Brother Chaoba has been driving on of the backs of these Himalayan mountains for years, he is a man who has witnessed his peers plunge to the gorges, many a times being pushed down, and several times torched whenever some ruffians couldn’t be pleased. With a degree in a political science from once a prestigious college in his confused place he brought pride to his parents in his village, but that pride soon became a burden; he was expected to land with a proper job, but it wasn’t as easy as most people thought then; he would have to prepare a large amount to feed an entire establishment starting from the Chinese-cigarette puffing peon to the burly man with his neck virtually strangled in gold chains and podgy fingers leaden with precious stones rings.
When his amorous life overrode the financial concerns he eloped with the lady of his dream, but the love that promised everything in its heydays now gave in to the groaning stomachs and the worst was having to listen to the groans of his children. So, a man from his village took pity in him and asked him to accompany him as his apprentice. With years of driving on the backs of the mountains with the old man he finally parted with the old man to handle a Tata lorry to transport goods from this warehouse.
He has been coming to this place for more than a decade and he knows whom to address when he gets to this town and who will beckon him to pay the unaccounted highway taxes.
When his lorry is loaded with sacks of rice and grains he jumps down from his lorry with the heavy driver’s door kicked open to find the greasy man in the restaurant; the greasy man collects tax on behalf of the jungle-trained men. After this so-called city he stops in the heart of the capital city of the state because he is stopped by the cane-wielding cops in khaki; they also want their share. The man with couple of rusted stars on his shoulders sends out his jumpy boys to climb brother Chaoba’s lorry and others, they kick, they poke and then sometimes demand certain sacks to be pulled down for they suspect people like brother Chaoba of illegal activities.
When nothing is discovered they huddle in one group to deliver their judgment: now the documents have to be checked. He has the documents; road taxes are paid and he hasn’t broken any traffic rules, which apparently don’t exist. The vehicles were involved on some hit-and-run case. Brother Chaoba tries to convince the man with stars on his shoulders it never occurred, but the word “never” infuriates the man and he comes down barking, “You say “never!” Did you?” brandishing his pistol. Now he has to bargain his life.
The one useful thing that he has acquired in the last ten years is forgetfulness; how to forget, if possible, instantly something that happened only a few minutes back, or to learn how to do so with a glass of rice wine. What he tried deliberately has now become habitual and this possession of his now seems to have mixed up with the overhanging clouds and has seeped through the pores of the people; now they are a capable to forget things, they have even forgotten that they were a people with hopes and convictions and now they are people standing in one long line and to be dragged to gallows one-by-one.
And all that they can muster is to weep and weep and then to release and shrilling noises which will resonate for a little while and then a thousand will subdue.
To be continued.....
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