When God's High

 

3 am. The train was on time. Not more than a dozen people got off the train at the village-station and fewer got in. Reluctant, uncertain, irritated travellers. It was early March, a day or two after the festival of Holi when winter is expected to give way to summer. The festivities were over but the stock of liquor and bhang was far from depleted, or so it seemed from the sickly body odour of the thin crowd there who were conveniently oblivious to that and the nauseating stink of train toilets and filth all around.

Late winter chill lingered, promising to leave with morning light, and a dense fog hung around. The passengers drifted through, like ghosts walking on air, visible one moment, gone the next. The platform emptied leaving behind the drooping figure of the station-master leaning against a pillar and a porter shrouded in a shawl lying sprawled on a bench in drunken stupor.

Outside the station, the village was dark. Gypsies huddled around weak fires in makeshift camps close to the railway tracks. Rats, pigs and an insomniac dog ignored the new arrivals, and rummaged in the garbage dumps that lined the muddy road from the station. A man and two ladies, carrying backpacks and an affluent non-malodorous air, took slow careful steps through the slush to the bus depot nearby. Three rough-looking young men who had come on the same train silently trailed behind them. The depot was empty but for a jeep parked at the entrance, beneath the lone street-lamp on that road. A boy stood guard, leaning sleepily against the jeep’s front.

‘Looks like the same old jeep,’ Mini, one of the ladies in the first group, remarked. She added, ‘Twenty years and nothing has changed. The same muddy road, the same rubbish too, I suppose, just this wreck on this route, not a taxi, not even a bloody bus.’

‘It’s called old world charm,’ Srikant, her husband, said. They were too tired to laugh, or even smirk. He asked the boy, ‘Is the jeep going to the Campus?’ referring to a neighbouring village, about thirty kilometres from the depot, home to an elite private college and little else. They were headed there for an old students’ get-together to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of their graduation.

The boy perked up, spotting a possible tip. He nodded and replied, ‘Driver will come now, sir.’ His tone made it sound as if the jeep was meant only for them, with him as chauffeur.

The three young men who had followed approached the jeep. One of them asked the boy roughly, ‘Where’s he gone? Screwing or drinking?’

The boy raised a finger, then another, to indicate a call of nature, and followed it with a shrug.

The young man mouthed an expletive. He and his two companions carried little. They looked like daily-wage labourers returning from the city – tall, tough, unkempt, inebriated, cold blood-shot eyes staring malevolently – and their leader, the one who spoke, seemed particularly mean and wild. They stood reclining against the side of the jeep, sharing a cigarette. They stared at the ladies in the first group, lecherously eyeing them, ignoring the challenging look of their male companion. They then shifted their gaze to a poor couple squatting nearby. The young lady’s sari covered her head and most of her face. She could not have been more than twenty. Her dusky slim limbs contrasted with her full pregnant belly that appeared to glow in the dim light. The scrawny, balding middle-aged man beside her looked old enough to be her father but her demure or nervous posture indicated otherwise. He focused on peeling an apple with a dangerously long pocket-knife. He carefully sliced the apple into thin pieces and shared it with the woman. The man kept his eyes averted from the gawking young men, but his tension was visible in the jerky motions of the sharp blade. The first group moved towards the front of the jeep, to the side away from the uncouth men.

Srikant muttered, ‘Whose idea was it to relive the past?’

‘Yours, Shree, and if you weren’t my husband, I would have murdered you, quite happily,’ said Mini.

‘That explains why I wanted to relive the past,’ he muttered. His wife laughed too heartily and aimed a mock punch at his stomach.

Their companion, Lila, remained silent sporting a distant polite smile. Not for the first time during the trip, she wondered why Mini had her arm constantly, possessively, around her husband’s waist or hooked to his arm. There was something about her friends that puzzled her.

By then, they had been together for ten hours. From the airport, they had gone to a hotel to relax, refresh and dine before enduring the tortuous six-hour trip in the jam-packed night train. Meeting for the first time in twenty years, and with their history, Lila had expected the frisson of nervous excitement at the start. But, that had quickly petered out to a wary worry. She tried to make light of it, blaming oversensitivity or excessive introspection.

 She noted that her friends had matured well. Srikant’s wiry built complemented his average height. A rather grating cocksure attitude had replaced the diffidence of college days, with salt-and-pepper hair and laughter lines serving to emphasize that. His wife too exuded the confidence of a successful professional. Mini was graceful and beautiful in a traditional mould. Her body showed an inclination to be pear-shaped. Lila got the impression Mini flaunted that, not in some carefree way but as a requisite feature of a much-harried superwoman – a wife, a mother of two, a professional and many other virtuous roles all-in-one. She had not missed Mini’s loud praise, or sly poke, when they received her at the city airport, ‘You look lovely, Lila – only the unmarried can be so, right, Shree?’ Lila had also noticed that Srikant had taken that as permission to give her a full-body survey.

Lila was tall, attractive and looked much younger than her forty two years. Her voluptuous but well-toned body and her clothes – Burberry biker jacket, white t-shirt clinging to her curves and faded blue jeans that highlighted her long legs and strong thighs – exhibited a careless care.

When the organizers of the get-together contacted her six months earlier, she had at first tried to slime out of it with lame excuses, having little interest in meeting any of that old crowd. Then, out of the blue, she received an e-mail from Mini, their first communication since graduation. Soon after, Srikant joined their convivial chat sessions. The couple coaxed her to change her mind about attending the get-together. The three coordinated their itinerary so as to travel together in the last leg of the onward journey. Srikant suggested the night train, ‘to make the trip seem like old college days’. Lila had not been comfortable with that part, well-aware and quite scared of the rising number of crimes against women in recent times, particularly in the area of their travel. She had suggested a hired car but then, without much resistance, she had given in to the exuberance of her old friends to use cheap public transport, ‘to be students’.

Mini and Srikant were her best friends in college. They shared her ideals in those late teen years, rebellious if not revolutionary as they liked to think. Knowing that they came from conservative families quite unlike her own liberal background, Lila, naively but sincerely, considered them to be bolder and braver than her. She saw in Srikant a shy, charming and smart chap. When he and Lila seemed to bond well intellectually, physical attraction followed and they became lovers. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Lila appeared more experienced or sure as far as those actions and desires were concerned. Maybe, he showed the first signs then of returning to his conservative fold. They split as a couple. And, he rebounded fast into the arms of Mini. Though Lila took their split with a liberal sprinkling of stoic sangfroid, the latter action on his part seemed like a needless application of salt to her bruised and bleeding heart or ego or wherever. Anyway, that sequence of events ended the trio’s friendship immediately. In their final year in college, it was Mini’s vehement hostility towards her rather than Srikant’s sheepish avoidance that puzzled Lila. But she moved on, attributing the antagonism to some facet of sexual politics hardly worth her time or understanding.

In the train, or quite possibly even earlier at the hotel, the old bewilderment returned to haunt Lila when close proximity revealed all that was hidden during their online chats. She was not really surprised that her old friends had gone back to their self-serving and polarizing ultra-conservative fold. She had not expected them to stick to the left-leaning ideals that seemed fashionable in their youth, having embraced carefree and laissez faire principles herself, even to the extent of applying it to her emotional life. But she still retained a fierce independent spirit and undying belief in equality. Her two companions differed with her most, and irreparably, in that respect. She felt no attachment towards the couple and wondered why Mini had contacted her. In addition, she found Srikant’s attentions, which had been just cloying initially, irritating. He had assumed excessive familiarity right from the start, during their online chat sessions. She had taken that lightly as an affectation common amongst suave idiots in the virtual world. Then, in the train, Lila felt that he stood too close for comfort. Packed like sardine as they were, she still allowed him the benefit of doubt.

In that bus depot, there were more pressing and worrisome dangers. The driver appeared tottering out of a dark corner, with shirt front raised and tucked beneath his chin, fumbling with a belt and at the same time holding up his dirty loose pants. He was a thin man, of thirty or so, with a premature stoop, as unkempt as the young men or worse, reeking of liquor and that did not seem to be the only sedative stuff within him. Those gathered there, including the boy, watched the spectacle without a word, and none tried to hurry him or even go close to him. When he got to the jeep, the boy stepped aside holding out a bottle of water. The driver ignored that and wearily leaned against the jeep, facing the direction from which he had appeared, staring at the darkness with emotionless dopey eyes.

After a while, he shouted at the dark, ‘Oye, come fast...’

For some reason, he found that funny, started laughing and continued to laugh like a stuck record.

A few minutes later, two people stepped out of the darkness. A big burly man led the way and a plump woman sashayed behind him. Her business there seemed obvious from the red lipstick and, the tight and revealing salwar beneath a loosely wrapped shawl. She was fair, buxom, sprightly and attractive, a wild tempestuous sort or maybe the bravado was derived from the presence of the big man. But it must be the taunting, teasing smile in her dark kohl-lined eyes and full mouth with that bee-stung pout that ensnared.

The driver was still in the throes of continuing laughter, most definitely an after-effect of bhang. The big man went up to the driver and gave him a sound slap. ‘Bloody fool,’ the big man said. He took the bottle from the boy and poured the water over the driver’s head. That stopped the laughter and started a stream of expletives. The driver received another loud slap. That finally produced the right effect and silenced the driver though he didn’t look any less dopey.

The big man addressed the woman with him, ‘Get in behind.’

He seemed to be the manager or owner of the jeep. The boy held the tailgate and helped the woman climb in. She patted the boy’s cheek. He returned a smile, embarrassed and pleased. She reached within her plunging décolletage to pluck out a crumpled note and handed it over to the boy. The boy looked at the big man who had been watching them with a frown. The big man gave an exasperated look, raised his eyebrows and shrugged, before nodding. The boy accepted the money.

The driver mumbled something.

The big man asked, ‘What?’

The driver asked, with a slow slurred drawl, ‘Where should I drop her?’

The man replied, ‘Outside the village, before the Campus. Watch out for those police rascals, they will swoop in like vultures.’

Then, he looked at the groups of customers around the jeep. He told the middle-aged man and his pregnant wife to share the seat with the woman.

The pregnant woman hesitated, reluctant to sit beside the other woman. Her husband stepped forward, as if offering to take that place, but his wife stopped him. Someone laughed, possibly one of the young men. The lady carefully climbed onto the back-seat of the jeep and her husband followed. Though the seat was cramped, the couple managed to keep their distance from the prostitute.

The big man then addressed the three young men, ‘You three get in the back too.’

That got an immediate response, from their leader, ‘We will sit in front. We are not sitting with those scavengers.’ He pointed at the middle-aged man and his wife.

The big man muttered an expletive, shook his head, and then decided to try his luck with Srikant and his group. But, before he could ask or order, Srikant said firmly, ‘We are sitting in the front.’ Lila wondered if she was the only one there who could not make out whether the reluctance to sit in the back was based on class or caste.

The big man turned back to the young men and snarled, ‘Get in if you want to go.’ He kept staring at the young men for a long while, and the glare seemed to say, ‘If you touch my woman, I will skin you alive.’

The leader of the young men returned a menacing look. His companions looked as angry as him. But the big man did not back down. They looked as charming as wild dogs fighting over a prey’s carcass. The young men climbed in and took the seat opposite the other three. The tension there was palpable and festering. The boy closed the tailgate with the six tightly packed there.

Srikant sat beside the driver. Mini entered next. She sat forward on the seat, making space for Lila at the outer edge. The jeep had no doors in front. Lila sat precariously, with both hands gripping the grab handle on the dash.

The jeep started with a jerk, and moved forward slowly on the muddy path. As soon as the village was behind them, the tension within started to boil over. The leader of the young men, who sat behind the driver, raised one leg and placed it on the space between the pregnant lady and the prostitute. His foot moved against the latter, tracing a line from the upper thigh to the knee. The prostitute responded with an expletive. She tried a threat with something nasty and bestial that the big man would do to them. The young man gave a loud smirk. He leaned forward, one arm resting on his knee and the other hand dangling free near the feet of the prostitute and then moving up her legs. His companions leaned forward too, towards the pregnant lady. The middle-aged man took out an apple and his pocket knife, once again peeling with the dangerous blade. 

Meanwhile, on the front seat, Mini had dozed off with her head on the arm resting on her knees. The other arm held onto her husband’s legs. She seemed to be the only one untroubled by the situation. Lila held on knowing that she would fall out of the jeep if she lost her balance or her grip on the dash. Her arms were stretched taut. She stared ahead, seeing little through the thick fog, trying to ignore all that was happening in the back of the jeep. Srikant had one arm behind the driver and the other towards Lila.

‘You ok?’ he asked Lila.

‘Hanging on,’ Lila replied with a mirthless smile. That vanished when Srikant held her shoulder and said, ‘Don’t worry, I will hold you.’

She thought of telling him not to bother but another tirade of abuse from the prostitute aimed at the obnoxious young man interrupted her. Lila and Srikant turned to see. The situation was getting out of hand over there. The prostitute had slapped the leader of the young man, and he nursed a scratch on his cheek, snarling abuse at the woman. His companions, who had briefly joined in, leaned back, away from the blade of the middle-aged man whose actions seemed to get jerkier and more nervous by the minute. The pregnant lady cowered against her husband’s back. Srikant watched the scene with a smile. Lila turned back, breathing deeply. She felt Srikant’s hands slip from the shoulder to hold her tightly below, near the armpit, close to her breast. She felt like slapping too, and barely managed to hold back the swear words that begged to come out. She stared at Mini who slept without a care. She wondered if Mini would even back her if she protested. She thought about what she should do, what she could do. Murder seemed almost certain in that jeep, one case in front and a few in the back.

That is when the jeep lurched dangerously off the road, off the tar and onto the sand, nearly veering into a pit. Everyone, except the sleeping Mini, screamed or shouted. The driver had dozed off, with his head resting peacefully on the steering wheel. Srikant reached for the wheel and managed to steady the jeep. Fortunately, the jeep had been going slow. The young man sitting behind the driver gave the latter a loud whack on the back. The driver woke up, but only barely. Srikant and the young man took turns to keep him awake with sharp nudges and loud abuse. The jeep trudged forward slowly, through the thick fog, swaying from one side of the road to the other, often off the road too, moving like an elephant after snacking on vats of local toddy. The pregnant lady vomited first, lying over her husband’s lap. She was joined by one of the young men. The earlier tension gave way to the danger of never ever reaching their destination, their life in the hands of a dopey idiot hanging onto the steering wheel without any clue about what he was supposed to do with it.

It took two hours to cover the thirty kilometres. The prostitute was dropped off a kilometre from the final destination. Not a word came from the young men in the back. They looked visibly shaken. She disappeared fast into the dark.

At the gates of the Campus, the jeep stopped. The three young men slipped away quickly on seeing two policemen approach the jeep. The middle-aged man and his wife got off and sat on the ground. He held his wife’s arm and asked her if she was fine. She gave him a weak smile and nodded. The three old-students climbed down. Mini looked pleased after the quick nap and once again hooked her arm around her husband’s waist. Lila stood away from the couple, taking in deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves.

She watched the policemen approach the driver who sat slouched over the steering wheel. ‘They must have got his stink,’ she thought, ‘if they are not drunk too.’ They handled the driver like a ragdoll, dragging him out of the jeep, dumping him on the ground, berating and slapping him loudly.

Lila was not the religious kind but, at that moment, she thought a prayer was due, thanking God or the driver for that lousy jeep ride. She did not even want to think about what would have happened in that jeep if the driver had not been high.

‘You saved us from the precipice of disaster,’ she muttered to herself, searching for words appropriate for a prayer, ‘well, with your help, we are just a little shaken and stirred, and not thoroughly fucked.’ She censored herself, before continuing, ‘Well, look at what you get for that.’

The policemen stood over the driver’s prone body, giving him an occasional kick. He lay there, thrashed, senseless, moaning, laughing.