One Night

One Night

On any given day, Pavan and Ranjit could be found loitering around Theva’s rubbish-ridden lanes, drunk to the tip of their toes. On these frequently special occasions, they usually carried a bottle each of cheap local alcohol in hand and dressed in their smartest clothes; monkey-washed denims and vibrant, torso-hugging shirts. 6pm onwards, the best friends had a series of shanties to visit, and it generally included houses on the ‘Metro-construction’ side of their slum.

‘Across Theva’s Black Pond’, as they teasingly called it. The so-called water body was dugout area in which garbage, urine, the shit of dogs and certain humans, rainwater, silt and dead animals had accumulated since the settlement had been established in 2010, resulting in a stagnating body of malodorous water. Ranjit, who lived with his parents and three siblings in the twenty square meter house that the government had allotted every family, had the Pond for aroma and a view.

“Chalo! Across the diabolic, black water of fate!” announced the twenty-something one Saturday, throwing his body backwards as he shouted into the misty, polluted distance. Aggressively, he pulled a swig from the bottle and then ran out of his house, veering bull-like towards the shanty that lay ahead of the Pond. “Oye Ranjit!” Pavan sashayed behind him, laughing uncontrollably, “Where are you going, bey? Those people will murder you if you attack their home like that!” Pavan held his stomach, ducking down on his drunken knees. As he laughed, with eyes on the muddy ground, spit rolled thickly out of his mouth and made intricate designs on the ground. Pavan shut up. There, formed wiggling patterns, and he had something to concentrate on.

This routine was their dearest form of entertainment in the slum, alcohol being a trustworthy accomplice that never let them down. The television was not a comfort, though Pavan’s laboring father had one that they unfortunately could not afford to watch. But there were the monthly card game tournaments that provided precious respite. During the summer, they took place in one of broader lanes that women shaded with drying clothes and in the winter, the venue was Theva’s patchy lawn that lay behind the main market road. Desi daaru and the slum prostitutes concluded the playing sessions with much fanfare. That was Pavan’s favorite week.

There was a humongous sound of steel crashing on steel. “Abey yaar, this boy will spoil all our plans,” Pavan grumbled as he got up shakily. He located Ranjit, who was splayed out on all fours outside the shanty he had targeted, lying atop the sole utensils the family owned with his back to the sky. The dwarf woman who owned it had recently moved to Theva and was jumping up and down in shrill agitation. She picked up one pan from under Ranjit’s leg and began to hit him. “You drunkard!” Bang. “Dirty piglet from the gutter who doesn’t have any manners!” Bang. “Fucker! Bang Fucker, get up!” Bang.

“Ranjit, get up you blasted donkey!” Pavan held his friend from both armpits and began to drag him out of the old woman’s hitting range. He held up his hand to her. “Stop showing me your palm you fucker. Tell that stupid man to control his filthy body! Now who will set all of this again?” she screamed back at him and threw the pan with a clank and bent down to pick it up again. “Hmm, huh?” Ranjit lifted his head. Pavan shook him. “Hello? Aren’t we supposed to go out, you idiot? Come on, stand up.”

“Yes, yes, get lost! Bastards… after destroying my home… dogs…” the woman continued to mutter.

At regular intervals, the air, any air, other than that of Theva was always easier to take in. When Pavan went on those much awaited outings, the climate flexed itself immediately and his life’s routine became more bearable, as though some weighty layer had been peeled off. Pavan could forget about the deadened face of his mother as she squatted wordlessly next to the stove, he could banish his father’s escapades with Sheru the concubine dog, and he could hope with every little wage he received that his next outing would supersede the previous one. Even after three years, it was arduous to call Theva home. Pavan thought the brick houses were a plus point, but was the slum a haven they dreamt to return to? No, Ranjit said he wanted to cease working as a daily wage laborer and shift to the city. “Delhi knows no bounds,” he would frequently announce, following which he’d daydream about ogling half-naked women. Well, it was true. Those girls flaunted their bodies calculatingly; legs, arms, necks; dressed in those… what were those?

Now on the highway towards Delhi, Pavan drove his first stolen bike recklessly, skirting around pedestrians, cows and vehicles in a show of jubilation. The two friends had to travel five kilometers to Mundka for work the next morning, but both of them had decided to take a bunk. Construction on phase III of the Delhi Metro Rail Corporation’s Green Line would not be suspended without them. Tonight, they would celebrate Pavan’s Yamaha Crux, brimful of eleven liters of pilfered fuel. “Whooohoooo!” shouted Ranjit in the passenger seat dementedly, his longish hair dancing in the smoggy breeze, lolling his tongue out at the passing trucks and cars. It was whimsical freedom, but it made them crazy.

A small car overtook them. Pavan caught hold of the softer features, the small hands and loosened hair that stayed abreast her chest. A girl sat chatting to a boy in the vehicle. He slapped Ranjit twice on his thigh and said, “Look look look.”

From two weeks back, images of the terrified, bare body of Padmini swirled in his head; the servant girl’s curses that escalated at every thrust, the tears that washed away the day’s dust from her small face, her wild agony when he dumped himself into her mouth, the subdued screams, her reddened cheeks, the strength of his body, Ranjit’s encouraging laughter, shrieks, abuses, her jiggling body fat, the breasts he punched, that final moment of relief. So many had looked on and waited, so many had fucked her in line that night, that the girl’s proud gait was all but a punctured limp the next morning. Pavan smiled to himself.

He sped up with a kick and lowered his head to get a better look at them. The boy sat on the other side, extreme right, while the girl sat towards them, on the left. She saw Pavan leering and looked away awkwardly. “Oye, in the mood, are you?” Ranjit realized and, without warning, let out a perfectly chiseled wolf’s howl. Pavan turned to look at him. Yes, one could surely depend on his friendship.

He began with the first words that popped up in his mouth. “Yo yo miss, come take a ride with us as well!”

“The night is still left!” Ranjit joined in. Sensing their intentions, the boy in the car bent forward to instruct the driver to speed up. The girl was glancing sideways at them uneasily. Pavan turned the bike closer to her window but the car picked speed suddenly, leaving them behind.

“Pavan, catch them!” Ranjit said loudly as he downed the last sip of the alcohol and threw the bottle on the road.

The car was fast, much faster, and Pavan changed gears to the fourth. He was excited. If he and Ranjit could manage this, Pavan’s reputation and influence in Theva would scale higher. He could already hear the gang’s awestruck, jealous praises. It would be a record, an exemplary adventure to recount. It would go down in posterity! Now this is what life was all about.

Warm adrenalin burst within the pit of his stomach. His Yamaha was at eighty now, but the car was still two meters away. “Come on, come on…” whispered Ranjit. As luck would have it, a container truck entered the road from their left, blocking the car’s way and making it halt. Seeing his chance, Pavan caught up, determined, and once they were next to the car, he braked and parked, sliding off the two-wheeler with a jump. The boy in the car started.

“What do you think you are doing? Get back or I will call the police. Don’t you dare,” he cautioned, holding his mobile phone up. But his voice was soft and broke in frightened bubbles. He started rolling up his window. Ranjit, who was quite adept at working his hands and arms due to his career as a pickpocket, did not need any prodding. He skipped to the other side of the car, planted his hand inside and unlocked the door before the boy could finish, while Pavan ran to the driver’s door, trying to pick it with his mother’s bob pin. “Why have you stopped? Drive bhaiya!” the girl in was yelling repeatedly and tears tumbled down her fair cheeks.

Padmini, her screams, her pain. It gave a rush. Pavan stared at the elfin girl, open-mouthed.

Suddenly, the forty high cube container truck that had stunted them all honked. But for all the commotion, the truck driver had not noticed their tiff. He lugged on, leaving them alone on the road. And then, with one swift stroke, Ranjit forced the door open. “You fucker!” the boy attempted to kick him in the stomach. He missed. “Ranjit, get him out of the car!” said Pavan, and himself succeeded in unbolting the driver’s door, who lunged at him, making him fall on the road. A hard punch across his jaw and the driver was squirming in pain.

Pavan looked at Ranjit, who had beaten up the boy profusely. “Okay, Ranjit, enough. Let’s…” he tapped his friend’s shoulder, gesturing him to look at the girl who had been too scared to move until now. Watching her scrunched up on the left corner reminded Pavan of his father. “Like mice that have been contained in a mousetrap. Never let a woman feel any other way,” he had advised him.

The door clicked loudly in the silence. The girl ran out. “Pavan!” exclaimed Ranjit and the two began to chase her. “Arrey, where will you go, my butter chicken?” Pavan exhorted, grabbing her by the shoulder and arm with experienced dexterity. The girl cried beautifully.

“Leave meeeee!” she wailed, looking around for help.

“There is no one here to help you, baby,” Ranjit mocked her. Famished lust swam in his eyes. He went behind her and clasped her waist tightly.

The girl’s open hair curtained her face and she struggled violently to get free.

But Pavan knew how to stop her. He had grown accustomed to treating their breasts as squishy, airy balls, or like that blow horn with a squeeze bulb. Pressing them hard made the girl go very quiet, almost as though she accepted them, albeit reluctantly. But that was the invigorating bit. With both palms, Pavan applied his technique. And instantly, the girl’s very vocal agitation transformed into muted sobs.

“Works like magic every time!” Ranjit chuckled. The girl had ceased to condemn them vocally, but she swayed her body frantically to get Pavan’s hands off. Still behind her, Ranjit felt his erection against her buttocks. He wanted to start rubbing. That would scandalize her even more. But the girl was moving too much now. He hit her, full frontal, on her face.

Suddenly, they had company. There came the sound of a diesel car. A gypsy? Pavan looked back. The high beam strengthened as the car drove closer. Till now, Pavan and Ranjit had been hiding behind a stranded cigarette stall in the darkness on the side of the road. There were no streetlights on the roadside. But…

It was a Toyota Qualis. The car’s light colored the unconscious bodies of the two men as they lay on the road. The car stopped.

“Oh no,” Ranjit whispered. He dragged the girl behind the stall.

“I hope they are men who are into this as well. Then it won’t be a problem,” Pavan retorted.

It was two men. One bent down to check whether the boy has died.

“Listen, Pavan? I think we should leave,” Ranjit said as the girl shook her face. Ranjit pressed his palm on her lips more securely.

Pavan was crestfallen. They had made so many efforts; they had almost reached Punjabi Bagh! Quite a lot of fuel and time (and alcohol!) would just go to waste if they left the girl now.

But he knew Ranjit was right. They still had the opportunity to start their bike and flee.

“Okay, let’s go,” he heaved a sigh.

He hit the girl’s breasts as hard as he could and Ranjit dropped her to the ground. They scrambled. The men from the Qualis were now walking towards a few shops that clustered on the left. Probably, they hoped to find help or eyewitness information about the incident.

“Go!” Pavan pushed Ranjit from behind the stall. They tiptoed deftly to the center of the road for their bike. The Qualis was behind them and the car’s owners walked in front. They were four meters ahead of Pavan and Ranjit. “Is anybody there?” one of the men inquired.

Pavan swung his leg and settled quickly on the bike. “Hurry!” Ranjit said as he sat behind him with a thump. And they zoomed in the opposite direction, back to Theva.

“Oh! There they are! Hey…!” one of the men from the Qualis called out from behind. His voice faded into the background.

Crack. There was a small sound from below them. “What was that Pavan? Oh!” Ranjit started laughing.

“What?”

“Bhai, it was the driver’s finger you just drove on!”

Pavan shrugged. He did not care to look back. He was upset. It was unfair; the evening had disappointed him.

Ranjit thumped his back and roared with giggles. His reaction cheered Pavan a little. Exactly this ability, this quality, rather, to not take life so seriously; this is what he admired about Ranjit.

“Listen,” his friend spoke solemnly now, “it is alright. We will make a solid plan next time. Don’t worry Pavu,” he consoled him.

“Its just irritating yaar.”

“I know. But look at the silver lining. Padmini will be waiting for you.”

“Yes,” Pavan responded.

He believed himself to be ambitious; a levelheaded and motivated young man who despised loopholes and failures. He promised himself that the next outing would be successful. He was ambitious. He had dreams. Yes, unlike all the other clueless in Theva, he had a dream.