Laathi
Word Count: 3,528
“Viewers, welcome to primetime”, announces the excited host. “In the light of recent events of police brutality, tonight we debate: Is police brutality a mere display of the power yielding capacity of the fascist regime that governs us or a series of unfortunate events surfacing as a byproduct of the unprecedented situations our police forces are operating under?”
A video plays on screen as he speaks. In the video, a constable is repeatedly striking a guy with his laathi 1. The person capturing the video threatens to make it viral, in response to which the constable yells ‘Accha… then do tag some celebrity in it’ and lands another harsh blow at the guy. Blood spills out from his head. The video ends with another constable pulling him away from the guy.
“Let’s debate”
“Sun, I’m myself a head constable in the police force. One call and you’ll be…”, KK starts in a threatening tone, only to be interjected by the voice on the other side. He listens for a while and then suddenly shifts to a softer tone.
“Beta, give the phone back to that house owner of yours…”.
“Accha, but you listen to me. I’ll make all the arrangements—”
“How dare he’ll throw you out? Don’t worry. Give me some time”.
As the call disconnects, he taps the phone repeatedly on the armrest with agitation and then places it on the table with disappointment. He glances out of the window at the sunlit ground and feels the dust that the dry wind brings along. He cleans the sweat off his forehead, takes his mask off, picks the water bottle, and gulps down a mouthful of water.
“Take this one, sir. It’s hot today”, says Chandan Ram—his loyal junior constable at the Dhaula-Taakan chauki 2—handing him the chilled water bottle.
“You look tense, sir”, he adds.
“This corona, Chandan…!” pauses as he gulps down water, “I don’t know if this virus will kill me or its consequences”.
“Anyone unwell at home?” Chandan asks, concerned.
“No, no… My son stays in Dilli. I sent him last year—after he cleared the 10th board—to prepare for competitive exams. His schooling, tuition, everything is arranged there. I had thought, what future will he have in this small town”. He pauses, looks around, observes the deserted road and his vacant chauki, then resumes, “How would I have known, that in one-year, the whole world’s future will be in danger? His lodging and food costs around 7,000 rupees per month. Now his building owner is asking everyone to either pay for three months in advance—that too at 1.5 times rate—or pack bags and get going. For this, he has given only one day. If the situation would’ve been normal, I would’ve beaten the crap out of him”, he pauses and takes a huge gulp.
“But he cannot throw anyone out, sir. There are government orders”.
“In this lockdown era, we—police—are the government and we give the orders. And under our rule, the ones with power decide who lives and who leaves”, KK articulates with the smoothness of a learned phrase and puts the bottle down.
“That bastard bribed the local SI to not take any action. It’s my fault too. I had not sent him last month’s rent also. Baba’s operation was pending for long. I’d thought I’ll get it done, and afterward, with some arrangements and kharcha-paani 3, I’ll send two months’ money at once. Now, he’s asking for a total of 35,000. Where should I get all this money from? You know I’m already under debt. I have 10,000 savings with me, but the rest…? If only I can arrange 15,000 more, it will shut him for at least a month or two”.
“Don’t these people know how meager our salaries are? 35,000!” Chandan replies, rattled.
“The moment they see Khaki uniform, they assume that the person must be earning a lot of kharcha-paani. Who’ll tell them that there’s nothing in this bloody town to earn from. Whatever minor setups I’d made in these 18 years are already closed due to this lockdown”.
“It’s been 18 years for you in this chauki! You never asked for an urban posting?” Chandan asks with surprise.
“You’ve recently joined… I think that’s why you’re unaware. My first posting—18 years ago—was in Bada Bazaar thana 4. By mistake, I once questioned one of MLA’s special guests at the security check. Since then, I’m here”.
“And you never attempted to get transferred back?” Chandan asks curiously.
“Now you’re talking like a true fresh recruit”, KK mutters with a hollow laugh. "The charge for getting transferred to town is 15 lacs. Now with my salary, should I run a household, send my kid to school, get my father’s operation done, or afford a transfer? And even if I arrange that somehow, these names of ours”, he says pointing to his name tag, “they don’t let us escape”. He pauses and resumes with deep resentment, “People identify our department with this laathi. They see this as a weapon we wield. They don’t know that it’s a double-edged sword. It hurts us as much as it hurts them”.
Chandan takes a minute to recover from the frown filling his forehead. Then breaking the silence, he asks, “So, what’s the plan now?”
KK throws his hands in the air, “Sab Saab 5 bharose. I’ll request ASI saab to find some contact from that thana. We have our ‘Duty policemen fund’ also. Our Inspector saab—Mishra Ji—is himself the trusty. In the hour of need, he can release up to 20,000 from that. I’ll ask him. I’m sure he’ll help”.
Chandan nods.
“Head Constable, KK”, the walky-talky croaks.
“Ji janaab, KK here”.
“SP saab is on district round today. He might cross your area also. I don’t want any complaints. Keep the roads clear”.
“Ji Janaab”.
KK gets up from his place and stretches his arms.
“Get the bike, Chandan. I’m sure SP saab will cross the main square. Let’s keep the approaching roads clear.”
Chandan gets up and soon arrives on his bike. KK wears his mask, keeps his phone, holds his laathi, and climbs the pillion seat.
“Let’s go!”
“It’s all clear, sir. People are scared,” Chandan states as he takes a turn.
“Haan, appears to be the case—ASI saab said he’ll look for a contact. But, Inspector saab is not attending the call—Look, there…! Someone’s being adventurous,” KK points to the turn where a car is parked. It appears as if people are smoking inside.
“I’ve not seen this car here before. Appears to be some outsider,” Chandan speaks while driving towards the car. The driver notices them in the rear-view mirror but stays unmoved.
“People are dying but you want to smoke outside, haan? Where are you from? Come out of the car, quick!” KK orders while tapping his laathi on the wing-mirror.
“Not today, sirji. Today I’m in a peaceful mood,” the guy on the driving seat speaks in a mocking tone. The other guys burst in laughter.
“Come out! I’ll fix your mood in the chauki today,” Chandan shouts.
“Listen, you moron. We’re paarshad 6 J.L. Shukla’s guests. I’ll get you sorted in 5 minutes,” he asserts as the guy behind passes him the phone.
KK notices Chandan glaring at the guy. Before any of them could make a move, he prompts in a cheerfully sycophantic tone, “Are babu… there is no need for all this… How’s Shukla Ji doing?”
“Good, good…” pacified by his remark, he pulls out a 200 rupee note. “Get a cola for junior master also,” he adds, and they all laugh. “Because of you, we are stuck here. At least allow us to have some fun…”
Chandan glares at him, squarely violated. KK gladly accepts the money and adds, “Of course… Please do give my greetings to Shukla Ji.”
The guy nods.
“Move!” he taps Chandan’s shoulder and they leave.
“Chandan, in case of emergency, call the headquarters, if not, never mess with Shukla’s guys. For others, we are the law. For them, nothing more than pests.”
Chandan drives in silence.
“Drop me at my house. I’ll join you after lunch,” KK adds. “Meanwhile, let me drop a message to Inspector saab.”
KK paces outside his house as he awaits Chandan’s arrival. His threatening gait in sync with his annoyed expression.
“He stays out for 16-16 hours. Then comes home and throws the food aside. I don’t know what witchery they have performed that he does not even remember he’s got a family. His son is dying there in Dilli, and all he does is to roam around,” his wife laments from inside.
“Will you shut up or you want me to come?” he turns in a fit of rage, but noticing the attention from neighbors, controls himself.
“My uncle had selected a peon for me, but my father selected this man. My evil fate… First, serve him, then his father…” she continues unfazed.
KK spots Chandan at his lane’s turn. Chandan stops the bike and greets KK’s wife, “Ram-ram, Mataji!”
“Ram-ram, beta… You only give some sense to him…” she starts sobbing.
“Where are we going?” KK taps him on the shoulder, indicating him to start.
“A guy called from Seth 7 Daatadeen’s Dharamshala 8 saying there’s an emergency,” Chandan replies.
After a minute of silence, Chandan says, “Looks like everyone’s tense at home.” KK ignores and tries to remain stoic. Chandan nudges again, “Did Inspector or ASI saab called back?”
Hearing their names, KK loses his temper. “Nothing’s alright, Chandan. Nothing. ASI, Inspector, this whole system, they are all bloody savages. Waiting for opportunities to hunt and consume,” he pauses and spits on the road.
“That ASI—acts like some leader amongst us—couldn’t find one person in Dilli who could help me. And that Inspector—bastard—ate up all our money. I asked him if he could lend me money from the policemen fund, he tells me that SP has ordered to direct all the money to the PM-CARES fund. All our money, without asking any of us.”
“What!” Chandan jerks the bike to a halt.
“Yes, all of our money. You have contributed for what… 4 months? I was putting my share for the past 16 years,” his pitch aggressively increasing. “Even when my salary was half of what it is today, I used to put 200 in the fund, thinking one day this will come back. One day when I’ll be in need, my people will help me. And today, when my son is on the brink of being stranded on the roads of that ruthless city, that Inspector tells me that this is our contribution to the nation. The hell with this nation, its system, and all of us who are condemned to suffer here,” blood shoots up to his eyes.
“How can they?” Chandan murmurs in disbelief.
“Yes, how can they? Even I couldn’t control my anger. That’s what I yelled. How can you, sir? This isn’t fair. You know what that Mishra told me? ‘Keep your tone down. If you have a problem, go, file a complaint. Let’s see who takes your complaint during such times’. When I pleaded, that haraami said, ‘Post a video asking for help, KK. People are generous nowadays. Such videos easily go viral. If possible, tag a celebrity in it.’ For a moment, I couldn’t believe what he was saying. And before I could reply, he disconnected the call… My son messaged me that his building owner threw those boys out who couldn’t pay him within one day. That rat called my son a migrant. Should I send him a video? Or should I visit his house and pull his teeth out?” He realizes he’s at his loudest and pauses to gather breath.
“Are sir, please calm down. We’ll do something. Sir? Sir…?”
KK pulls the bottle out from Chandan’s pouch and drinks some water. Chandan, out of words, looks at him sympathetically. After a minute of silence, KK taps on his shoulder and gestures him to move.
In the forthcoming silence, they share moments of unspoken grief. KK silently places his hand on Chandan’s shoulder. In a few minutes, they reach the place of dispute.
As they move in the courtyard of Dharamshala, a young boy comes running with folded hands, “Saab, I’m the one who called. There are 16 of us—”
“Aye…! Keep distance, cover your face,” Chandan commands.
The boy follows and continues, “Sethji hadn’t paid us for two weeks. Then this lockdown got imposed. Since then, he was at least giving us food. But now, he’s asking us to arrange food by ourselves. We’re left with a total of only 4,000. We said we’ll leave for our village, but his men are not allowing us to take our belongings. This is our household, saab. Without this, how will we live? And if he won’t let us leave, what will we eat? Do something, saab…,” he finishes and starts weeping. Others also come around with folded hands. KK carefully examines the young boy. He realizes his son is of the same age as this guy. He feels uneasy and shifts his gaze to the other side.
“Shut up…!” Seth enters pushing the boy aside. “Ram-ram hawaladar saab!”
“Ram-ram! What’s happening, Sethji?” KK engages with the motive to distract himself.
“Saab, let me explain. Come… let’s have some chai-paani,” Seth urges them to come to the other side of the courtyard. They follow, but KK instructs, “No, no. Someday later.”
“Accha… Then let me directly address the matter. These people are from nearby villages. They came asking for work, so I employed them in my mill. Everyone in the town knows I gave them the cheapest stay possible. From the past two weeks, they were being fed on my money. Now suddenly they want to go back home. If the lockdown is lifted next week, where will I get my labor from? My investment will be wasted, right? So, I asked them to leave their stuff behind as a guarantee. Is it wrong?” Seth asks.
“These are tough times, Daatadeen. Let them stay until the lockdown is imposed, pay them their pending amount, and settle the matter. They’ll buy their food,” KK suggests with genuine concern.
“It’s not about the money, saab. It’s about control, pest control. These migrants… they enter our homes and infect them like pests. Then suddenly they decide to move to some other place to infect that. It is our Karma to keep them under control,” Seth explains. KK, fuming at his words, turns the other side. The young guy looks at him with folded hands.
“You keep this, saab,” Seth offers him a bundle of notes. “It’s 5,000. Leave these matters to me. I’ll make sure they don’t die,” he chuckles. KK turns to him with bloodshot eyes and grabs him by the collar,* “You’ll decide who’ll live and who’ll die…”* and starts pulling him towards the door, “Migrants, pests…? Come!”
Seth cries for help. His men hastily enter the courtyard. Chandan, stunned by KK’s move, stops him midway. “Sir, please leave him and listen to me.” He gets the Seth out of KK’s grip, “Please, sir… come with me.” And gets him to a corner. Seth freezes at the spot with shock. His men await his command.
“Sir, this is not the time to lose temper. We’ll have to live with Seth in this town only, right? Calm down…!” Chandan beseeches.
“But we cannot leave them. These are… our people.”
“Neither can we save them from misery, sir. But Seth’s proposal can save you from yours.”
KK looks at him dazed. His senses come to a halt as his gaze fixes at the young boy. Chandan moves and skillfully settles the matter. He comes back and pulls KK out of the courtyard. As they move out, he hands him the money. KK, bewildered by the sequence of events, silently puts them in his pocket. Chandan drops him at his house, “I’ll pick you in an hour, sir. Please take some rest,” and leaves. KK stands there, anchored, staring at the unknown.
“Chaliye, sir. SP saab might cross anytime now,” Chandan speaks brightly as KK climbs the bike.
“And don’t worry, sir. With my savings and some help from a friend, I’ve arranged around 4000. Tomorrow we can—”
KK interrupts, his manner stern, “That’s not needed. My brother arranged the remaining amount. I got all of it transferred to my son.”
“Waah! After all, in the hour of need, it’s the family that comes to rescue. They say—"
KK cuts in again, in a grave tone, “They say, one can run from his fate, but cannot escape it. My father used to take me along at work. He used to tell me that his work was our fate. I used to hate it. That work and everyone related to it. So, I tried my best to run. But I couldn’t escape my fate.”
Chandan, perplexed, finds himself at a loss of words and silently drives. They move through town’s empty lanes that appear haunting in the twilight. There’s silence all around. So silent, that the bike’s sound reverberates like mild explosions in the narrow lanes. The increasing race of explosions leading to develop into a deafening blast.
“Sir, see, that same car… these bastards are still out on the street,” Chandan stops the bike behind the car and approaches them. KK, as if in slumber, remains at the spot.
“SP saab is on round. We need the road clear,” he instructs the guy on driving seat.
“Chutiye… can’t you see we’re drinking?” he replies. The guy next to him flashes a beer bottle. Chandan looks at KK for a response. He remains unperturbed.
The guy looks at his badge and continues, “Saale chamaar 9, you think…” Thud! Before he could complete, the sound of Chandan’s vengeance echoes the empty lane with a tight slap. “Come out!” Chandan shouts.
“Aye…” the guy thrusts himself out and attempts to punch Chandan. Chandan gets hold of him and bangs him on the car.
“You’re messing with the wrong guy. You know who J.L. Shukla is?” the guy screams. Chandan ignores and lands another blow. “You do whatever you can. I’ll get you transferred to such a place that you’ll die rotting in filth. You swine, I’ll throw you back in the gutter that you’ve come out of.”
His words pierce KK like bullets. “Aye!” He propels out of slumber as a bullet out of a barrel. Before anyone registers, his hand clutches his laathi tighter than ever before, blood rushes to his head, he approaches them with animal-like rage, and pushing Chandan aside, he hits the guy at his knee with all the power he has. The guy cries in anguish and attempts to run. KK holds him from behind and bangs him on the car bonnet.
Chandan, startled by this explosion gathers his senses back. The other guy comes out of the car with his camera and flashlight on. He says pointing the camera at KK, “Stop right now! I’m live. If you don’t leave him, I’ll make sure this goes viral.”
KK pauses for a moment, tears fill his eyes, “Accha… then do tag some celebrity in it.” and strikes the guy at his head. Blood streams out and starts dripping down the bonnet. KK lifts his hand to make another blow, but Chandan quickly pulls him away, “Sir, stop, he’ll die…”
KK, still in a rage, manages to push Chandan aside and hits the laathi at the ground until it breaks. He bursts into tears and throws the remains aside. He wails and crashes to the ground. Chandan comes to his assistance and holds him, “Sir, are you alright? Sir?”
KK, still crying, says, “You know, Chandan. My family was in the profession of cleaning gutters. I used to hate that life. By getting in the police force, I’d thought that I escaped it. But no, I couldn’t escape the filth. I’d thought I’ll enable my son to move over this. I’d placed trust in this system. But this system failed me. You know who supported me? My brother—who still goes out to clean drains everyday—arranged money from the same people whom I denounced. And what did I do? I failed my people for 5,000 rupees, Chandan. I am all dirty, filled with filth. I couldn’t escape my fate. I cannot forget that young guy’s face.”
“Viewers, welcome to primetime. Today’s top story: The Prime Minister announces a package of 20 lac crores aimed at making the country self-reliant.”
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