab aab bhi…”. But he just closed his eyes for a long moment, and then shook his head. I found it a little rude but intriguing. Sundar always laughed easily. I kept looking at him and he kept staring into the fire.

“I saw Radha today”, he finally said, and sighed.

“You saw who? Who’s Radha?”

Silence…

“My wife”

“What?” this was news. I never knew he was married. In the past we had always spoken to each other as fellow-lonely inmates of the world. Here was a total surprise for me.

“You were married? …all this while?”

“I was”, he sighed again. “I was married when I was half your age, in the village”

“Then?”

“Then nothing. She was crazy”, he took out a bidi from behind his ear, “

Twigs crackled in the fire and shook off sparks that blew in tight circles. Sundar held out his bidi to the fire and puffed it to light it. An odd bit of newspaper caught in the window above was fluttering wildly. He just sat still and stared at the glowing point of the bidi cupped in his palms.

“I did not know that when I married her, I thought she was a little vague but we got along fine. And then, Saab, when we lost our first child, all hell broke loose.”

Oh, so our man here was married and had a child and lost it. Funny how little we know about people who stay right under our nose. I did not feel an urge to ask him more about the child. I was too lazy and cold to ask questions. I just came there for the fire. Also, I could have done without hearing about another depressing incident in this cold grey weather. I kept humming a tune in my head and looking at the fire. He threw in a few more twigs and dry leaves.

“So you saw your wife today… and she’s mad. That’s why you’re so quiet?” I found myself making conversation all over again. The leaves curled up in the fire and turned black.

“Radha…yes! She’s mad, and you know the scariest thing about her Saab?” Sundar was talking to the burning twigs, in a barely audible mumble. “You know, if you see her, just see her….you’ll be scared. You won’t sleep that night” and he kept slowly shaking his head. “I’d beaten her up very badly that night, when I got to know that the child was born dead. I was very angry when I heard it happened, Saab. I don’t know what came over me. I was angry, not sad. I bought some desi daroo, and had it, then more.”

He was crying, I suddenly noticed. I don’t think he noticed, though. He was sitting still, glassy eyes staring unblinking at the fire. How long can a person stare at a fire. A sudden gust blew the heap of dry leaves into a spiral. Tears rolled down his stone-face. His shawl slipped from his left shoulder.

“I slept somewhere on the road. I did not want to go home that night. I knew I’d do something to her. I knew it was not her fault, but I knew I would do something” His voice was strangely impassive. “…but she came looking for me. Imagine. Barely half-a-day after bearing that dead child…. She found me on the pavement, and started dragging me home. I cursed her, abused her, I even hit her. She kept crying and trying to drag me home.”

“I don’t remember clearly, but I remember waking up in my own vomit in the night, in my home. That time I was a worker at the Steel factory. I felt empty, like my life suddenly lost all meaning. I’d thought of a name for him Saab. I had decided I’d put him in school. I’d thought out his whole life. I stroked Radha’s belly when I slept. He must’ve been dead all the while. And Radha must have known. I am sure she did. She was so… so scared when I took her to the doctor for the last check-up. She cheated me. She killed my son.”

I heard all this clearly. Sundar’s voice had risen. His shawl had slipped. He sat there in the wind, in a torn vest. He appeared smaller and shrunk, his bones projecting on his shoulders. A single teardrop quivered at the end of his moustache. He was silent for a while and then continued in his normal inaudible mumble.

“I got up to drink water, and I saw her, sleeping on the floor all sweet and innocent. I just couldn’t take it. I boiled all over again. I remember very little of what happened then, but Saab…. I stabbed her with a broken bottle, right on the belly. I hit her so many times that I lost count. Then when she stopped hurting from being hit so much, she stopped crying and kept staring at me….expressionless and numb….like someone crazy. And then I stabbed myself – till I lost consciousness.”

It was strange, hearing all this from a crying, stone-faced man, in a mumble.

“…but she didn’t die. She went completely crazy after that. When I woke up the next morning she wasn’t there, and I was lying in a pool of puke and blood. I dragged myself to the doctor. God only knows who stitched her up. She roamed the streets after that, with that crazed, blank expression on her face, like she’s looking at her son dying, and at me stabbing her in her sleep. And like she’s seen the same thing over and over again since that night… ”

“She does not talk to anyone. She walks around the blocks and she cries, sometimes. She eats out of garbage cans…but she’s alive. I brought her home a couple of times, but she doesn’t sleep, and when I’m asleep she walks out again. She does not recognise me any more.”

“….I haven’t touched alcohol since that night”

I took a stick and poked at the fire. We were out of kindle but the old oil-can was still warm. When I poked the sticks, small sparks flew from them. The wind had died down considerably, and I could see a grey patch in the eastern sky. I kept looking at Sundar, trying to imagine him do these ghastly things he spoke about. He looked harmless. He looked like a dry twig, thin, bony, charred and…well burnt. I poked at the twigs again and some of them broke. The fire was almost out. I sat, broke each burnt twig by turns and ground it to fine black ash against the bottom of the can.

“You go, Saab; it is morning”, Sundar now had his eyes closed. He wasn’t crying anymore, and once more he was gathering his shawl around him. I filled up my lungs with cold air and wood-smoke, and breathed out heavily. I thought I should go and sleep. I had work the next day – I mean in some more hours. Sundar had obviously lived through many such nights before; I was sure he would be fine. I hesitated only because of this sense that the story was not complete yet. But that was also fine; stories like these rarely have movie-endings.

“So you saw Radha today, and remembered everything”, I wanted to go to my room, open the door and feel it exhale its warmth on me. Then I wanted to walk in, lock the door, kick off my shoes, take off my jacket and sleep. I had every step worked out. But I was just egging him, begging him to go on. Thankfully he didn’t. He just kept sitting eyes closed in front of the burnt out fire, hugging himself in his shawl and slowly rocking himself. I got up to leave.

“You know I’m so scared of her. I think the next time I see her I’ll kill myself” Sundar mumbled again, and sat still. He opened his eyes and said, “Saab, you know what the scariest thing is? She’s always awake. I’ve seen her many times after that, even followed her, and a lot of other people see her at all hours. But you know… No one has ever seen her sleep since that night.”

I did not say anything. I just walked. I hoped I could stop thinking about it and sleep. I kicked a pebble ahead of me till I reached the stairs. I climbed up slowly. Some houses had started getting up and making the morning noises. I walked to the door, opened it and felt the room exhale its spent warmth on me. I kicked off my shoes, took off my jacket and fell on the bed. I kept trying to sleep.