It was a tiny village. Infact calling this place a village would be preposterous. It was an uneven piece of land with no defined boundaries, no proper structures, no trees, no rivers and no hills. The place was inhabited by only a few families and largely by bachelors from the air force. Air force station being adjoining the village, many airmen stationed at the base lived in clusters and that is what had given the place a peculiar shape and form. You could see a few houses erected haphazardly and that was it. There was a well miles away and the men and sometimes women walked the distance to fetch water. Groceries and vegetables were available in the weekly market held on sundays for two hours.
Our present one room house in the city was on the verge of collapse and when the second wall gave away we were in the open. My mother refused to stay a day longer in those shambles and cried and cried till my father brought us here. It was scorching heat by the time we reached the place. We were six of us. The next day we began going to this Zilla Parishad school. The school was run in a cemented room in shifts. We had one teacher who ran multiple classes. The strength of each class ranged from two to ten boys and often we sat and learnt with a third, fifth and seventh grader.
My father woke up every morning at four, attached huge plastic cans onto his bicycle and rode to and fro to fetch water. It was an arduous task and two such trips brought in enough water to last a day and night. If he fell ill or went on outstation duty, it meant going without water. At such times he made extra trips and stored extra water. No matter what, it was against his principles to send us or mother to draw water. When I did insist he would say in a booming voice, ‘Your job is to study. You are not to waste your time and energy on these mindless errands till I am alive.’ We kept quiet. We would always keep outside the house a spare pot of water filled for the passersby and the servicemen who had odd working hours. Then he would help my mother in the kitchen to cook, wash and prepare us for school. My granny was eighty and half blind. She needed help too. I was the eldest with a sibling three years younger. The youngest had just begun schooling. My father was a man of few words with immense strength. He was a stickler for discipline. He cycled a lot. He cycled to work daily. It took almost an hour to office and an hour back home. By the time he returned it would be late evening. He insisted on strict adherence to time and studies. We were home before he arrived. It was an unsaid rule. We studied till late in the night, ate and slept. This was the routine. Mother was also equally hard working. She slogged all day. With three growing boys and no help at hand, she was one busy woman. We never saw her sitting idle. But when she had the migraine attacks, she would be rolling on the floor holding her head. The whole day would pass in agony. At such times we often went hungry. It was only when father returned that he would cook rice and we would eat.
Days were tough and we were still getting accustomed to the newness of the place, school and people.
My father was not particularly happy with the school master. He was an impudent, ill mannered fellow who forever chewed on tobacco and spat unceremoniously everywhere. There was never a clean spot in the school. He spoke with tobacco tucked in a corner of his mouth and we had to strain our ears to comprehend every word that fell from his mouth. His hair smelled of eucalyptus, at least I thought so and he was into a habit of constantly pushing behind his ears the lone strand of hair that popped out every now and then. He barely taught. It was the older students like us who read or sang or dictated to the boys from junior classes and sure enough that is how the school ran. In the beginning my father tried to intervene, sometimes sternly and often sweetly but the master would either look down upon him with a cold, arrogant glare or laugh out loud splattering brown saliva all over.
One fine day he came home agitated and exclaimed, ‘I do not wish any sons of mine to pick up such bad habits.’ And although we went to school he took upon himself to educate us. He would personally take Math, Science and Languages. As a result all three of us did exceptionally well in academics.
Months passed and examinations were round the corner. We were working hard and our father was also putting in extra effort. I being the senior most was assigned more responsibilities. I was spending more time in school doing revisions with the low graders, correcting their books and if need be even writing down question papers and updating records. I never shared this with father because had he known, an altercation would have definitely ensued, even leading to a brawl maybe. So on the pretext of extra studies I continued coming late and father though grumbled, permitted me this liberty as far as I showed results.
Now it so happened that that particular day father was early from work. He was travelling the next day and would be gone for two days. So he was earlier than usual to fetch water and fill the drums to stock up the water reserve.It was late in the evening almost dark and he was cycling hard in the direction of the well. From a distance I spotted my father’s robustious figure pedalling vigorously and heading straight towards me. Before I could turn away, hide or concoct a story, he had halted just a foot away from me, drenched in sweat, panting and his fiery eyes boring into mine. The heavy steel pot slid from my hands and trundled along the gravelled path wetting me all over. The noise made me tremble. With a shaky voice I tried explaining but my words drowned in my sobs. He now knew what delayed me in school.
He did not utter a word, he was not even listening. He looked dangerous and a feeling of discomfort was creeping in. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited with a pulsating heart. After what seemed like really long, I heard the whirring of the tyres and the swerving of the bicycle. And when I finally dared to open my eyes I saw my father pedalling off in the opposite direction like never before. I was feeling terribly sick.
Father had not yet returned. It was very late, close to midnight. The neighbour had brought in a news and gone. Mother was getting restless. She was pacing the tiny room. I was in bed pretending to sleep but wide awake.
It was early morning when my father entered the house. No sooner did he step in my mother began questioning. I lay huddled beneath the thin blanket trying not to stir and afraid not to make a sound.
Mother was blabbering non stop but my father did not pay any heed. He quietly changed, washed and asked for a cup of tea. Fretting she put on water to boil, added the tea leaves and sugar and poured it into a cup. My mother had long back resigned to his silences. He spoke only when he wished to and so she asked, this time gently.
‘Where were you the whole night?’
No reply.
‘Do you even care?’
He looked up. Encouraged she continued.
‘The neighbour had come last night.’
He raised an eyebrow questioningly.
‘The master has been behaving weird she says.’
He kept sipping.
‘It seems he had gone into the fields to attend nature’s call and somebody caught him unawares and thrashed him black and blue.’
He paused and slurped his tea.
‘Yes! He was found in a semi conscious state sputtering gibberish.’
He stared at her, an indication that she continue.
‘He has no clue who could have done it. I believe a thick shawl was thrown over his head before he was walloped with blows and punches. Villagers think it is some kind of black magic. Poor guy. I doubt if he will be out of bed for another three months. Exams are around. What will our children do without him. He was really taking pains for them. Wasn’t he?’
My father had finished his tea by then. He put the cup down and said slowly, ‘Nice tea.’
Then he walked across the room and lay his back on the cot and closed his eyes. He had not slept the whole night. Only thing she noticed were the tiny wrinkles forming in the corners of his mouth.
‘Something is not right. Will this man ever behave like a normal human?’ she said to herself.
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