Anirban took another peg of whisky from the waiter's tray while eyeing at Miss Jaiswal's magnificent cleavage like a dog watches it's meat being served, except that he knew he had to be satisfied with only the look. The last time he had looked such lecherously at Ria, she had resisted his advances with 'O God, you men will always be men.' Anirban had pulled her into his arms and whispered into her ear.'I'm not ogling at any other woman..I'm only looking at my wife..And I have licence for that'. 'And how many times would you watch your wife Mr. Husband ? It has been already more than a year since our marriage..is there anything left for you to see, since our Phulsojja ? Ria brought her lips close to Anirban 's ears and whispered back, the smell of the lipstick and her perfume driving him crazy.
'Everytime I look at you I discover something new..like on each green paddy's ear everyday, the uniquely fresh dew' Anirban kept persevering with his advances.' 'So, my husband has become a poet now..but then your poetry will have to wait Sir. We're already late', Ria broke away from Anirban's arms and headed for the washroom with a 'Shall be back in a couple of minutes, Shona.. Want to see you ready by then' Anirban relaxed on the sofa, took out a navy cut filter and lighted, sending rings of smoke before him. He knew very well the time a couple of minutes will stretch to and closed his eyes with the warm remembrances of last night, they had made love.
He felt the pangs of guilt descending down into his conscience, like the drinks into his throat. He took his eyes off her immediately. The party had been expectedly successful and everyone at the office had a blast. It was the commemoration of the new project they had won from the foreign client.. Food never stopped filling the platters, while wine continuously flowed into the glasses. The cacophony was built up by clinking of glasses, clattering of plates, loud conversations often broken by meaningless laughter, the tapping of women's high heels, and as if these were not enough loud DJ music was trying to blow away the eardrums. Anirban took to a corner and kept on drinking, oblivious to his surroundings and only returning smiles or just a word or two with his colleagues. His present state of mind could be easily sympathized by all and his bosses gave him the time to recover from the trauma.
As he came out of the toilet however, he found his legs shaking and vision hazy. Perhaps he had, had too much of wine. Even if his wife would not be at the office party with him, he certainly would've had to put brakes on his liquor intake. But what worried him now was how he would drive back home in that condition. Whenever he thought of his home, a two BHK flat in Gariahat, his eyes misted and the world turned black around him. It tortured him to realize that he had to open the lock himself, with no one to open the door for him now. He'd have to turn the lights and fans on to dispel the distressing darkness.. then he'd strain his ears for any sound of clanging of bangles and tinkling of anklets in vain..
As he started the ignition and looked beside him, it appeared she was sitting right there. He had told her many times to sit in the backseat but she won't listen. He remembered the times they had gone together to visit a relative, a short trip in the weekend or to the mall for shopping and movies. The last reminiscence made him restless and he pulled up the gear in fury, as his Honda City manuovred through the narrow bylane and clambered into the main road. The road wore a deserted look, as could be expected at 12:30 AM at night, with all shops to have pulled down their shutters, leaving illumination at the mercy of the street lights, all of which were not working, he found. A few cars rushed past, music from their stereos dissipating the silence of the night for a while.
He kept driving at fairly low speed, watching the trucks passing by him, the drivers seeking permission to overtake by a gesture of their hands..He occasionally looked in the rear mirror to check if any traffic sergeant is behind him. As a speeding car immediately catches the eye of these guardians of traffic rules, so also a slow-moving vehicle raises suspicion. Like a wild animal follows it's prey from a distance for quite sometime and tires it to a stop before pouncing upon it; so also these unsuspecting drivers are chased, stopped and brought to the book; one or two petty cases was sufficient to fill the potbellies of the law enforcers for the day. Recently a leading newspaper of the city had carried a report with a photo showing a traffic sergeant running behind a moving lorry and stooping low to collect a few notes from the ground, thrown by the driver.
However for Anirban it was no petty case and drunk driving invokes Section 185 of the Motor Vehicles Act, 1988 directly. Along with it vehicle smoke emission testing was also pending since the last one was done about a year ago.
Like a ghost moving in the darkness alone, Anirban's car cruised along, it's pair of headlights depicting the devil's red, distended eyes. After crossing the Vivekananda flyover Anirban took a right turn and started negotiating the Eastern byepass. Whatever little commotion of the street hawkers packing their stuff for the day and the carts moving sluggishly, carrying loads of goods neatly packed; had been there was lost now. A hand pulled rickshaw plodded along, carrying a babu returning late from work; the sound of wooden wheels rolling on the street slowly getting lost into the dark alley.
That evening also Anirban had been driving along a similar stretch, with Riya sitting beside him. They had been to the 'Dakshinapan' , a posh shopping mall in the heart of South Kolkata and she had had a nice time checking out the latest kurtis-salwars and furnishings for their bed room. Anirban accompanied her to every shop, till she finally decided upon her dresses, the curtains and bed sheets; after three hours of loitering and haggling with the prices, when his back got numb and seemed to break away from his body. Suddenly sighting mangoes being sold by a street vendor, she screamed in excitement, compelling him to stop. I'll be back in a jiff',' she winked at him before scurrying off the road, on the other side.
Anirban was aware of his wife's weakness for mangoes. Come summer, and he knew his home would be flooded with crates and crates of them; many of which came from her relatives, while she herself never forgot to pick a kilo or two of 'himsagar', 'lyangra', 'duseri' varieties while returning home from her computer classes. 'Be quick Madam, it'll be difficult keeping the car side parked for long,' Anirban cautioned.
How happy she looked. She must've negotiated a good bargain with the vendor and he knew it would be the first thing she'd challenge him to, the moment she'd closed the door of the car behind her. Would it take a toll on his male ego ? No, rather he'd be amused. Since their marriage, they had got along so well with each other that ego could never come in between them. She decided to take a break from her job and become a homemaker. Anirban's parents were alone and they had to be taken care off. Be it family planning, buying their private apartment, selecting the model and colour of their car, or planning a trip to the mountains or sea; they had been a team. Though Anirban's parents kept hankering their only son for a grandchild, yet he never gave in against Ria's wishes.
Together they had planned their apartment's interiors..the furniture..chosen the colour of their rooms' curtains.. had planted the little saplings in flower pots together in their small balcony and watched the plants grow and spread their tiny branches in amazement. Later when the plants bore flowers and they cuddled together in each other's arms in their balcony, lost in a world of colours and fragrance , time seemed to stand still. With the deft hands of a true woman she soon transformed their two -roomed flat into a paradise. They made it a point to visit both Anirban's and Ria's parents, every alternate weekends, since they moved in to their new flat. 'Stay just the way you are and fill my life with all the happiness in the world' Anirban had went down on his knees and proposed her with a red rose on their first marriage anniversary; before lifting his wife in his arms. They had planned for their first issue the following year.
She had just paid the man for his mangoes and had started crossing the road, sporting the bag containing the fruits when Anirban found to his horror a BMW speeding towards her from the left. It all happened within seconds, without giving him time to shout and alert her of her impending danger. She saw the vehicle and backed, but it was too late. What Anirban saw next was the bag flying off her hands and the mangoes rolling along the road with the BMW speeding away ; as a few passers-by abused and chased the vehicle vehemently. Anirban found it difficult to look at his wife's body, now a few pounds of scrunched, mangled, flesh. When she was laid covered in a white sheath to be taken for post-mortem, she appeared to be just like a quilt wrapped in white cover, except for the red stains bearing testimony to the caprice of a bunch of hooligans, who took the road, which hard-working people use for their daily commute, to be their racing ground.
'Do you have any idea whom are you accusing of having run down your wife, Sir ? The constable at the police station showed his dirty, betel-stained teeth, unbrushed since days; and started fiddling with his stick. He then brought his mouth closer to Anirban and almost whispered; the foul smell nauseating him. 'If you take my advice don't file the FIR. I can help you get a good reimbursement from..Just remember my commission..Only ten percent. These are the sons of local MLA, ruling party..You are no fit for them. I can understand the sorrow of losing a wife..I myself lost mine two years ago.' The man feigned remorse and taking out a handkerchief from his pocket dabbed his eyes as if to wipe his tears.
It infuriated Anirban to the extent that he felt like slapping him. He did file the FIR and along with some of his friends who had connections at Lalbazar P.S., one of them being his classhood friend, also his lawyer, compelled the police to chargesheet the MLA. The case went up to the court but as was the reality on ground, no eye-witness could be found of the accident; even the men who noted down the number of the BMW and accompanied Anirban to the police station backed out when asked to testify in court. The case got dismissed due to lack of witness and sufficient evidence. Anirban had to suffer heavy defamation suits as a result, causing him to take hefty loans from office, reducing his savings to a paltry sum.
As he took to the Eastern byepass, the high-rises gave way to natural landscape with ponds and hutments in the distance; cheap food outlets offering lunches and tiffins for the workers class-all closed for the day. A liquor shop could be seen half-open, with a few inebriated people around. Some of them had fallen down, asleep, with no sense of where they belonged; while others who still had a little sense left in them loitered aimlessly in the dark, often losing their balance and making efforts to raise their lean bodies to a straight position, like zombies; shouting all the profanities in the world. All of these people worked as masons and labours in the construction sites nearby.
There was a boom in real estate suddenly in the state, with cheap labour in abundance, those poor people who were scared to venture into other states to earn their daily rice. After the back-breaking job of the day, most of the meagre daily sum earned went in spending for the cheap liquor, the only source of entertainment in their lives. These people would never know about the 'Minimum Wages Act' or the adroitness with which their contractor babus made dual registers of their attendance against their wages, one on the basis of which they were actually paid and the other for fooling the government officials. Having been posted at sites many years for a significant phase of his career, Anirban was well aware of the tricks of the trade.
As Anirban's car passed by them, one of the men pointed at him and uttered some gibberish followed by a guffaw let out by his fellow mates. Perhaps they were amused at a babu driving a car at that late hour of the night..wondering whether he was really well-off than them, being relieved from work at that wee hours of the night..long after they had been relieved of theirs. Anirban was used to being called 'Management ka chamcha', behind his back by these workers. Many a times he had been gheraored by them, though he knew very well that he would be unharmed.
These were simple people who had the only concern for their existence unlike the ambitions of his bosses, their company's owners and other big fishes of the pond whose vested interests centred around these simpletons' sweat. He had just gone a few yards away from the liquor shop when suddenly a man seemed to pierce the darkness and stand in front of his car. He applied his brakes but it was too late. 'O God, what have he done? He had run down a man ! He held his head with his hands and cursed himself for drunk driving, then opened the door and came out. 'Perhaps the man could be saved, if taken to the hospital immediately', he thought. With his heart in his mouth, he walked towards the front of the car, his body seeking the balance needed to take a step. 'His condition was no better than the labours out there,' he deduced; except that he had gulped costly whisky and rum compared to their cheap 'chullu' , the countryside wine.
But there was no one on the ground, like he expected to be. He switched on the flash of his mobile and looked around, behind and under the car; but there was no one there. Was the whole scene his imagination then, the effect of the cloured waters or his ailing heart still unable to come to terms with his wife's tragic death? It could be that his mind being obsessed by the way in which Ria was run-over, had been imagining things. Moreover, if he really would've mowed anyone down, wouldn't the person have let out a wail ? Also, the labours were not too far away from the place and though drunk, yet still wouldn't they've come to know if one of their fellow-men was run over by a car ? They've seen him pass by them only few seconds ago.. He looked at the men in the distance. They were still up to their laughter and antics; indifferent to the happenings of the world around them. With a heavy heart Anirban returned home.
The first thing Anirban did upon reaching his flat was to get rid of the foul waters from his stomach. Retching seemed to relieve him of also the thoughts of Ria's mutilated corpse, her body sheathed in white before post-mortem..a mishap which occurred six months ago and an unbearable sense of guilt and haplessness.. Though he knew the thoughts would soon return.
The next day being a Sunday, Anirban came downstairs to the garage to clean his car. When Ria was alive, there was a man for the purpose; but now he did many such odd jobs to keep himself engaged.. to ward away her thoughts. The first thing which caught his attention, the moment he neared the garage were the tyre marks of his car. He had not passed through any unpaved streets last night, then how come the marks were reddish ? He knew he was the last to reach the housing complex, the other night. Moreover, the tyre marks were fresh and distinctly of Honda City, which only he possessed in the complex.
The marks appeared dark brown upon close examination and as he followed them to his car's wheels he could feel his heart missing a beat..And then he saw the tyres.. draped in reddish brown colour..the unmistakable stains of dried blood.
