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Poetry & Prose

The imbecile

by Harkaman | May 2006

Ladies and gentlemen, pardon me for disturbing you thus, but I have a matter of utmost gravity that I must draw your attention to. It is not something that, at these times of trouble, will lift your spirits and bring smiles to your melancholic faces, but, unfortunately, I have to admit that, just like I had to hold my breath for what seemed like eternity as tears rolled down my cheeks when I came to know about this, this is not going to be any better than when you heard about how a certain orphan, who asked for a little more soup, got a whole lot more than what he had asked for. And, I must also, with the same note of caution, warn you that while it was only yesterday that I came to know about this, I cannot be quite certain as to how, because my source seems to me to be as much a figment of my imagination as what I have to tell you. However, I am convinced that its very gravity demands that I convey this to you with utmost urgency, for, otherwise, I know not what misfortune shall befall on our lives.

So it is that on the occasion of having downed more tharra than what my dear mother, may her soul rest in peace, would have allowed of my father, may his soul also rest in peace, I laid passed out in a dank corner of a poorly-lit bhatti, apparently having falling off of my seat, when I was jerked back to my senses by a kuhire who was deliriously raving about something. How and when he got there, I have no idea, but as he sat at the only table in the bhatti, with the drunk and beet-red eyes of his audience around the table fixated on his battered face, I could slowly begin to make out words, and, to my surprise, Nepali too, that he was gasping out of his mouth.

"Daju-bhai-haru, I have sinned horribly against your country. I spat on your people's faces, made whores out of your women, and trampled on your gods. But, most of all, I tell you and I am of no consequence because of my heinous act, I have wronged your children. I have terribly wronged your children. I knew it. I knew it was wrong. But I still did it. I know I will be punished for this. Doesn't my bloodied face already tell you how deserving I am of your punishment? Pray, tell me. But, I tell you. I never planned for this to happen. I never asked for this to happen. I am a god-loving, law-fearing, and an honest citizen of humanity."

As I began stretching my legs to slowly bring myself to sit with my back resting against the damp stucco wall, I saw the sauni, indifferent to all that was happening around her, push a glass of
tharra towards the kuhire. The kuhire continued after he emptied his glass.

"It is not of any consequence that you should know my name or where I am from, but you can call me kuhire, for I know that is what your kind calls my kind. Well, this kuhire you have here sharing drinks with you is not deserving of your company. But, I tell you, I never planned for this to happen. When I first came to your desh I planned to stay here for a couple of days, because of you know the things happening in your desh. But days turned into weeks and weeks into months as I fell enamored by your desh. I couldn't leave. I loved everything about your desh. But, most of all, I fell in love with your women. First, it was the kind that you see early in the morning in the temples that you have so many of here. The kind that comes decked in their red saris, with flowers on their hair and tika on their forehead early in the morning to pray for their families and loved ones. But, as you all here should know and must know, those kinds do not reciprocate. How long can someone like me, tell me, go around wishing he were wrapped up in the arms of one these heavenly angels. My desire for your women knew no bounds. I tell you. But, my fair complexion failed to lure them. My words fell deaf on their ears. My language incomprehensible to them. So I strived to learn your language. Syllable by syllable, word by word, sentence by sentence, I learned your language. To what, I ask you. To no avail, I tell you. Daju-bhai-haru, tell me, what I should have done. My agony knew no bounds. And, so when someone offered me, I took all that I could get from her for a price. And, so began my love affair with your other kind of women. The kind that comes to life when the dust settles thick on your roads at night. And I loved them too. They were thick and plenty, pretty and wild. Some came from the west, some from the east, but most from some area north of here. And, these women, they too loved me. They loved my fair complexion. They loved me when I spoke in their words. They loved me with all their being."

"Saalay kuhire, go back to your freaking country and leave our women to us," someone yelled in his drunken stupor, to which I gave a chuckle.

"They loved me, I tell you. Well, until I found out that I had the disease. And they stopped loving me. They hated me. They didn't want me near them. They didn't want anything to do with me. One by one, I was asked to leave from their kothis. All of them. The whole lot of them. It hurts Daju-bhai-haru. It hurts when your women kick you out of their stinking kothis like you are an imbecile. The whole lot of them. I wasted two years of my life on them, the whole lot of them. I wasted all of my money on them, the whole lot of them. And this is what I got. I was mad, Daju-bhai-haru, mad with pain."

"Saalay kuhire, move a little away, I don't want your disease," someone else complained in his drunken stupor, to which I gave another chuckle.

"No you don't understand. This is not a disease that is easily contagious. But, that is of no consequence now, is it? I was kicked out by all of them. Tell me. Can you imagine? I am a god-loving, law-fearing, and an honest citizen of humanity. But, I turned mad with pain Daju-bhai-haru. So I went on a drinking rampage. I drank from the moment I opened I eyes till I passed out in some backstreet alley of this city. Can you imagine? For all my humility, for all my honesty, I turned into a street bum, you know. A street bum that your street urchins would throw rocks at when they were not peddling drugs to me or when I wasn't sniffing glue with them. These no good, low down, stinky kids would get me high in my inebriety and then throw rocks at me. How dare they? Their audacity! And then, your people! Your people would spit on my face, so I would spit back at them! Your gods in your temples that you have so many of here would laugh their silent laughs at me, so I went on and shat on their faces. But your kids, I could not get rid of them. The pests they are. The rocks kept coming and I kept hurting. So what did I do? Whenever I found one of these kids alone, I would grab them, take them to a dark corner of your backstreet alleys that you have so many of here, and gave them my disease. Yes. I gave them my disease. The imbeciles! Served them right. But, I tell you. I never planned for this to happen. I never wanted for this to happen. But I turned mad with pain Daju-bhai-haru."

Just then, someone pulled open the door curtain, and in entered a bunch of policemen in their hand-pressed uniforms, slapping their baton sticks on the palms of their hands.

"There is our fellow! The imbecile! Get him sipahi, and cuff him up! This drunkard of an imbecile here killed both of his parents while they slept in their beds and ran away."

So it is that I surrendered myself to them without putting up a fight. For, I know my guilt. And, as I was carried away from the bhatti, I could see the kuhire now holding his head on his hands while his elbows rested on the table. His audience kept looking at him in disbelief, drunk as ever, but the kuhire maintained his silence. And, as I thought about all the kids who are now sick with the disease that the imbecile of a kuhire gave them, I felt for the kids. I felt for their wasted lives and their suffering. And tears started rolling down my cheeks incessantly. Now, as I look back at the events of yesterday, I cannot say whether what transpired in the bhatti was merely my imagination. But, I had to let you know, ladies and gentlemen.

Comments

May 3rd, 2006

1 | MF:

I see.

May 3rd, 2006

2 | JBK:

Harkaman, I always thought you were a STRONGER character than what I just read, may be there is something catching up with you that I do not know, could not know; and I still do think that Harkman is a rock where people scratch their name.
When I went to Machu Picchu, I was surprised to see some elderly European tourists sob in the ruins, I believed they couldn’t bear the thought and loss of what was before the ruins.
It only surprised me, I did not bother to comprehend their tears, the ruins had their own grandeur. So do you Harkaman, you care too much.

May 3rd, 2006

3 | RealityCheck:

The dramatic effect/irony is totally lost on me. What did I miss?

May 5th, 2006

4 | Check-mate:

Who is the Imbicile?

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The imbecile

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