I hardly slept after the incident. Whenever sleep begins to settle in my eyes, a man drenched in blood rushes toward me, pointing a finger and shouting, ‘You also ganged up with them.’ When I try to drive away the delusion, it becomes sharper still wanting to hunt me down.

To tell the truth, I have no idea what role I played in this incident. I didn’t say that he deserved to be killed. And I haven’t abetted his killing either. Not only that, I was patently opposed to it. Nonetheless, why do drops of blood spurt towards me? The police had questioned me inside out. But  they could not find even a shred of evidence against me. And I had not hesitated to publicly express my reservations about the incident.

Suddenly somebody started to correct me from within. See, there is no point in trying to save yourself from your involvement in this like some Pilate. It was you, who kept him company as his trusted confidant, and later became his Judas. It was you who betrayed him. Could Prasannan’s killers have identified him had you not given your daughter’s wedding invitation to him on the public road in broad daylight that day? Would he have been killed on the public road then?

You could absolve yourself of guilt saying someone else would have done it anyway, if it were not you. But, will you be able to justify yourself on the strength of that lame excuse? Can you evade responsibility saying ‘I have no role in the blood spilt’? That voice was a slap on my cheek, as it were. Whose voice was it? And where was it from? I looked around, stunned. I could not see anybody. All I saw around me was just boiling emptiness. The serious crime you are accusing me of is something I have neither desired nor supported in any way.  I believed that eliminating an individual has no role to play in politics was essential at that point of time. I had expressed my opposition when it was discussed in the committee for the first time. Although he committed a wrong deed, it should not be forgotten that he had stood with us once. So, we should let go of him. He might come back rueing the mistake once he realises it.

But, what you said was that it was sort of festering cancer. If it is not excised at the right time, it might endanger life itself. The eye will still get hurt even if it is pricked with a needle of gold. Will not a coconut tree abundant with bunches of coconut be cut if it leans against the roof of the house? This may be thought of as something similar to this. We gave so many chances for him to make a comeback. His coming back into the fold of the party was something we too wished for. However, taking on the mantle of an ideologue, wasn’t he cutting the very branch on which he himself was sitting? Turning down our requests, he was destroying his own paths. Not only that, did he not inject poison into our rank and file? Will those who have set aside their lives for the sake of our organisation be kind to him like you? Will we be able to dam up their moral outbursts? You have neither seen nor heard anything. You will be better off sitting like a cat with its eyes shut. Isn’t your daughter’s wedding coming? Aren’t you inviting him? No. How can I invite him? He whom we all see as our enemy? I just cannot do that; I am loyal to the party. Is it necessary that you think along these lines? Are you inviting anyone and everyone to your daughter’s wedding? But then, will he still be a beloved of your wife and daughter.  All the same, we will have to consider the humanitarian side of the matter also.  Let him come, too. You must invite him, indeed.

In case he doesn’t come even if invited?

Oh, no. There’s no chance of it happening. He is a gentleman. He will definitely come. You must give him the invitation in the presence of four people. That  you should do. That’s all.

I gave him the wedding invitation. I stopped him on the public road while he was travelling on his motorbike and  gave him the invitation. He had his eyes fixed on me for a moment as if he was dazed. Then his eyes were filled with tears. The groan of a suppressed sob somehow escaped from his throat. He hugged me. I too could not control myself. Suppressed emotions gushed out bursting open a dam of polluted water as it were.

He sobbed. Deva, I thought that you would not invite me to the wedding.

Can I but not invite you? We grew up playing and studying together. We worked hard for the party scouring through both wilderness and countryside alike. We were both subject to inhuman torture by the police. We went to jail for the party.  Although you have taken on the role of the enemy now, how can I forget you who were once an inseparable part of me? The first lesson that we learn is that the party is above the individual. Being separated from a comrade feels like losing a part of myself.  But, I had to do this severing as it was inevitable. I had to publicly announce certain truths although they were unpleasant to many. Remember you were also with me once. But, in the end everybody turned against me; even you. At last I had to seek out a refuge for my own safety. I am sorry that was against the interests of the party nurtured with the blood of many. But, what else could I do? We need not discuss those things now. The party has also permitted me to invite you to the wedding. You must attend my daughter’s wedding. Sathi and daughter Reshma will be expecting your arrival.

Was he shocked to hear that the party had given me permission to invite him? Or was it just make-believe? Without paying much attention to it, he said, ‘can I not but come to the wedding even if I’m not invited? I have umpteen times allayed my hunger with the rice gruel given by Deedi, haven’t I?’

He leaned over my shoulder and sobbed.

Oh, no. Don’t cry. If someone happens to notice this, they will fabricate stories out of it. We have gone our separate ways and are on the opposing sides now. Let it be so.

It was just then that I noticed that a car with tinted windows had been standing there. When I drew closer to it to see who the occupants were, it sped away screeching. May be they were  spies sent by the party to watch over us. Although it was through laughter that Prasannan had said those words, I couldn’t actually laugh it off. Certain portentous thoughts hung heavy on my mind.

It took me less than a day to realize that I was unknowingly making way for his elimination, becoming  a Judas to my beloved friend without even  being aware of it myself. I lacked the courage to see him, even after hearing that his body had been hacked to pieces and left on the public road. It even crossed my mind that I might be the one lying dead in the muddy water, soaked in blood, on that rain-soaked night. When Sathi looked at me with her piercing eyes and when my daughter burst into tears like a little child, I was burning inside stricken with remorse and a sense of guilt.

I unfolded my fist and looked at it. It was drenched in blood; the blood that refused to wash away, despite repeated washing. I opened out my hands before Sathi. Look, how did they get drenched in blood? How would they remain clean of blood? She said, scornfully. Now go and get them washed with perfumed toilet soap.

I lost my sleep. When sleep begins to settle in my eyes, it crosses my mind like somebody sobbing, clutching on my shoulders. I can hardly realize who it is. He has his head covered up with a piece of cloth. Two eyes alone shone brightly from under the bandaged head. I felt that they were burning with anger and abhorrence towards me not to mention the overall look of them laced with sympathy.

The house of the murdered comrade was something of a scene. His young wife, who is hardly twenty five years old, lay on the dusty floor rolling over it and crying aloud out in uncontrollable grief. Their child, a six-month old boy, lay on its back, throwing its tiny fists playfully into the air lisping ‘Papa,’ ‘Papa.’ And then there was the vast sea of pain and sorrow that one could see on the faces of the aged parents of the dead comrade.  

As I remember them, sleep takes to its heels from my eyes. What has happened to you? My friends are asking me. Where have your  agility and enthusiasm disappeared? Why have your eyes plummeted into those pits? I did not have answers to any of those queries. The leaders are asking me, ‘you were the one who stood firm in the face of adversities, weren’t you? Why are you wavering like this now?’ I can see the pointed stakes of doubts and accusations coming toward me even if I keep my eyes shut. Hiding behind me, some people are talking among themselves in a hushed voice. I, who was a respectable person until just now, am being crushed under heavy boots. Somebody is just reminding me. ‘O friend, don’t waver like this. Doing one’s work without expecting any reward is what even The Gita demands of a person. Righteousness can be a casualty when great wars are fought. Victory should be what we ultimately hope for? Yet, without being able to justify myself, my mind is getting agitated. It continues to pain me like food gone undigested or like a fishbone caught in the throat.

Now, my friends dodge me whenever we cross paths. My enemies see me as the most despicable man on the earth. I am bound to stand with my head bent like a criminal before my wife and daughter. Is doubt eyeing me also stealthily? Is this tree also leaning against the roof? One day at night I was going in a hurry on my motorbike to see a friend of mine. Rain was still falling after it had rained torrentially a while ago. There were puddles of water here and there on the road. All of a sudden dazzling light from an approaching SUV Scorpion blinded me. I became oblivious of the time and space I was in. I heard the sound of some people rushing out of the car opening the doors. Even in my fading vision, I could see the brilliantly sharp edge of a sword coming toward my throat. Suddenly light from the headlamps of another car filled the atmosphere and they all jumped back into the Scorpion and sped away at great speed.

I lay there on the road bathed in blood.

The car that came later screeched to a stop. Someone, whose head was all covered, took me up in his arms and lay me inside the car. I knew even in that dazed state that the car was going at breakneck speed. I could not guess where they were taking me to. Was it to kill me or take me  up that they were taking me?

Suddenly, the car came to a stop. From the glowing lights and the people hurrying in and out, I realized we had arrived at a hospital. As they left after admitting me, I caught a fleeting glimpse of one of their faces through my blurred vision. What shocked me were the scars on his face—scars I recognized all too well. My body trembled with fear. Could it really be him? Before I could make sense of it, I drifted into a deep slumber.

Also, read Translation as Navigation between Languages and Cultures: Critically Reading Abdourahman A. Waberi’s ‘Naming the Dawn’ translated by Nancy Naomi Carlson by Oudarjya Pramanik, published in The Antonym.

Translation as Navigation between Languages and Cultures: Critically Reading Abdourahman A. Waberi’s ‘Naming the Dawn’ translated by Nancy Naomi Carlson — Oudarjya Pramanik

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