Read Online The Eighteenth Parallel by ASHOKA MITRAN - Free Book Online
Authors: ASHOKA MITRAN
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slaughter, rape and abduction of their kith and kin. But all these horrendous happenings a thousand miles away had been mere news on the radio here so far, only a blurred image at the edge of one's consciousness. Even the knock Chandru had received was too slight to bring home the total horror of the situation.
He knew that just as the Muslims in their hundreds sought refuge in Hyderabad, Hindu and Sikh refugees had descended on Delhi in their thousands, in their millions. Having lost all to the bestial lust of humans, they were beasts now themselves. But amidst this wilderness of churning, heaving, terror-struck humanity was a figure raising his lone voice in a hymn: 'Ishwara Allah tero naam'. Chandru had never seen him, though. Not yet. Not even once. But then Hyderabad never seemed to have a place in the great man's itinerary.
Three cows accosted Chandru. Whose? Who knew? Scores of stray cattle, mostly cows and calves, had the freedom of Monda. Cattle from other localities were rounded up and impounded by the police. But the cattle of Monda were impervious to all such threats. They visited all the vendors, waited for the moment when their attention would stray, and treated themselves to huge mouthfuls of beans, potato, banana and gourd. Beating and shooing had little effect on them. While a shopkeeper was intent on haggling over a half-anna, he would lose a whole eight annas' worth to these marauders in no time at all. Apparently, the shopkeepers themselves had set aside a share of their merchandise for these cattle who fattened themselves at public expense but whose milk was for others.
Chandru scratched the head of one of the cows before him while still holding on to the bicycle. The cow craned its neck forward to be rubbed. One by one, the other cows began to lean on his bicycle, awaiting their turn for a scratch. Chandru soon found his fingers aching and the nails began to burn. But the cows were in no mood to leave him. Chandru's mind went back to their buffalo at home and the thrashing he had given it earlier that evening. It made him sad to think of it. But then a buffalo could never nuzzle up to one as gracefully as these cows. Everything a buffalo did, from the flapping of its tail to the sudden scampering off at seeing you approach was awkward, ill-timed and ungainly. But the way these cows – never mind whose they were – offered their faces for a caress, one would think they had been snuggling up like that for years.
Chandru pushed his bicycle forward, shouting at the cows: 'Out! Out of my way!' As they reluctantly made way for him, the handle-bar of his bicycle scraped against the stomach of a cow, causing it to shiver. There was an outer fringe of buildings that surrounded Monda like a fortress. It housed a number of wholesale grocery shops, most of them closed now. Many of them were not provided with a light at all, so sure were the merchants that their business would never outlast the sun's light. One shop was, however, still open. It stood apart from the rest, set a little away from the road, an oil store. In the backyard were the oil presses and the oil vendor's house. The shop sold oil wholesale as well as retail. You could buy barrels of oil or just a seer or two. A small boy looked after the till. Chandru asked him, 'Where's your mother?'
'In the house.'
'Could you call her?'
The boy went in. After a while, a fat woman came out. She was from Rajasthan. The patches of oil on her clothes were visible even in the dim light.
She said, 'Don't you see it's past the lighting hour. Why did you come so late?'
'I haven't come for oil. Just to leave my boots here. May I? I'll come for them in the morning.' She didn't understand what Chandru said. So he kicked a booted foot at the ground to explain. Still not sure what was expected of her, she said, 'All right.' Chandru stood his bicycle on the street and climbed the four steep steps that lead to the shops and took off his boots.
Now she asked, 'So the
He knew that just as the Muslims in their hundreds sought refuge in Hyderabad, Hindu and Sikh refugees had descended on Delhi in their thousands, in their millions. Having lost all to the bestial lust of humans, they were beasts now themselves. But amidst this wilderness of churning, heaving, terror-struck humanity was a figure raising his lone voice in a hymn: 'Ishwara Allah tero naam'. Chandru had never seen him, though. Not yet. Not even once. But then Hyderabad never seemed to have a place in the great man's itinerary.
Three cows accosted Chandru. Whose? Who knew? Scores of stray cattle, mostly cows and calves, had the freedom of Monda. Cattle from other localities were rounded up and impounded by the police. But the cattle of Monda were impervious to all such threats. They visited all the vendors, waited for the moment when their attention would stray, and treated themselves to huge mouthfuls of beans, potato, banana and gourd. Beating and shooing had little effect on them. While a shopkeeper was intent on haggling over a half-anna, he would lose a whole eight annas' worth to these marauders in no time at all. Apparently, the shopkeepers themselves had set aside a share of their merchandise for these cattle who fattened themselves at public expense but whose milk was for others.
Chandru scratched the head of one of the cows before him while still holding on to the bicycle. The cow craned its neck forward to be rubbed. One by one, the other cows began to lean on his bicycle, awaiting their turn for a scratch. Chandru soon found his fingers aching and the nails began to burn. But the cows were in no mood to leave him. Chandru's mind went back to their buffalo at home and the thrashing he had given it earlier that evening. It made him sad to think of it. But then a buffalo could never nuzzle up to one as gracefully as these cows. Everything a buffalo did, from the flapping of its tail to the sudden scampering off at seeing you approach was awkward, ill-timed and ungainly. But the way these cows – never mind whose they were – offered their faces for a caress, one would think they had been snuggling up like that for years.
Chandru pushed his bicycle forward, shouting at the cows: 'Out! Out of my way!' As they reluctantly made way for him, the handle-bar of his bicycle scraped against the stomach of a cow, causing it to shiver. There was an outer fringe of buildings that surrounded Monda like a fortress. It housed a number of wholesale grocery shops, most of them closed now. Many of them were not provided with a light at all, so sure were the merchants that their business would never outlast the sun's light. One shop was, however, still open. It stood apart from the rest, set a little away from the road, an oil store. In the backyard were the oil presses and the oil vendor's house. The shop sold oil wholesale as well as retail. You could buy barrels of oil or just a seer or two. A small boy looked after the till. Chandru asked him, 'Where's your mother?'
'In the house.'
'Could you call her?'
The boy went in. After a while, a fat woman came out. She was from Rajasthan. The patches of oil on her clothes were visible even in the dim light.
She said, 'Don't you see it's past the lighting hour. Why did you come so late?'
'I haven't come for oil. Just to leave my boots here. May I? I'll come for them in the morning.' She didn't understand what Chandru said. So he kicked a booted foot at the ground to explain. Still not sure what was expected of her, she said, 'All right.' Chandru stood his bicycle on the street and climbed the four steep steps that lead to the shops and took off his boots.
Now she asked, 'So the
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