The Witch (Part 3): The Witch Hunt

A month passed. The meteorological department finally revoked their earlier announcement that the rains were due to a cyclonic disturbance in the Bay of Bengal and reluctantly accepted that the monsoon season was already half way through without them having realized it. The rain and thunderstorms continued. The ponds brimmed up to their banks and overflowed onto the streets. Street children went about collecting trapped fish from potholes when the waters receded. New life emerged through the cracks of the old building walls. Little plants penetrated through the layers of soil and surfaced out in search for air and sunlight. The trees were all lush green, the groves verdant. Tender grass shafts started to grow once again on tracks that had almost become barren under human footsteps. And all this while the sun and the clouds carried on their age old feud for dominance over the skies. On the turfs dragonflies hopped and their translucent wings shined with either the glitter of sun rays or the vibrant hues of the rainbow that appeared against the gray sky after a shower like an arched gateway to heaven. The dark monsoon clouds formed different shapes and on the roads one could often see parents of a petulant child trying to distract its attention from the roadside vendor’s ice-cream cones to the sky where bloated resemblances of rabbits, cows, dogs, cats and other imaginary beings of bedtime stories floated past silently. Raindrops drummed rhythmically and rolled down the slanted sides of fresh green leaves like shimmering, transparent pearl beads, and then coalesced to form rivulets that ran down the length of the veins and trickled off the tips, drop by drop, into small water puddles on the ground below as they reverberated with concentric ripples.

Mother earth was fertile again at this time of the year, governed by her regular cycles of seasons that got her the rains, the droughts, and her yearly fertility. And while life was blooming everywhere, Mala got the operation done to rid herself of the curse of fertility. A ‘small and happy family’, like the one on the red and white batch, is all she dreamed of. She knew that although the NGO lady would have supported her action, the slum-dwellers would despise her. Boorimashi had taken her to Doctor Munshi for the operation. The operation wasn’t a big worry for her but its consequences were. She wished that the NGO lady was there to help her out in explaining it to Nitai.

Lying on the hospital bed, she imagined how furious Nitai might get upon hearing it, how the vile and foul-mouthed women of her slum would scoff at her, and how the bigoted priest of the local Shiva temple would project the act as a sacrilege against nature and god and possibly recommend others to ostracizing her. She had prepared herself for all these slanders that she believed were to engulf her life, but it had not dawned on her that Boorimashi, her accomplice in this act, also stood in danger. Never in her dream had she thought that the slum-dwellers would turn against Boorimashi for encouraging the act.

After the operation, Mala returned from the hospital accompanied by Boorimashi on a day that started out as surprisingly sunny. On their way back from Doctor Munshi's hospital they passed by the sweet shop on Station Road which kindled in Boorimashi a slight desire for the sweets that she loved. Boorimashi decided to prepare a fresh batch of cow dung cakes that would afford her this little luxury. But later in the day when Boorimashi returned after pasting her cow dung cakes on the eastern wall, she found a mob surrounding her hut. Nitai was leading them. He had returned the day before and upon learning about the incident from neighbors, he felt cheated and humiliated. The tinge of sarcasm that he deciphered in his neighbors' voices made him feel as if his manhood had been mocked at by two women. His rage was so profound that he would have beaten Mala to death had her mother not arrived in time just as planned. Unable to teach Mala a lesson, Nitai's hatred turned towards Boorimashi. The local priest who had for long eyed the small plot of land on which Boorimashi's hut sat, instigated Nitai to defend his honor. 'Be prepared fully to wipe out an evil from the society if need be', advised the priest cunningly.

Nitai bellowed out loud with rage, ‘She is a witch. Today she took my wife for an operation without my knowledge, tomorrow she lure others into doing the same. Now my wife won’t be able to give birth anymore! This old hag wants every female to turn barren like herself!’ Blood throbbed in his temple and his eyes burned with anger.

An agitated female voice shouted out hoarsely, ‘Yes, she herself is barren and that’s why she is forcing others to do the operation. It must be her black-magic with which she convinced Mala to commit such a sin’. The priest agreed with a few nods and wisely added, 'Shameful! heinious act against the will of the Lord'.

Others cried, ‘She will kill all our children with her black-magic. Last week Shibu’s little child died suddenly after two days of illness….it also must be because of her black-magic. Old witch!’

‘Yes I had seen Shibu’s son playing near this old hag’s hut a few days before he died. I had seen her giving him biscuits. She must have poisoned him,’ concocted another bystander, surprised at the fecundity of his own imagination. ‘She is a danger to us all. She can’t be allowed to live in our slum!’ cried out the mob in unison.

They dragged Boorimashi out of her cottage and hit her with their sticks. Blood squirted out from her forehead. Her weak body wriggled on the ground, pleading for mercy. But nobody listened to her claims of innocence, nobody cared to believe that the operation was not her black-magic. Nobody heard Mala when she cried from her bed and yelled that what Boorimashi did was only on her request for help. The sight of blood had turned the men into wild beasts feasting on a weak prey. It became a macabre display of machoism for some, thrill for others. The children of the slum, naked and hungry, watched it all from a safe distance and took refuge behind their excited mothers who angrily shouted epithets at the old witch. The incessant blows on Boorimashi lasted till the revenge had been taken. The sinner had been punished. As the heads cooled down slowly, a sudden dismal feeling of shock, shame and worry overcame everyone. They began convincing themselves that it was not their fault, the rules of the society had been broken and the sinner had to be punished, the evil had to be wiped out from the slum.

An approaching police jeep’s siren was heard at a distance and everybody ran away. The men who had just bravely meted out justice turned into fugitives. The 'witch' lay dead in a pool of blood. Gentle rain drops that descended from the black monsoon clouds fell on Boorimashi’s body, but she didn’t grumble at them any longer. Her body lay on the street, still and cold. The clouds thundered overhead and flashed their swords. The black cat purred and leaped across the soggy alley. Mala wept in her bed, she lay weak and helpless as her mother sat by her, holfing her arm in an iron grip. The police made some cursory arrests, ransacked a few houses for goodies, nabbed a few innocent drunks from the local liquor shop and left the scene. Reporters scribbled furiously the mumblings of Pagla Khokon, a known madman in the slum, who having proclaimed himself as an eyewitness went on to provide them with a fictitious account of the event. The photographers clicked away at all angles to get the perfect shot of the dead. Their heads were busy searching for catchy titles for the news report. The municipal ambulance that collected the body made its way behind the police jeep, its siren rising feebly above the general din of the streets and the rumblings of the clouds overhead. And in the meantime the raindrops worked their way at softening the last batch of cow-dung cakes that carried the imprint of Boorimashi’s hand, erasing all signs of them from the old factory wall, steadily and stealthily.

THE END