Victim

 VICTIM

It was noon, the month of August, rain had been pouring down calmly, it was the kind of patient monsoon rain which came prepared to fill the land with water for hours. 

A social outcast, just hours before had been thrown out of work, had lost my wife - my only world - and no home to go to, I sat down on a bench in the park, the rain washing me out. The children were playing in the rain nearby, cars were hurrying so were the people, rain had stirred everyone's spirit, but me: I was stationary, unmoved sitting with my head down on the grass. What should I do now? or where should I go? There had been many big questions in my head. In the distance birds in the group were chirping as if calling for their last crewmate. I realized it was me, but I can't fly anymore neither can chirp. I had sold my voice and my wings were torn off. I was the helpless baby bird who was lying deep down into the water with no hope for help or life. The rain was falling on the road, over the houses, on the top of the car, but unwelcomed by any of them the rain was given a gloomy look. The rain, like me, had certainly come to a wrong place, I thought. Delhi, of course, wasn’t the place for a rain to come. I looked around and noticed the unwelcoming houses being washed by the rain, the red of the brick was shining yet the black algae accumulated around them making the look gloomy. No season can shine and gloom the lustre of anyone or anything in the world as rain does. 

Before long I was into the deepest of melancholy. I was unaware of the rain or the vehicle or the children, it was just the cold of the rain, me and my thoughts, nothing else. I pictured my wife as I had seen her last - her black shining hair, red purse hanging on her right arm, the golden chain around her neck - the anniversary gift by me - the scent around her when she cuddled me all along smiling narrowly as she used to was same as well; there was nothing different and nothing suspicious. Hadn't she planned her running away? Was her going away just a spontaneous decision? No, it can’t be, if it was, how could she had written the note beforehand. Something is missing from the picture. Then I try to remember the shape of her lips forming her departing words, the picture was vague, it seems she was saying “bye” as usual, or was that “goodbye”? It must be either one of these. But it was hard to figure out what exactly it was that. Only if I had listened to her that day I might have stopped her, she might have never gone away from my life. No, sooner or later this was going to happen, it was destined to happen someday from the very start, but why? Why did she leave me? I wasn't a bad husband at all, even one which everyone called the best. Then, what has transpired? Why did she leave without telling anything? Why did she leave all of her belongings behind? Is she planning to come back at some time? Then, why had she left me in the first place? The more I think of it the more messy and meaningless this whole thing turned out, eventually leaving me with questions - countless questions, raining down in drops over me, slowly, making me cold and stirring every part of me, yet there was I - unable to move. The strange thing, however, was my insensitivity to mourn my unemployment. It was the last of my world connections. Now that is gone too. Everything had gone, what was left was me, though I was disappearing as well - slowly and painfully. If I die now, I thought, no one will take notice of it. No one. That gave a cold shivering which ran through the back of my spine. It feels like I was seizing to be a human anymore or anything anymore. Though nothing still sounded like something though what I felt was even less than nothing. Rain had brought a coldness throughout my whole body. I was practically freezing because of the cold rain. Almost an hour had passed like this. With passing time my thoughts were freezing as well, slowly, steadily. Soon afterwards, I listened to nothing but the sound of rain; and saw nothing, but falling rain drops. It was as if I had transferred from my physical self into air between the rain. I ceased to think. .Hours passed by, the rain sometimes slow, sometimes fast continued to fall down and I was lost among them. Among those countless falling rain drops I was lost like I was lost in the lot of people before. There was no difference overall whether a man or rain drop - my destiny was defined. I have to be lost in this world.

I was the air in between the raindrops. I was the air, light, transparent, and rising, above, towards the clouds.

I was above the clouds in a place unknown to me and I guess to the world as well. I was up above in the clouds. I was on a cloud. Though, before I realized it I was chained - hands and legs both. I always wanted to ride a cloud, but not like this. However, it was a fascinating ride.  

"Bring the subject for the judgement" a prophetic voice announced. I looked around to find nothing but four large pillars reaching to a level way higher than the level I was sitting. "Who are you?" I want to say. But the voice didn't come out of my mouth. I waited for a long time. "The subject should be brought forward for the judgement.'' It was the next announcement. As soon as the announcement ended the cloud on which I was chained floated swiftly and reached right in the centre of where all the four pillars were. "Behead!" four prophetic voices yelled at the same time. "Stop!" I wanted to shout but the voice didn't come out of my mouth yet again. The next second there was a flash in the sky above - it was like lightning - the next moment four objects came flying from up above the sky. They all fall right in front of me. I had my mouth wide open, though this time I didn't want to say anything - I want to scream this time. Those objects in front of me were nothing but four heads, four heads with my face. I felt like I was nothing but water. I was going to loose hold of  even my own existence. I want to sink. And the next instant I was falling down from the sky. I was no longer air. With the speed of the bullet I was going to hit the ground. But before that I woke up. It was a terrible dream. I was asleep on this park bench for the last 5 hours. 

The rain had stopped, but gray clouds were still lingering in the sky, and the ground was still black, cold and wet. The sharp cries of birds grew louder as they were coming out of their hiding place back on their business to find worms for the dinner. I have to go now as well, I thought. But I didn't want to. 

 I gave a look at my watch, its black-blue blurred dial shows 6:00 pm. So I was out in the rain for at least eight hours straight. But they didn't seem like eight hours. No it seemed either like an eternity had passed or nothing at all. The time seemed like an illusion. The whole world seems like an illusion, like something I had never seen before. But I know it's time I should be moving. I should be moving now like those birds. To home. No, not home today. I didn't want to go home. Anywhere but home. Being washed in the rain for so long I felt a little cold, my head very light as if everything had been washed off it - all the melancholic thoughts. I feel like nothing at all. I stood up from where I was sitting, standing too felt unreal, then walking unsteadily headed to the road with no apparent destination in mind - I was like a lost boat in the ocean happy to be taken away anywhere by the gust of wind. 

For some time I continued to walk from one street to another like a vagrant animal, looking at people's faces as if finding a known person in them, but they passed me like I didn't even exist. I noticed that this particular section of the city wasn't that crowded, which is only possible if the area is an opulent one, but it wasn’t an opulent area either. It was as if everyone living there was fast asleep and was waiting for a signal. Like a dangerous animal in deep asleep.     Suddenly, as I was passing by those houses, I caught sight of a middle aged man with a cricket kit hanging around his waist. He was of average height and was wearing a pair of black glasses which given this type of season was quite unusual. By the look of him he seemed like just went through a horrific episode. He was wearing a white shirt and tight jeans. Like others he walked past me without even giving a look, looking only ahead. When I saw him, something struck me. My heart gave a thump. I know that guy. I had seen that guy somewhere but where? It took me a few seconds to recall who he was - he had rented a room just in the next house, but had disappeared the very day Athiya had gone away. No doubt about it : he is the same weirdo. 

Immediately, I had a hunch : I should follow him. He was walking at a leisurely pace, so it wasn't difficult to catch up with him. I followed some pace behind him, maintaining my pace to his. I started considering the possibility of talking to him. What should I say, "Remember me? I am your neighbour from Bhajanpura."

"Then what?" he would say. Or maybe he would look at me like someone look at a total stranger disturbing him walking around. And after that he would go away without saying a word. 

And then what? What am I supposed to do next? Should I say, "My wife had left me the day you left the locality, and I have a suspicion on you." Ridiculous! I can't say that. I decided just to follow him and see what happened. Maybe, as I walk along I will find out something eventually. 

He was walking leisurely at a fixed pace looking straight as if what existed around him didn't matter to him. 

The man continued to walk at the same pace. He took several turns around the streets, passed some stores, and following him felt like walking through some labyrinth. He never looked around, nor back. There is definitely something about this man. He looked different, he was acting differently. He never looked around, or to his sides, it appeared he was like me, like me he too was just trudging around the streets aimlessly giving all authority to his legs to move around. But by the precise steps I can say he is utterly concentrated : what could he be thinking about? Or was he, rather, thinking about absolutely nothing. 

The man took another turn and entered a dark hushed area, his slow steady stride picking a good pace instantly. I adroitly continued to follow him synchronizing with his pace. However, he was very quick to follow, but in the little dark of early evening hours it wasn't very hard to follow his silhouette. As I see from a distance, he slipped - his cricket kit still around his waist - into some deserted building still in construction. Following him quietly I reached the base of the building. It is a three storey building having almost finished it's construction. The building facing this one had a corroded iron gate, and by the look of it this house must be deserted. In fact, every house in that street was a bit odd and off, like they had been sleeping through the ages. Maybe there was an order to demolish the whole area and everyone had allotted some land somewhere else and they had gone there, but then this newly constructed building. Where am I? What is this place? I certainly have no idea. 

I took another long and close look at the building in which the man had gone. It was as grimy as a newly built house should be after a long rainy day. And it stank like piss. Suddenly, I realized I hadn’t even seen any stray dog or any other vagrant animal, even though there weren't any cats around. This place has something strange with it. It has been abandoned for a purpose. In any case, I was unable to comprehend what might be the purpose.   

On any other day I shouldn't have gone inside the building following some man I had almost no idea about, but that day it was different : I almost feel obligatory to do so. I took precisely three long deep breaths, and remembered God after a long time, before going inside. It was all gloomy inside, so I turn on the flashlight of my mobile, and with the help of that I checked the ground floor but he wasn't there. So, I went to the first floor following the rally-less steps of the stairs. It was even darker in there. I felt beads of sweat going down my back giving me a chill. In the damp silence of the building I hear only my breathe. The grip of my fingers tightening around the phone. Fear! I am feeling a strange fear looming inside me. I must be moving like those frightened men in the horror movie. Following the dim flashlight of the phone I was moving ahead when something slammed into my shoulder. Hard. I could hardly tell what was happening. All I feel was the extreme physical pain almost blinding my brain. A second passed like an eternity, then another, and then another. I tried to turn around, but just then, I saw what was actually happening, this man whom I was following came to me swinging what looks like a round stick. I tried to dodge, but I was too late. This time, the stick hit my left arm and I felt like I had lost my arm. However, like before there was no pain. It felt like my arm had melted down into space. 

But, before I realized, as a reflex reaction, I was kicking the man back. I was no martial artist or taekwondo player, but a friend of mine, who was kind of black belt holder in taekwondo and had represented our school at district level, had taught me a few elementary moves. I was particularly good at kicking, as I was good at football as well. About the kicks he had told me to aim always high and kick hard. Day after day I had practiced kicking even when he had stopped training me, nothing fancy but just as a habit. However, it was some seven- eight years ago I had practiced last. So, kicking that man at that time of all the other things had surprised even me. But more than me it was he who was taken by this surprise counter-attack. It seems he had not anticipated any attack from me. So before he came out of his shock I kicked him countless times with all of my strength. My mobile dropped to the floor in the process and was flashing at nowhere at the ceiling, so I had no idea where I was hitting him in the dark. Thud, a loud noise came and I know this means my kick had thrown away the stick from his hand. I took a break, caught up to my breath, picked the phone and aimed the light at his face; he was lying on the floor covered in dirt, writhing in pain, the stick falling some steps to his right hand. I stepped and stood over his body and kicked a strong kick at his groin, and while he was curled up with pain, I picked the stick, which turned out to be a strangely shaped hockey stick, and shoved it into the ribs of that man. I dropped my phone to the floor this time intentionally, and grabbed the hockey stick, which was soaked in sweat and was a little slippery, and I lifted it, feeling like a  professional hockey player. A made a swing and hit him, the hit followed by a dull scream, he writhed again. 

At first I hit him out of sheer terror, in self defense. Once he fell on the floor, though, I found my terror turning into unmistakable anger. The anger of being fired from the job, the anger of Athiya leaving me. The anger over each and every man who had ever mocked me. The anger is swelling further, and further. That's enough! my mind was telling me but some force was driving me crazy - I can't stop. However, soon out of breath, I stopped. Maybe I would have stopped there but something got into the man, he started laughing hysterically. Before it was only anger now it was anger and hatred. I continued hitting him first with  hockey stick but hitting him with hockey stick was taking all my strength and with my arms already hurt it was painful further, so I let go of the hockey stick, and started kicking the man again, soon after I was punching him. All the while he was laughing his hysterical laugh, making me even more mad. I continued to hit him until the laugh died out and it seemed I was rather hitting a lifeless punching bag - dead and unconcerned to the pain - than a living feeling thing.  

I stopped and as I was in a dream my conscience ran along in different places for some time only realizing eventually that this all was a reality. Out of my entire body, I realized, fingers, because of punching, were hurting the most. The extreme pain had started gradually coming out of every point of numbness. What had gotten into me? The psychopath who was hitting and kicking and punching this man wasn't me. Until now, I had never been in a violence rather I was a peaceful man. That's not me! How could that be me? But this wasn't the time to think about those things. This wasn't the time to space out. This was the time to run away, I didn't know - somewhere, far from here. All of a sudden the fear of darkness, of the man and of losing something unknown come back to me. I picked the phone, and then the cricket kit lying beside it - it was empty.  Quickly but cautiously I stepped down the building making not even a faint noise of breath. As before, there was no one outside and the locality stood as dark and haunted as it was a while ago. 

I wasn't sure which way to go. I thought I would never make it out of this labyrinth, but I managed to find a bus stand soon and strangely it had no label. It was the later hour of the evening, the sun was down however it was already as dark as in the night. I tried to calm myself down and straighten my head out of this nightmare. I boarded the very next bus that came to the stand. With the agility of rabbit I jumped into the bus and avoiding people's faces stand by the emergency window fixing my gaze outside, but I could still feel the eyes of people on me - suspicious, cunning, cold eyes - I felt anxious, my breathe went uneven, and my finger clutching, clutching not each other but something. It was only then I realized I had bought the hockey stick with me, though even worse was my white shirt splattered with the blood of this man. Nervousness took over me, I tightened my grip on the hockey stick further. This was the only solace for me. 

How I ended up being at my place I had no idea. All I remember was the pale yellow street lights lined along the road and my hands clutching the stick firmly. 

Standing in front of my place I felt strange. I checked two-three times before entering whether I was on the right spot. Yes, I was. I opened the door and it opened with a creek sound. Then I closed it immediately the moment I went inside, from inside it closed with a thud, then I latched the lock, which sounded like click of something, my heart was still pounding hard - dub-dub, dub-dub - and my breathe was abnormal, I went up to the kitchen filled a glass of water it gave a faded sound as if coming from the other world. I drank two glasses of water. Then moved to the sink, in the steel framed mirror I saw a pathetic face which looked like a living corpse - this was my face- it felt like I had aged extraordinarily in the last few days. I turned ON the tap, washed my mouth, the water from the tap sounded like the sound of the rain. It was strange but I realized I had become very conscious of sound, sounds that I had never before noticed had even existed. Something strange was going on. As I washed my hands after I was finished with my face, the extreme pain started to swell again like the shock of electricity running through the body. I sat down on the sofa and thought of sleeping but I was nowhere near to sleep. No, the truth was: I was afraid of sleeping. I know if I sleep now, terrible dreams are going to haunt me. In the half-dark room I lay wide awake, deep and heavy in breathing, almost painfully quiet, I was sweating heavily out of fear, a bead of sweat was slipping down along the curve of my back. It wasn't a hot day at all, it was my fear. I feel pathetically alone. I felt as if this loneliness would swallow me whole. In the quiet of the night I was listening to sounds, I felt people standing outside waiting for me, they were cursing me, they wanted to punish me. They were saying I am a murderer. No, I am no murderer. The man hadn't died. He was breathing still. I am no murderer, I repeated to myself over and over again. I feel like I would end up mad today. I tried to calm myself down. I took a long deep breath. I thought about Athiya : her long hair strikingly shining in the morning light, her wide-set deep black, shining eyes, her thoughtful expression, her regular oval-shaped face, this imaginary Athiya felt more real than the one I had been living with for the last six years. Yes, six years had passed since our marriage, six years ago I had left my country home for her. Only for her I was there in that big unknown city. I try to recall the faces of my parents - my father and mother. I failed. I only succeed in forming an outline of my mother's face. Then, with turns I tried to remember faces of each and every member, even friends but I failed again and again, the only figure I succeed to make at last was that of our pet dog - his long sleek body, his long calm face, his pointed sharp ears, his pale - white colored body, his light nonchalant movement of legs. I remembered him with such sheer detail yet while I was there I had never paid attention to his existence. And why only he? Where is everyone? How could I forget something like this? Anxious and irritated, I pressed both my palms to full force, but there was something between them. It was the hockey stick back in my hand. Why, Athiya, Why did you go away? What had gotten into you so suddenly? What was the reason? Why had you said not to follow you? Why did you want to disappear? Was I that bad or even bad at all? Somebody please tell me. Somebody please answer my questions. I looked at the black screen of my phone. I wanted to talk to someone. I wanted someone to talk to me. I continued to stare at the phone. Call me, somebody, please, anybody - even if it was some wrong number; I don't care. It could be the most useless talk, most filthy, most disgusting. That didn't matter. I just wanted someone to talk to me. 

Hours had passed or it appeared to be so, but no one called me. The dark room grew louder and louder, the eyes of people staring from outside the room grew from some to many. I felt like someone was there in the far corner of the room, lurking in the dark, he had a sharp-looking knife in his hand. “Who is there?” I wanted to shout. But the voice didn't come out. He came out in light, revealing only half his face, he was the same man I had hit before. He lifted the knife, the blade catching the light glimmered like a star. I wanted to move, but my body had sunk deep into the sofa. I felt like I was going to disappear. I was going to be hit by that man. 

But that man didn't come to me, instead he turned the knife downward and stabbed himself, and started laughing hysterically, the blood gushing out of him, forming a dark red stream on the floor. I wished I would be deaf but I can't. He continued to stab himself. All the while he was stabbing himself, he was laughing hysterically as before. His laughter was reverberating in the hollow darkness like some demonic laughter. Soon, he fell on the floor, unmoved. He was dead. At that point I woke up. 

I was asleep for a time. I was confused, fear was overtaking me. For a while, I even lost hold of my own existence. I was shivering, my fingers were trembling vigorously. That instant, I made a decision. I need to run away from that place. I had to move, where - doesn't matter- it would be fine if it was far away from here.

I moved so quickly out of the room from the sofa on which I was lying as if I had gotten a new pair of young legs. But wait! I should be changing these clothes. Yes, clothes needed to be changed. 

I painstakingly took off my clothes, the shirt was all stained in dark red blotches of blood. My hands were trembling excessively the whole time. I carefully disposed of those clothes in the dustbin, and picked a fresh pair of pants and shirt - another of my office dress - out of the whole lot, Athiya's clothes were still there along with mine. My eyes fell accidentally on the hockey stick (it was hard to track when I was holding it in my hand and when I was throwing it away), I should take that with me, I thought. I took hold of the hockey stick firmly the same as before, now as I gave it a careful look I feel the sweat drenched handle of the firm sturdy stick, the edges of it were round and the whole stick was much sturdier than its look, it had been withered away from everywhere, it was rather short of a hockey stick, there were countless scratches, and blood stains were all over it, apparently not each one of it from today's scuffle.     Then this thought flashed in my mind - This man I had just hit maybe to death : he could be a dangerous mass murderer. I had killed just a psychopath. But had I? No, I hadn't killed some murderer even if he turned out to be one, I had killed a living human.

I didn't remember which pair of clothes I actually picked. I didn't even remember wearing them at all. All I remember was that as soon as I felt like I was out of those old clothes, I rushed out of the room. It was dark outside. The streets were alight with the pale street lights as before. Strangely there was no one to be seen in the street. I felt like I had been walking on an alien planet. I looked neither left nor right, I continued to walk straight. I had been maintaining my pace, neither too slow nor too fast, I was walking with an obvious non-suspicious pace. I felt my legs trembling inside the shoes, but I made every effort not to flinch. I should have to avoid every suspicion. I didn't want people to notice me with my unnatural pace. 

I didn't notice before but I was wearing a pair of sunglasses as well. And the cricket kit was around my waist - the hockey stick inside it. Realizing the hockey stick was with me I felt the confidence returning back to my legs. I continued to turn corners after corners, I had no idea at which place I was at or where I was going or for how many hours I was walking. All I knew was that I was walking down the endless labyrinth, and a hockey stick was with me in the cricket kit on my back. 

As I turned yet another corner I felt there was someone behind me, someone was following me. My heart started pacing fast, my breath went shallow. What should I do? Should I run fast? No, just pretend everything is normal. Continue to walk at the same pace as before. Don't give him any clue of suspicion. I continue to go down unknown paths, to unknown corners. All alighted from pale yellow street lights, all deserted, had no presence of people. But the steps never ceased to buzz behind me, they were still following me. He was still following me. Who was he? That man? No, he was dead. How could he be? 

I took another turn around a corner. But this time, it led me to someplace different than before. It was dark here. The buildings seemed worn out in time. It felt like some place forgotten in that big city. I saw a newly constructed building some four buildings away. I gave a quick glance behind, the steps hadn't caught me to the street's end. I was out of his sight. He was probably around the corner. That's my chance. I ran, and went inside the building. I went to the first floor and hid myself behind a pillar, the hockey stick was already in my hand, the handle of it was soaked in sweat, the sweat from my palm, the sweat of fear. 

It was after a while I noticed footsteps approaching towards me. I tightened my grip on the stick. I listened to the footsteps closely. They were approaching me slowly. Now is my chance, I said. Through the darkness I moved my bat and hit that man. My arms had gotten weak from the attacks before, so it took me a while to make a second move. The second move hit the man this time even harder. However, before I recoiled from the second attack’s impact and took to the next one the man started kicking me hard. The first kick he landed straight on my face. I screamed. But he continued to hit me and soon I was down on the floor writhing in extreme pain.  

The man did stop for a while, but soon he started to hit me again, this time with the hockey stick, he hit the stick into my ribs, then into my guts, after that on my face, and all I could do is wait him to stop, but when he did stop, I felt he shouldn't. This pain - I deserved it. Athiya had left me, I had left my family, I was jobless, and then I had killed a man. I was pathetic. I was terrible my whole life. I deserved it. I didn't deserve to live. I want to die. I laughed. That made him mad. He came back and started punching me, but this time I didn't feel the pain, I felt the ecstasy of death marching towards me. Yes, I want to die. I laughed to the top of my lungs, even my broken ribs buzzed with those forceful laughs. And with every laugh the man was hitting harder than before. But I know I deserved it. I continued to laugh, even stronger than before. If I died it would be a proper death. A justified death. Soon, all I could see was red and soon afterwards it was all black.    

A Story by Sagar Sharma