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Srishti-2022   >>  Short Story - English   >>  The final letter

Bhaskar Prasad

UST Global

The final letter

An angel visited me last night. That was how Abbu started his final letter to Dada Jaan according to Deepa Saxena, the Inspector General of Tihar Prisons.

Abbu continued to write:

A few hours back the officials came to check my weight so that they could calculate the height of the final drop so as to make sure that I did not endure any physical suffering in the process. Bapu, I was not getting sleep. It was not because I knew that I was getting closer to the end of the journey of my life. It was certainly not because I was worried about the future of our family, for I am sure Diya is quite capable of taking care of all matters better than me. It was just because I was feeling empty. It was not my mind that was empty, if that was what struck you first. My mind was full of good memories about you, Ammi and Diya. What was worrying me was my empty stomach. I know that you will be laughing when you read this. You will be saying after all these years I have not changed. You will be saying that my son has seen many countries unknown to me, learned many things which I do not know but he still remains the same young boy who used to bother me in the middle of the night asking me to take him out to food stall of Parveshbhai to have lots of pani puri and bhel puri, of course with plenty of spices.

Bapu, I wish I could walk with you for one more night with you holding my hand tightly so that I will not lose my way. Once more I wish we could go to have the food from Parveshbhai. If you meet him, tell him that I am going to miss his spicy food.

I was sure that I was not going to get any sleep until I ate something.  I think there is special food privilege for a person awaiting death row. Doesn’t the constitution of this country say that a man or woman awaiting death shall not do it on an empty stomach? I thought I should shout at the guard on duty. Get me some food. I wanted to order him. But then I saw that he was already sleeping. Poor fellow, he did not sleep properly the last few days. It was only a few hours back that Bahadur Singh said to me about his sick seven year old son who was suffering from dengue. He was hospitalized as his condition worsened even after giving medication. As he was explaining to me about the sleepless nights he spent by his son’s side in the hospital praying every moment to Waheguru I could see a bit of you in him.

My mind went back to one of those school summer holidays I had. I know you will correctly guess which one I am talking about. You are right. I am thinking of the very last summer that I spent with Ammi. I want to take you to that hot day when the temperature crossed forty degrees Celsius and I suddenly fell down while I was playing cricket along with some of the neighbouring boys and one newcomer in the street in front of our house. Before I move on can you spot who that new boy was? Don’t you remember? It was none other than Virat Kohli, who had come there to make a visit to a friend of his father. What was his age at that time? He might have been only thirteen or fourteen years old. But what beautiful shots he played. Though I played for the opposite team I must say that I thoroughly enjoyed his batting display. He was in full flow with some majestic cover drives, flawless straight drives and exquisite flicks on his toes. What was most impressive about him was the maturity he showed at that age with not even a bit of display of aggression though runs were bleeding nonstop.

All of a sudden Virat stepped out to play a lofted shot with the intention of reaching a century with a six. After all he was also a boy and like other boys he could not resist the desire to reach the milestone as fast as he could. Unfortunately he miscued the shot. As the ball went up I started running backwards to catch it with the entire team egging me to get hold of it so as to end the plundering innings of the new boy. While everyone out on the street was focusing on your son I kept my eyes on the ball with the firm belief that I was completely in control of the situation. Suddenly as the ball began to come down I lost confidence. I felt everything around me was going round and round. Bapu, I was collapsing to the ground. All that I remember was my eyes slowly shutting down with a view of the ball sailing past me and faintly hearing the batting team celebrating with screams as the boy completed his century. I have no idea about what happened in the next few hours.

When I opened my eyes I was on a hospital bed with a drip tube on my left hand. A few feet away I could hear a doctor, who seemed not to be in such a good mood, speaking to you in an unforgiving voice. He was bombarding you with critical questions. Why did you not take precautions to keep mosquitoes away from the house? Why can’t you keep your house clean? Why did you not give proper attention to the boy? Why did it take so much time to bring your son to the hospital? I saw Ammi standing next to you wiping her eyes as the doctor said that I was having malaria and in a cruel manner stressed that my condition was critical.

I tell you Bapu, it was not your fault that I got malaria. Mosquitoes always have a special liking for my blood. It is for sure that suppose there are ten people in a room including me and a mosquito happens to make an unwelcome entry she is certain to land first on my skin to suck my blood. I also want to tell you that it was not you or Ammi’s fault that I did not get immediate attention. I was not feeling good from the previous day but I did not tell that to you as I feared that then you would not allow me to go out and play. I think no doctor should expect a boy to remain at home and do nothing but take rest during summer holidays. I also think that a doctor should not lose hope so fast in such situations as what happened when the disease was aggravating with my body not responding to medicines. As you will be remembering things began to change from the next day and within a week the doctor gave the verdict that a miracle has happened. Your son was safe. It was certainly a miracle. It all happened because of you. Yes Bapu, I came to know from Ammi how you used to kneel by the window of the hospital room in the direction of Mecca and persistently perform incessant prayers. I came to know that you prayed to Allah to remove all sickness from my body and transfer it to yours. Allah heard your prayers. Yes Bapu, I survived the fatal disease only because of your prayers. 

So I was mentioning about Bahadur Singh. Bapu, when Diya comes to Tihar to get my body, tell her to meet him and give him some money. He has been good to me. Some kind of financial help will be useful for him now.

Having said all these I have to add that my problem still persisted. But not willing to give up so easily I made one more attempt to get some sleep. For the last time I went ahead with the task of transforming the blankets into a bed and a pillow. Three for the bed and one for the pillow and then I will be left with one blanket to cover myself. That is the perfect way to do it. But such perfection is possible only in normal temperature and pressure. The problem is temperature is extremely low in Delhi these days.  Bapu, you need not come to Delhi now to get my body. Climate here will be too cold for you. Let Diya come alone. Do not worry about your daughter-in-law. She can manage everything by herself. I know you are also worried about me on how I am managing in this cold. Do not worry about your son as well. I managed to get an extra blanket that is keeping me quite warm. I am extremely thankful to a friendly prison official for doing this act of kindness. I cannot disclose to you in this letter the name of this helpful person as it could put him in trouble for breaching the rule. Since my official request to have an additional blanket was already rejected by the warden citing rules in the prison book law any identification of his nice deed could result in some stern action being taken against him.

I wished that kind hearted friend had desired to see me one last time. To tell you the truth it was not that I craved to see him once more but if he had come to my cell I could have requested him to get me some food. Yes, Bapu, food was the only thing that I had in mind while curling inside that blanket in my endeavour to have some sleep.

I do not know how much more time went like that before I felt someone touch my forehead. I opened my eyes to see the angel in front of me. She looked so young that nobody would have agreed if I had introduced her to be my mother. Bapu, shall I tell you a truth? Remember the Saturday evening walks when you used to take her to the phool bazaar to get her favourite jasmine garland. If you now walk with her to a flower shop the seller will surely ask you which garland you wished to buy for your beautiful daughter. Now I see that you are raising your hand. My dear Bapu, why should you get so angry when I am telling you the truth? See it like this. It should make you proud for being an excellent husband who has maintained his wife in such good condition even after so many years.

Now I see you smile. Talking about smile I hope you remember that Diwali eve when you took me and Ammi to Patakha Phooljhadi Gali. I was so happy that evening for you bought me a big beautiful red balloon printed with a green leaf image of Ganapathy, the elephant God. Pulling the thread of the balloon and hanging on to your hand I was talking to you non-stop on how I was going to fly high and touch the heights of the sky with my balloon. My imagination seemed to break all limits and my excitement was mounting as I was fully aware that you were keenly listening to me.  Then we met a friend or relative of yours or Ammi. I do not recollect who it was. But what I do recall is that for me at that moment he was the evilest person in the whole of earth for from the instant you saw him you lost all interest in my imaginative adventures with my balloon. I tried not once but twice to get back your attention to what I wanted to tell you. First Ammi and then you made me aware that I should remain silent as you were discussing something important. I wondered what could be more important for you than listening to your son about flying in the sky. Saying to myself how much I hated your company I wanted to be left alone with my balloon. Without you noticing I released my hand from your grip and moved ahead with me making a list to things to do with my balloon. But the excitement was short lived for I looked around to see a crowd of strange people.  Losing the sense of security that was till then present in my life I cried that I wanted to see Ammi. I wanted to be with you. I wanted you to hold me closely. Having no clue on what I should do to find you I stood there stunned. Not knowing what went through both of your minds on finding that I was no longer with you I wished that somehow you could find your way to me. Oh Allah, please help me. I looked at the balloon which continued to fly high. Staring at the image of Ganapathy I made a prayer. Before I was finished with my plea I found someone grabbing me. It was you, Bapu. Where did you run away, you naughty boy? You asked me. I smiled at you. That was the happiest moment in my life. You embraced me after thanking the balloon, for it was that which helped you to trace your son. Ammi, who stood next to you, reminded you that you should be thanking Lord Ganapathy for according to her it was His invisible hands that brought me back to her. I can never forget the way she smiled at me on that moment. 

Bapu, she still has that pure smile that helped me to overcome all the tiredness I felt of not being able to sleep on the cold winter night yesterday.

Are you hungry, my son? She asked. She had brought with her my much desired kadhi and daal which I ate till my stomach was full. Though I wanted to ask her so many questions while I was eating she did not let me. You better not talk while eating. She insisted as always. But even after I had finished she did not allow me to ask her any question for it was she who controlled the conversation.

First she wanted to know everything about Manu. How is my grandson? Who does he look like? Has he started talking? Did he say Dada or Mama first? Has he started walking? Has he cut his first tooth? Is he naughty like his father? Is he troubling his mother and grandfather? So on and so forth. I told her what Diya said to me about him. He loves to build, thump down, drain, dismantle, touch, bend and crush everything he can get his hands on. When Bapu gives him loud kisses he gives back a big smile showing his first tooth. He loves to run his fingers through Bapu’s chest, feeling the velvetiness of the white curls and then abruptly pluck one silver hair.

After I finished answering all her questions about Manu I thought she would give me a chance to ask her a few questions. But I completely underestimated her inquisitiveness for she began to shoot at me the next set of questions. This time it was about Diya. Is she managing our house properly? Is she taking care of Bapu? Is she happy to be back in India? Does she cook well? Is she employed?

The question list went on until she knew that I was extremely sleepy as I began to stretch and yawn. She slowly laid my head on her lap. She must have stayed with me until she was sure that I was sleeping. Is it not so true that mothers stay awake until they are sure that their children are in deep sleep?

When I woke up Ammi had gone leaving behind the aroma of the jasmine garland she was wearing. But I do not feel sorry that I did not get more time to spent with her because I know that it is a matter of time before I enter into a new world where she will be waiting to greet me. She will secure me to make sure that I am comfortable in the new place with the new set of rules to be followed to lead an eternal life. Bapu, having told you this I am pausing for a moment for I can hear your heart which is beating ever so fast with an increasing eagerness to join me and Ammi. Even for a moment if there is a tinge of cowardice inching into your mind coercing you to perform any act intended to end your life let me tell you an easy way to get out of that. Think about the smiling face of your grandson. Think of him reaching out his hands to you. Bapu, I want you to make a promise. You will live to see the marriage of your grandson so that when to join me in the new world you can tell me about my daughter-in-law. For now that is all from your son. There is plenty more to talk to you which I shall reserve for another time.  

That was the end of Abbu’s letter.

Deepaji said to Dada Jaan that on the day Abbu was executed he did not have breakfast.

“Madame, it seems he does not like the prison food. May be we can order some special biriyani from the Taj Hotel?” the jail warden, who had accompanied Deepaji, mockingly said.

“Stop it Ramdev.” She did not like her assistant’s tone. “You are not feeling hungry?” She turned to Abbu and asked. “Are you feeling fine?” She was concerned.

“Madame, please do not worry. I am doing perfectly fine.” Abbu replied. “I know you can hang me only if I am in good health.” He gave her a calm smile. “And Ramdevji, I do not need any biriyani. I had the best food last night. You too should have tasted it. I bet you would have loved it. I do not wish to eat anything more in this life.”

Thinking that he was making fun of the two dry rotis and bowl of dal provided last evening as dinner to all prisoners, Ramdev burst out. “Madame, you see his arrogance. This is not the way to treat such bastards. I say tie this mother fucker to a pillar and beat him until every ounce of fat is removed from his body. Then cut his body into parts and feed him to the street dogs of Delhi.”

“How dare you use such language in front of me? Didn’t you hear what I said before? If you utter a single word more you can collect the suspension order from me.” She lost her temper.

“Madame, don’t get so upset. Please allow his anger to come out. Let him open up his heart and speak.” Abbu kept smiling at Ramdev.

“Rumman, I hope you know the time it is going to take place.” After taking a deep breath she asked Abbu.

“You meant about my hanging, didn’t you? I know Madame. Exactly 9:30 am.” He remained composed.

“I will be here at 9 am. I will accompany you.”

“I will be looking forward to having your company. So see in an hour.” He once again smiled at her.

As she left he asked whether his family knew that he was going to be executed that morning. Without giving him a reply she looked at him.

The next hour just flew away. This time Deepaji arrived at the cell without Ramdev, who in spite of wanting to see Abbu being hanged had to remain in the office following strict orders from her. 

“Madame, can you please do me a favour?” Abbu asked her.

“Sure Rumman. Tell me.” She replied pressing his shoulder.

“When Diya comes here to get my body, tell her to be strong. Tell her not to waste her life mourning my death. Tell her to find happiness in life.”

“I will talk to her.” She said, pressing his shoulder. “Anything else you want, Rumman?” She asked.

“No Madame. I am ready. So shall we move?”

As they walked out of the cell through the prison corridor that led to the execution chamber a disturbing silence hung in the air. Suddenly to break the stillness Abbu began to hum a song. It was a catchy number which changed the mood of Deepaji, the second Police officer and the doctor, who accompanied him.

“It is a good song.” Deepaji commented.

“It is a popular song. You haven’t heard of it?”

“No. Who has sung it?”

“It is the Gallows Pole sung by Led Zeppelin. It has some lovely lyrics.”

“What do the lyrics say?” asked the doctor.

“It talks about a young woman pleading to the hangman to stop the execution for some time.  She hopes that her lover will come to bribe him with gold and save her.”

Although they wanted to know whether that woman was saved or not they preferred not to ask him on finding that the hangman was ready to perform the execution.

It was Deepaji who asked Abbu if he had any last wish to which he just nodded his head to convey that he had nothing more to add.   I stopped Dada Jaan at that moment. I did not wish to torment him by forcing him to describe to me how his son’s hands were tied to the back.

I hugged Dada Jaan tightly. You need not have to tell me how the hangman put the rope around my father’s neck. There is no need to tell me about the police officer who gave the signal to the hangman to go ahead. There is no need to tell me what went through my father’s mind when he pulled the lever. There is no need to tell me about the long drop.

Abbu must have lost his consciousness as soon as his neck broke and spine was severed in less than a second. That is what Deepaji said. That is what the doctor said to her. But can the doctor be sure about it? Can anyone assure me that he did not sense anything in the next five minutes before his brain stopped functioning? Can anyone assure me that he did not feel anything in the next fifteen minutes until his heart stopped beating? Can anyone tell me that he did not wish to see Ammi or Dada Jaan or me one last time?

I would like to close the disclosure to you on the events on the final day of Abbu by mentioning an official letter of importance. On the Saturday morning, shortly before Abbu was hanged, a letter addressed to Ma intended to intimate her of the exact date and time of the execution flew from Tihar by means of Speed Post- yes as the name indicates the fastest of the fast mail service in this country-and landed in the head post office of my city. But it was already evening and the clock was past 5 pm.  “No delivery of letters after 5 pm.” The postmaster declared. “Ok Sir, we will deliver it tomorrow, then.” The postman replied. “How is it possible? Tomorrow is Sunday. No public service on Sundays.” The postmaster reminded. “Of course Sir, rules are meant to be followed. We will deliver on Monday, then.” The postman confirmed. But on Monday morning by the time he reached our house after repairing the punctured tyre of his bicycle we had already left for Delhi to get Abbu’s body. So cursing all of us for unnecessarily forcing him to cycle through bumpy roads the postman returned the letter to the post office. From there it flew back to Tihar with a stamp from the postmaster that stated addressee-not-available. However before it reached Delhi we returned to our home along with Abbu.