Short Story: Where the river runs deep

“It will be twelve hundred if you want the entire carcass. Arre baba, even those limbs serve you faithfully in your lifetime. Don’t they have a price?”, Abul Miyan retorted looking at Pudintji.

Pudintji thought for a while. Abul Miyan had a point. He himself was in a hurry and there was no scope for major thinking. It would soon be daybreak. He only had tonight! The last thing he wanted was people to see him talking to this gravedigger at a Muslim graveyard. In a small town like Amravati, that would be enough to start tongues wagging. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention and add to his already full cup of woes.

He closed his eyes. “Jai Bajrangbali. I have never killed anyone. Hope you understand that there are bigger stakes involved here”. As if the divine ape answered back, he opened his eyes and said, “I am going to pay thousand rupees, body, limbs, tail and all. Abul, that’s a deal. Take it or leave it.” Not letting Abul ponder on it and trying to close the deal, he added in the same breath, “ I will let you know how, when and where to deliver”.

Abul scratched his hair or whatever was left of it. He was in this profession for the last six decades. In his lifetime he had been privy to a lot of experience. But he had to admit that this was unique. I mean, how often do you have a pundit come to your grave (!!!) at the middle of night to negotiate a price for a carcass. When the Punditji had first told him his requirements, he had almost fallen off the stool. The Punditji wanted a fresh human corpse. First Abul thought that the Punditji was a tantrik. But then surely he would have known. Tantriks were Abul’s regular clients. Abul was their first port of call whenever they needed any kind of corpse, human or otherwise.

The pundit turned around one final time before leaving. “Abul , are you sure I can’t get a human body? Even an invalid would do”

A sarcastic smile came across Abul’s lips. A smile laced with tadi. The country liquor’s sharp smell hit Pundit & burnt down his nostrils. Abul Miyan started laughing slowly at first and then with great gusts. “Yes why not? Add another thousand and its all yours. Hehe. Or maybe, with what you are paying, you can buy the skull and the torso. Will that do??? Hehe.” He said that knowing very well it wont.

The pundit knew that too. His plan would work only if he had a complete corpse. He wished he had one more thousand. But this was the last thousand he had, that too after selling his wife’s jewellery. The Pundit promised to himself that he would get her jewellery back if the plan worked. And next year, he would follow it up with a human body. He turned and started walking towards the gate. From behind him, he could hear Abul Miyan saying in between his bursts of laughter, “I will have it delivered. Just keep the money ready Punditji”. The pundit started walking faster. He suddenly felt so awkward at this graveyard, his white dhoti and the sacred thread in so much contrast to the surroundings. Suddenly he felt everything invading his purity. He felt puckish. He wanted to run out of this place. “Bajrangbali, please forgive me. I wish I knew this would be so difficult. Please give me strength”. He hurried out of the graveyard, underneath the starry sky towards his home.

When the Pundit reached home, everybody was still fast asleep. The only thing that was wide awake was their domestic cow. It looked at the Pundit but did not make any noise, probably understanding the gravity of the situation. “My only piece of asset. Gauri, my beloved cow” thought the pundit. He went near the animal and patted it on its head. Then he opened the rope and led the cow to the riverbank where the grass was thicker. He tied the rope to a tree trunk and let the cow stay there for the day. He would be too busy today anyways, to take care of the animal. The he returned to his house and took a long bath. He had to wash off the sins of tonight and the day to come. He put on his fresh dress and then went to the temple. THE TEMPLE. His very reason for doing whatever he was doing. He sat down to meditate. Half an hour later, he was a much more calm and collected person.

He was Pundit Vijayprasad Hariprasad Bhimprasad Mishra. A blue blooded Triloki Brahmin. He prided himself on that. Like his father Hariprasad and his grandfather Bhimprasad before him, he had served the community at Amravati through his temple. At least he thought so!! The temple of ‘Pishach Mochan” with its reigning deity of Bajrangbali.

The temple was well known in the entire district. It was situated on the bank of river Anandi, at the juncture where the river took its sharpest and deepest bent. The juncture where the current was highest, where every year, some or the other accident happened. Every year for the last ninety years, that bent had asked for human sacrifice in terms of some accident or the other. The temple was a legend. It was rumoured that anybody who left for a journey without paying obeisance to the ghosts at the temple would meet with a deadly fate. For ninety long years this legend served the temple and the Mishras. And today, on the day of Kartikye Amavasya, it attracted devotes from all over the district who brought with them offerings for Bajrangbali.

But not any more! About three years back, the government created an over bridge upstream. That obviated any need to cross the river by boat. Worse, for the temple, there were NO accidents in the last three years. It was fast becoming a dying legend. Punditji could already see the coffers drying up with lesser devotees every year. He HAD to do SOMETHING. FAST. A sacrifice was called for. And what better than to time it for today, in front of a few hundred devotes. It was time that the legend was reborn.

Abul came around nine in the morning. He had found a carcass and a fresh one at that. The plan was simple. When devotees would be drawing up the temple ghat on the river bank, Abul would let loose the carcass. It would flow upstream, right in front of the ghat. Then, the punditji would take over!! He knew what to say. He would incite the devotees to impress what happened if one did not pay obeisance to the temple. The rest would be taken care of by the devotees who he hoped would spread the word far and beyond.

Around eleven the temple of full of devotes. Punditji looked around and gave a satisfying smile. He signaled Abul and slowly made his way towards the river bank. Soon he could see a carcass floating towards him He started shouting, carefully choosing his words. At first the devotees were taken by surprise. But sooner than later, the pundit could see the desired response. They were awestruck. Some were crying.

“ …… for all that the government says, look what sin the God has delivered to us today, on this auspicious day of Kartikye Amavasya………”

As if the Gods had heard him, the carcass got stuck in front of the temple ghat. It suited him since it added to the effect. He took one glance at the carcass and went on,

“…….. do you still do not believe in the legend …..”

The great Pundit Vijayprasad Hariprasad Bhimprasad Mishra was at his oratory best when he suddenly missed a beat and stopped mid sentence. Something was bothering him and he looked back at the carcass. It was a cow all right & it looked familiar. The left hip. The right part of the face. All looked strangely familiar. He looked back at the audience who were standing slightly at a distance and then he looked at Abul Miyan who was right beside him by now.

Abul Miyan said, “Arre janab, one perfect job. Found a fresh animal on the riverbank. The owner must have really cared for her. She was so tender. Felt bad to kill it. But Abul Miyan keeps his word. Told you, I will get you fresh carcass.”

Punditji looked at Abul, the caracass and then at the devotees. They were waiting for him to say something, his face marked by a complete look of disbelief and horror. Everything was reeling for Punditji. He could feel he was sweating, and tears blurring his eyesight. He took one final look at Gauri’s caracass and then the world closed on him.