The Baby

By P Sasikanth

THE BABY

Those were the last nights of October. The days of season transition, where the cold winds of winter seeped into the receding rains. They were the most hated weathers of the city. It made the nights humid, cold, and inclement. The city has a peculiarity. Irrespective of the season, humidity persisted. Making the weathers irritating and sometimes unbearable.

The rain has just stopped, and the weather was cold. The mist started clouding the sky. The road shone like black crystal under the heavy lights of the junction. With wetness seeped into its concrete crevices, the concrete grains glowed like majestic crystals. Engulfed in silence and solitariness, the junction blazed like an altar.

With slow and steady steps, perturbing the silence he entered the subway alongside the canal. His steps echoed as he walked through the passage. Filled with the stink of filth, the weather tasted inclement. With little light coming from the junction, he walked cautiously through the passage. Disrupting the stillness, the train horn blared as it rushed on the rails above the subway. The passage shook under the weight of the clanking noise and the chugging rails. Though taken aback by the suddenness, he stood still, absorbing it. The moment it passed silence seeped back in. Chuckling to himself he resumed walking.

It’s been two years since he returned home. He was born and brought up here. Then he left the city for a brief period. The way he perceived the city and the way it manifested after his return changed catastrophically. The places he had been to; the people he had met; all, shrugged him off from the delusional fantasies of virtue and grandiosity of life.

Coming out of the underway he began walking uphill. With mist wetting his palms and feet turning to stone cold, he felt like walking on numb rocks. The water from the puddles seeped into his chappals making them slippery. They screeched as he walked. He took off his chappals, and holding them in a hand, he started walking barefoot. Stepping over puddles and potholes, he slowly navigated his way. He looked at the junction as he neared it. The heavy lights burned his eyes blurring his vision. Blinking hard, he looked at the road upfront. Beyond the aura of the junction, there lay a road thickly covered under the trees, immersed in darkness and silence. This road ran behind the railway station. He felt an urge to take the road that night.

“Filled with the filth of the city, the road covered under the trees reflected an infestation of cripples, addicts and destitutes. Cheap hookers decorated this infestation as they stood bargaining their price and hounded for customers. He had been to this road a few times. It comforted him. Making him feel invisible; setting him free; it made him feel like one of them. The insects (as he called them); The insects that hid in the creeks and crevices during the day and came out at nights, to wriggle their wings and hover around. He felt like one of them.”

Finally deciding to take the road, he stepped in the direction. The thick cover of trees without any lights sent a chill through his spine. Strangely the road was secluded and dead silent that night. A few feet into it, things became barely seeable. He barely saw his feet. His footsteps deeply echoed as he walked. He turned around to look back. The junction looked bright and inviting. For a moment he wanted to run-back to the junction. But resisting the idea, he turned around. He didn’t want to look back again. He kept walking. He reached to the pocket for his phone. It wasn’t there. Remembering that he left it at home, he felt an adrenaline rush of fear. Except for the sound of trickling rain drops and echoing footsteps, he neither heard nor saw nothing.

He spotted a dark figure crouched on the pavement. With alarm he slowed down his pace. The dark figure moved. His heart jumped and he stepped back in fear and dread. It’s not that he feared a destitute, but he feared that he might be an addict. The addicts and drug peddlers that squatted around were unpredictable. They attacked with blades and knives for petty thievery and often for no reason. The dark figure stopped moving.

As he absorbed the adrenaline, it excited him.

He walked forward. A little distance upfront he saw a lone streetlight. He remembered that a little bend from there would lead to an expansion with many more streetlights. His fear dissolved and his walk became relieved and easy.

He broke into sudden laughter when the image of his panicking mother flashed. He purposefully left his phone at home to avoid her disturbing his night walks. Imagining her pacing the hall, checking her phone every few seconds, cracking her knuckles in panic increased his mirth even more. The way it all began was a surprise to him even now. The laughter passed and he fell silent. He kept pondering how things unwound and went from where to where.

Two years ago, when he returned home, he disappeared for a night walk. His mother called him several times. He didn’t answer the phone., instead he messaged her not to call him. When he came back at two, his mother was furious. She tried her usual ways to discipline him. He was initially afraid. As she sat him down, and lectured him, he shuffled nervously. After a while he felt irritated of his nervousness. She went on threatening and scolding him. But none had any effect. Seeing that he sat like a stone without even being apologetic; In a fit of rage, his mother slapped him hard on the head. He took a moment to react. His clasped hands loosened. The nervousness dissolved. His muscles relaxed. He slowly got up, towered over her, and looked at her without a flinch and walked away. She was terrified for a moment but immediately got overwhelmed with anger and got even more furious. She ran back after him beating with her fists. His father rushed and restrained her. His father who was watching this quietly, grasped that a change has come over his son which cannot be undone and was beyond their control.

During that period, he felt like he couldn’t survive this treacherous world. But then he noticed these insects. Unseen and outcast by the world, they lurked in their dark niches; surviving disease, despair, and death. The more he saw them, the more he saw himself in them. The hopeless despair in his psyche reflected in their lives. Like insects and maggots, they fed on the leftovers and the decaying. The façade he carried during the day fell off when he was around them at night. He felt like one among them. Yet something deep and distinct separated him from them. He wondered, ‘when their lives were so inexplicably miserable why would they struggle to live yet another day?’ ‘Why wouldn’t they just end their lives?’

He reached the bend. As he walked a little up and curved along, he heard a sound. He looked instinctively at the clearing in the bushes. Then it came again. Mixed with heavy gasps and thumping he heard bangles tinkling. Instantly he knew what it was. Hiding from the aura of light, he stayed there listening to their gasps and heavy thumps. He got aroused. His pants tightened. His body turned warm. He saw into the darkness trying to spot them and watch their act. He took a step. In his urge to watch, he stepped into a pothole and lost balance. Though he managed to avoid the fall, it disturbed the silence. He hurriedly tidied himself and tried to listen their gasps again. But nothing was to be heard. Everything was still and silent. He looked into the dark patch in-front. Though he heard nothing; in the partial darkness, he spotted two figures. When he carefully watched them, he noticed her green saree. Like a fallen tide his desire dissolved. He immediately straightened himself. As the sense of embarrassment and betrayal choked his heart he took long and swift strides trying to get away as soon as possible. It was Vani.

Vani was one of the hookers that stood on the road. Many months earlier, during one of his depressive night-walks he saw her. Dressed in a cheap saree, with a thick rump and buxom she looked attractive. He began following her. He went wherever she went. He stopped and watched as random men approached her and bargained her price. Finally, she sat on the pavement. The road was thinly crowded. He walked near her and she noticed it. As he fidgeted near, she gestured him. He shook his head in denial. She got up and started walking away. He followed her at a distance. The crowd grew even more thin as she went deep into the road. As she walked in front, he watched her butt. He watched as her butt-cheeks rubbed against each other, while her saree held those voluptuous hips from falling away. He wanted to grab and squeeze them. Stopping abruptly, she turned around and said, ‘500 per shot. Want to come?’ He felt a hot rush of blood. He nodded. She stretched her hand, ‘Money.’ Half expecting to be cheated, he gave her the money. Looking around, he asked, ‘Where shall we do it? Holding him by the hand, she led him to an alley. As she led him; he slithered his hand around her naked waist and pressed it. She didn’t resist, instead smiled at him quirkily. Once in the alley; he grabbed her and crushing her in a hug, he slid his hands down her butt and squeezed it. He licked her neck and kissed her lips. He wanted to eat her voluptuous lips. In passionate rage, he rubbed against her. In the heat of the moment, he pinched her waist. He pinched it so hard that she pushed him away rebuking him. Cursing under her breath, she pulled down a cot by the wall and lying down, she spread her legs pulling her saree to her waist. ‘Come! Finish quickly!’ she snubbed at him widening her legs even more. He felt it like a repulsive slap. He bent down and crawled to her obeying her. Not being able to see between her legs, he came near her. He laid his hand on her thigh. It felt cold and sweaty. He was trembling uncontrollably. ‘First time aa?’ she lashed. ‘Hmm,’ he mumbled. Exhaling deeply, and cursing even more, she loosened her jacket and removed her hooks. Her breasts fell out and spread all over her chest. ‘Come’ she said. Entranced, he put his mouth and suckled at them. He pressed himself hard against her as he slid his hand down her waist. He felt a deep scar in the middle of her stomach. Consumed with passion he went still more deep and felt her hairs underneath. He felt around. It was warm and wet. He felt her nakedness. As he pushed his hand further down, he felt little incision bumps on her inner thighs. Some of them felt wet. But consummated with passion and greed, he went along and had sex with her. After they finished, he asked, ‘Again?’ ‘Another 500’, she stretched her hand. He kept quiet. She sat up and pinned her hooks. Peering at her, ‘What is that scar on your stomach?’ he asked. She laughed it off saying, ‘It happened long back in a minor squabble.’ ‘Oh’, he grunted. He wanted to lie there for some more time. But she, was already hurrying away.

‘You have a husband?’

Adjusting her folds, she replied, ‘Used to have one. But not now.’

‘He left you?’

‘No. He died in a lorry accident.’ She looked at him for a moment and carried along. A brief silence ensued.

‘You have any kids?’

She shook her head avoiding him.

‘How many?’ he persisted.

Staring into his eyes for a long moment, she replied in a shaky voice,

‘I had a daughter, Rupa. She died of dengue last year.’ This answer silenced him.

‘Her age?’ he grunted after a few minutes.

‘Ten’

None of them spoke further. Silence filled the space between them, as she braided her hair and got up to leave. They both walked out of the alley to retrace their steps back to the bustand. On their way back, he noticed several blade cuts on her forearm.

‘What happened there?’ he asked with sudden attention, pointing at those cuts, and simultaneously remembering the bumps on her inner thighs.

‘It was a long time ago; when my husband died. I used to cry a lot then. To ease my pain, I did all these silly things.’ She laughed it off shyly rubbing her forearm and covering it with her saree. He grew more and more quiet.

As they were entering into light and crowded space, he suddenly pushed her into a dark corner, put his hand under her saree and slithering it upwards, he felt around. She resisted it angrily. She beat him on the head and shoulders. But he stubbornly reached her inner thighs and pressed those cuts. When he took out his hand and observed closely, it was puss and blood. He forced her to lift her saree and made to spread her legs. He observed those cuts closely. They were bite marks. He looked at her,

‘Men does that to me all the time.’ She spoke.

‘When are these from?’

‘Yesterday.’

When he searched, he found similar marks (some partly healed and partly fresh) on her neck, and her breasts. They came out of the alley and were walking in silence. He instinctively grasped that the scar on her stomach was a knife stab.

‘It happens every day?’

‘Mostly.’

He fell quiet again. Suddenly, facing her and in a choking voice, he asked,

‘Why do you do this?’

She stared blankly for a while and then blurted, ‘Livelihood?’ not knowing whether that was the desired answer. In a trembling tone, he continued,

‘See, your tomorrow might be much more terrible than today. You’ll die younger probably contracting some sexual disease. You have nobody left to live for. Your daughter died; your husband died. When life is being such a cruel nightmare for you, why? Why do you still struggle to live? Why don’t you just let it…let it go….’ He broke off mid-sentence with tears choking his throat.

‘What’s there to live for Vani…You might rot to death…’ he said almost pleadingly.

She stood horrified with confusion watching his sudden outburst.

His eyes searched her for an answer. But she just stood not knowing how to respond. Realizing that it was beyond her, he recoiled himself, became composed, flashed a little smile, and left her.

As he walked and walked and walked and walked, the sense of betrayal slowly oozed out. Though it still pained him, he managed to accept it finally. He felt strange for feeling betrayed. Though he knew that she was a hooker, and she sleeps with a ton of men every day, still, he was unable to take it when he saw her with another man. Probably because of the emotional closeness that developed over the numerous times they met and had sex. She stopped taking money from him after the first few times he frequented her. Sometimes they would sit next to each other on the pavements and talk for hours. He shared his deepest insecurities with her. She once took him to her place and showed the pictures of her husband and daughter. And the sex they had was nothing business like. It was passionate and consummating sex. They almost had sex in every dark corner of that road.

He crossed the railway station, walked past the railway tracks and was heading towards the bridge over the canal. A few hundred meters from the bridge, he would be heading home. Guessing the time, he thought around one midnight. His pace increased. He wanted to get home soon.

On the road completely oblivious to the world, there lay a man unconscious, covered in vomit, piss and dirt. The stink of the man caused a revulsion in his guts even from several feet away. He instantly knew it was Ashok. He hesitated to go near him. He felt burdened at the thought of having to witness that man. He watched him for a while and tried walking away. But he went to him and rolled him over. The stinking smell of him gushed into his guts, instantly making him nauseous. He moved away in disgust. Standing over, he watched him. The vomit across his face has dried into a dirty patch. Sunken eyes, pallor less cheeks, brittle lips, and tarter teeth; his image instigated a deep reflection of hopelessness. He knew in his heart that he was merely months away from death. With pity he took his skinny hand. The bloated veins on his forearm were filled with needle shots. He left his hand and stood up. Ashok looked like a pile of bones in clothes. He watched him for a while and with a twisted lip, he walked away. ‘Few people, though gifted with intelligence and abilities, they just drive themselves to death.’ He thought. A while later, ‘Maybe escaping to death is much simpler than living.’ he smirked at the thought.

Ashok was the most repulsing and yet the most interesting person he ever come across. Even when descending into chaos and despair, Ashok never accepted pity. He is a weak man who revels in his self-image of strength. First time he met him at the ghats. Fully drunk and intoxicated with ganja he watched as he vomited on himself. Though he was always cautious around drug addicts, but with Ashok he took his chances even knowing that Ashok was even more unpredictable and violent. He was always surprised with his intellect. But he was also aware that that intellect would never translate into action. ‘Intelligence and abilities when not attended properly can turn upon oneself and devour its bearer.’ The story of Ashok is one of descension into darkness and madness. Married to a loving wife and blessed with a son, it was he who ruined the marriage and turned it into a nightmare. Though he loved them the most, it was finally them upon whom he inflicted his self-destructive wrath. Vexed with him, his wife divorced him and took the custody of his child. That broke his bounds even more and he fell into a mire. He always wondered why people like Ashok, though born into stable families and blessed with abilities destroy themselves. ‘Few people drive themselves to death, every good thing or bad thing that happens to them is just another reason to accelerate themselves in their path of self-destruction.’

The road alongside the canal was lit with streetlights and stood secluded. One side of the road was lined with trees and the other side was filled with thick, overgrown bushes. Consumed with the thoughts of Ashok, he walked towards the bridge. Then it came. A blood curdling scream of a woman. A scream that instantly pierced his ears and tore his nerves apart. He stopped mid-tracks and froze in fear. He felt his bones begging to run for life. But he couldn’t move a muscle. He stood there rooted with bated breath. Then it came again. Filling the air with panic and dread, that high-pitched scream crept into his bones, and in wild fear, he took off and ran for life. He ran and ran, nearly a kilometer until that mortal fear that overcame him dissolved. He still heard those screams, faraway, mild, and distant. He stopped and turned around. It was probably a woman getting raped. It is not uncommon to come across such happenings along that path. He even heard stories of little destitute boys getting raped and killed. Many a times the wounds were so brutal that the victims succumbed to death in the following days. He fidgeted not knowing what to do. He wanted to help her. But the risk of getting murdered by those same men was too high. He knew how wild and violent those men could be. After fidgeting for a while, with the decision to rescue her, he stubbornly turned around and hurried back in the direction of the screams. As he neared, he heard her clearly. By now her screams have lost the pitch and turned to hollow groans, sounding like unceasing pleas for help. He stopped. The screams came from the down of his left side where the canal flowed. Making as little noise as possible, he peeked through the tree trunks trying to get a glimpse of those men or the woman. He planned to go as near as possible to them, hide behind the trees, and wait for the men to leave. Then he could take her to the hospital. He didn’t want to face those men and risk his life.

He placed himself closest to the spot and waited. Though it was dark, and he couldn’t see a thing, he neither felt nor heard any other movements or noises except the woman’s. Suddenly it flashed to him., ‘those bastards already raped and threw her here.’ He got up from the hiding and rushed down the muddy slope. In that darkness, few steps after he stumbled over her and fell down. He hurriedly crawled to her and tried to comfort her. In the process, he felt her. He felt her big belly. The realization that she was a fully pregnant woman in her labor struck him like a thunder bolt. He was horrified and his heart raced in panic. Not knowing what to do, he took her palms and started rubbing them. His mind ran wild. He left her palms and checked under her spread legs. He felt the baby’s head. Spotting a patch of light nearby, he grabbed her arms and pulled her into the patch. Immediately spreading her legs open and wide, he pressured her legs, simultaneously yelling at her to ‘push hard.’ His hands trembled uncontrollably. The adrenaline rush made it impossible to keep them firm. With shaking hands, he massaged her abdominal muscles, in the hope that it would flex her muscles and enable the birth. He felt the arms of the baby. And as the rest was coming out, she became still. Her groans quietened. With panic he tapped her cheeks and shook her. She wasn’t responding. Her body felt loose. He checked her pulse and tried to listen her heartbeat. He got nothing. In almost a reflex spreading her legs wide, he reached for the baby and pulled it out. Warm and slippery, the baby cried incessantly from the moment it was out. In wild curiosity, he looked at its genitals. It was a boy. He removed his shirt and wrapped the baby with it. He then attended the mother. He did the CPR he knew and tried the things he thought would bring her back to life. Nothing happened. He held the baby in his arms and sat there watching her in dejection and disappointment. The baby cried incessantly yearning for its mother’s warmth and wriggled continuously out of hunger. He came to his senses. He went to the mother and removed her jacket. She barely developed any breasts. Holding the baby in his hands, he put the baby’s mouth to her breast. The baby suckled at it hungrily. He wound the baby with it's mother’s arm and left it on her chest. He dragged himself to a distance and collapsed there. He slipped into sleep exhausted.

He didn’t know how much time lapsed. When he woke up, it was still dark, and the baby was still suckling at its dead mother’s dried breast. The image instigated a disturbing revelation of reality. He intuited the future of the baby. He went onto the road. It was as secluded as it was before. With a decided mind he walked back to the mother and picked up the baby. His hands were firm. Strangely the baby was quiet. Holding the baby in one arm, he gripped its little throat in his hand. The baby shrieked and began crying. He tightened his grip with full strength. He felt a snap in his hand and as he loosened, the baby went silent. He kissed the baby on its forehead and placed it on its mother’s chest. He took his shirt back. He took his shirt back and clad the baby with her saree. He put her arm around it and kissed the baby one last time and left.

Few days later the rotting corpse of a woman was discovered by the canal. And a little distance away from it, a rotting carcass of a baby, half-eaten by dogs and pigs was also discovered.

By P Sasikanth