In that infinite space between me and the living, is Mahua.
Dedicated to Badru, and many more like him.
It must be the season of Mahua bloom. Only if I could get up, I would have gone to pick the flowers. I wouldn’t mind a glass or two, just to cheer up!
I am sure, the night must’ve fallen and, the stars are out, by now.
I hear a hooting owl, a howling wolf. I hear the sniffing of wild dogs overhead sometimes.
It is chilly tonight, and the floor feels especially hard.
I lie there in a room, beneath the ground. A room that my friends built for me. Out of love and anger.
The wooden roof covers me and the air around me. The plastic sheets cover the wooden roof, and then some soil.
They wanted to spare me from rainwater. It’d have been OK though, I’d have drunk some.
I can make out nights over days when the light percolates through the roof or is it just my imagination?
The nights feel long sometimes. Wish they’d have left some opening. I would have gazed at stars, through the window.
This, the infinite space and time between me and the living, makes me wonder sometimes, what would have been Einstein’s take on my situation?
My body has stiffened, No muscles or fat, and, the skin too has dried, almost powdery on my face, but rubbery, elastic elsewhere.
I was young and fit and Mom was proud. Now, this! It’s not good for a 24-year-old, I know!
She must be losing patience, “He is just lying around and he has a wife now…”
But she just stares now, at infinity.
My body aches at the gunshot wound.
It’s been two years now, for this horizontal truth. It has been time I haven’t visited my farmland. What am I tied with?
Or, am I just hallucinating?
Only if I could get up… I would have gone with Sannu and friends, pick Mahua flowers, just like the other day…
A trail of my blood on the soiled track had dried, as I was being carried back home.
I could have been cremated. Instead, I am here.
Mom was crying, so was my wife. But they agreed that the room was nice.
They put some oil and some salt and herbs, before wrapping me in the white shroud.
Now, this room is my home.
Ranu da came the other day to see me. I wanted to speak to him. But, he was caught up with my friends. I saw my mother and her, my wife. :-)
Wish, Ranu da could have spent some moments in my room, we would have sipped some tea, chatted for a while.
He calls me “a hope for justice”. For others, I am now a body, “preserved”.
I was covered again. They left.
It is quiet again. I sometimes hear the voices of passers-by. That apart, nothing. I listen to the silence.
It’s alright.
My existence(!?) has a purpose for some lives.
After all, life has to be lived for those it’s still possible, fights must go on, justice must be sought!
And, one must go to the forest. Mahua must be picked. Mahua is life after all.
Hai there is nothing one can say
The Dhobi left his work of washing clothes
The Rawat forgot his Doha songs
The boys threw stones at every house
We cooked gruel of sawa, even the kutki was finished
I fall at thy feet, O Mahua, it was you who saved our lives
(From FOLK SONGS OF CHATTISGADH — ENG — VERRIER ELWIN”)
Writer’s take: Badru Madvi was shot dead as an alleged Maoist, in Gampur (Bijapur, Chhattisgarh, India, in March ’22. His village has preserved his body since then, waiting for justice. I came across his story while watching local journalist Ranu aka Vikas Tiwari’s YouTube video. Ranu da runs Bastar Talkies, a YouTube channel to narrate the unbiased stories of local Adivasis (tribal), simple and intriguing, in Hindi. Badru’s story was published in other news articles too.
