And The Pariah Roared

By Jace Jordan

The work is set in India. It follows the path of a poor severely abused man, suffering years of hell. He climbs from the gutter, overcomes the severe constraints of the Indian caste system, and becomes the elite of the elite. It sets out on a very heavy note. This is essential to show how a poor young villager, innocent of any crime, unjustifiably suffers horrible physical abuse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadOnTime BV
• Release date: Mar 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781742844770

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And The Pariah Roared

Jace Jordan

And The Pariah Roared

Copyright © 2014 Jace Jordan

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Smashwords Edition

The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect those of the publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

A copy of this publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

ISBN:  978-1-742844-77-0 (pbk.)

Published by Book Pal

www.bookpal.com.au

Author’s Note

The book is a novel; a work of fiction. Characters and issues treated at events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or alive, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to India, the country of my birth, and to its unique and fascinating people. Although I lived there from 1936 to 1950, the sixty years plus since my departure has done little to dim precious memories that have remained close throughout my waking hours. From the plains of Central India to the upper reaches of the Kamoan hills - the foothills of the Himalayas - the variety and extremes in lifestyle, colour, culture, mysticism, and beauty, epitomise for me the term exotic.

Author’s Special Note

The work was shelved in late 2003 without further pursuit to publish. At that time the author became a dedicated Christian and realised the very essence of the novel clashed with his new-found beliefs.

The book now belongs, in its entirety, to Jace.

Contents

Prologue

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Part 2

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Glossary

Prologue

It was early evening on the eighteenth day of November 1934. A clear black sky studded with myriads of stars boasted a crescent moon low over the horizon. A gentle zephyr chilled the air.

The white adults were playing housie (bingo) inside the railway institute while several groups of their offspring were scattered around the expansive grounds and gardens that surrounded this popular community centre.

A group of seven and eight year old boys were playing hide and seek at the time. Two of these bolstered enough courage between them to hide in the dense lantana hedge that separated the institute’s tennis courts from Hospital Road. The spot was well chosen, located some distance from the institute building, it was beyond the comfort limits of the lone seven year old seeker.

Self-confidence boosting calls from the seeker to his hidden quarries were rising in volume and concern then abruptly stopped. All listened intently to the strange muddled sounds now coming from some distance down the road that intersected with Hospital Road.

Hey! I don’t wanna play any more. The seeker shrilled suddenly. A sharp child’s whimper and the sound of feet fleeing towards the institute building ended the game.

Several chastising subdued voices and one single angry high-pitched male voice, all speaking Hindi, grew in volume and clarity. An angry mob approached the intersection. Shuffling sandalled feet joined the sounds as a bunched group of men turned into Hospital Road and approached the terrified boys still crouched in their hiding place.

You damned coward! The high-pitched voice yelled angrily. A deluge of heavy body blows were now audible; followed by a sharp slap and the sound of spitting. They were quite close now.

Goshi! For heaven’s sake! Shut up. Juggat Singh chastised.

But Goshi’s temper had the better of him. Damned swine! The child is just three years old, Juggat.

I know that, dammit! Now shut up before that damned voice of yours brings the English out of the building. We’re still too close and we don’t want them involved in this; not yet anyway, not until we talk to Moti and Lulli. And you’re wasting your breath; he can’t hear you through the heavy blindfold covering his eyes and ears.

Goshi was a small man of slight build. He had a complex. His small stature left him with a sense of inferiority and insecurity among the group members that manifest itself again and again in strong and sudden outbursts of emotion, often in displays of bravado to impress the others. Inevitably he was the first in the group to react verbally, and as often as not spontaneously.

A hush fell over the crowd now well within earshot of the institute. Only low murmurs and the shuffling sound of sandalled feet betrayed their presence.

A muddle of shapes materialised a couple of hundred feet away from the boys in hiding. As distance grew between the group and the institute so too did the volume and tempo of the voices.

Rajiv, Kewal, go quickly. The voice that spoke was that of an old man. He sounded tired and laboured from heavy breathing. Tell Moti and Lulli what has happened to their daughter.

Two young men left the crowd and ran ahead.

And tell them we have the swine that did it. Goshi’s high-pitched voice added.

You just can’t help yourself, Goshi. Can you? Dyat mumbled; his voice edged with intolerance.

They were close now; heavy breathing and an aura of controlled anger filled the air and sent chills through the boys in hiding.

Please listen to me. The beaten wretch cried out in hopelessness after coughing and spitting out the gag. He was slender of build. His face was swollen and bloodied and wet with saliva, his arms pinned to his side. I tell you again! I did not harm the child. Somebody else must have done it and fled when he heard me coming. I didn’t do it. I didn’t touch her.

A back-hander sent the accused man’s head reeling sharply to one side. Just ----- shut up. This voice was low and filled with controlled anger.

The captive was in a pathetic state. His clothes were dirty, bloodied and in tatters. His loincloth hung with ragged edges, caused by a strip being crudely torn from it and used to plug his ears and mouth and to blindfold him; the latter held the ear plugs in place.

Gag him again. Goshi chipped in quickly.

Let it go. He can neither hear nor see us. Juggat responded angrily.

Again and again the captive proclaimed his innocence. I am guilty only of comforting the child. For heaven’s sake! Listen to me. He cried out in frustration. I heard the child’s screams and found her alone and sitting in blood on the floor of the storm water mmmph-----. The fist in his face sent his head reeling back. I was just comforting her on my lap. He added through sobs of frustration.

Stop insulting our intelligence. Rajiv mumbled while shaking his fist to relieve the hurt.

The angry group was returning home from the bazaar when it all started. While still quite some distance from the storm water canal some among them heard a child’s terrified screams. These ran ahead and disappeared around a bend in the road. The others were hot on their heels. Nearing the canal they heard the sobbing of a child coming from a spot not visible from the road. Turning a bend in the canal they came upon their captive squatting on the concrete bottom of the canal caressing the child. Although quite dark, there was enough light to see the bloodstains on the lower parts of the tiny tot’s clothing. These and the bloodstains on the loincloth and shirt-front of the man caressing her pointed the finger of guilt squarely at him. At first sight of the child the faces of the captors initially displayed shock. They all knew her. This quickly translated into disgust, hatred and anger.

You filthy ----. You animal, You ----. Accusations came from all directions. To a man the group were convinced of his guilt. Handing the child to an old man the group flailed into him.

The accused was Ranjit Mittal, a mild mannered unassuming young man of average height and slender build. He was twenty-three years old and employed as an assistant cost clerk at Moradabad loco sheds of the East Indian Railway where he earned the very modest sum of 35 rupees per month. Ranjit Mittal was to be married next week but was yet to meet his bride-to-be as his parents arranged his marriage when he was just a toddler. Through the years they regularly kept him assured of the girl’s fine looks, nature and up-bringing.

Ranjit regained consciousness to find himself ear muffed, gagged, blindfolded, and being dragged along amid a crowd of people. The horror of the onslaught by so many left his mind reeling and fuzzy on exactly what had transpired and who was involved.

The light was poor on the street, barely sufficient to make out features at close quarters. It cast only soft shadows. Streetlights existed, but apparently to be seen rather than illuminate the road. Each dirty globe wore a white enamelled Chinese hat and a scarf of hundreds of circling moths and beetles. Still, one shed enough illumination for the two boys in hiding to make out deep furrows of worry etched on the face of an old man at the edge of the crowd who carried a sobbing child of three or four swaddled in a coarse blanket.

A door slammed. Running feet and screams mixed with weeping and wailing told of the fast approach of highly distraught people. The child’s parents raced out from the second last double storey building to meet the oncoming crowd.

Then, without a word, Moti Lal, the child’s father, let fly with fist, foot and curse at the sobbing wretch still held firmly by his captors. The mother, Lulli, gently relieved her tired father of his precious burden.

Swine! You filthy -----!. Moti Lal spluttered while searching for words with which to curse Ranjit Mittal. Exhausted from consuming fury and his physical onslaught, he collapsed on the ground and wept unashamedly.

Lulli’s breath came in short bursts and her shoulders jumped spasmodically in convulsive sobbing. Other than to softly soothe her daughter Pushpa she had not spoken. Now she approached Ranjit Mittal while still soothing the child and gently rocking her back and forth in her arms. Pushpa was silent now, apparently asleep. Silent seconds stretched long while she stared at Ranjit without speaking. All was quiet yet he sensed her presence and her hate-filled watering eyes reaching out to cut him far more effectively than any words or physical violence could ever achieve. She reached out to pull off his blindfold but was stopped in time.

Moti, Lulli, we have plugged his ears and blindfolded him to minimise risk of recognition by him. He will hear nothing you say. We assumed you will want some sort of personal vengeance so we have left these intact; but be careful. The tired old grandfather of the child advised solemnly.

Ranjit began to protest his innocence but shut up when Lulli spat in his face. Frustrated by the utter futility and hopelessness of his situation he sagged back. Quite deliberately Lulli slowly lifted the child up. When mere inches away Pushpa turned to stare directly into Ranjit’s battered and swollen face.

She screamed in terror. Knowing murmurs rumbled through the crowd. Now the lid was really sealed on any doubt of this man’s guilt, if perchance, any previously existed.

Quickly the mother returned the child to the comfort of her embrace.

You are an animal. Lulli spoke in a tired even voice. No man would defile such a defenceless little child as my beautiful Pushpa. More than anything else in the world I pray you are cursed with a tormented and shame-filled life.

Ranjit knew a woman was talking to him by the muffled sounds and the sensation of the deep breathing very close and in front of him. Woman, know this. I went to her ----.

Another backhander and a muffled deep voice at his side shut Ranjit up.

If the world was just your punishment would be permissible by my hands. Lulli continued. Only God and the law have saved you from my retribution. One far worse than the courts are allowed to exact. Still, somehow you must suffer at my hands. How you must suffer! I will exact my own portion of vengeance on you or my hatred for you will consume me. Lulli was screaming now. She paused to gain control. Somehow! The last word was hissed at little more than a whisper.

Lulli’s hate-filled words stunned the mob into silence. Ranjit sensed it.

Moti Lal laboured to his feet. He was utterly drained of energy. Soothingly he took the child from his wife and caressed them both. All the while his cold repulsive glare never wavered from Ranjit. When he spoke his voice was tired but decisive.

Assuming command he addressed the group. A little later we will send someone to fetch the district police superintendent - from his home. As another afterthought he added. And the man who goes must walk slowly and carefully. The night is dark and the walk long. We would not want him to fall and break a leg. Would we? Scanning the faces his gaze stopped on Dyat Gupta. Dyat, I think you should go to fetch the police superintendent.

Dyat Gupta nodded assent.

But the white folk are -----. Dhali, a stout, middle-aged, slow thinking member started but was cut off sharply.

Oh! Get with it. Goshi interjected impatiently. He is not with them at the institute; we know this. He is at home. He does not go to these functions. Now, be quiet, Dhali.

Moti Lal’s mind raced. Gesturing he drew Dyat Gupta to one side to join Lulli and himself and gave him specific instructions. "We are going to tie this swine to the neem tree at the back of my place and flog him."

Good! Just let me have my turn at him too. Lulli added in a harsh whisper.

Moti Lal nodded understandingly. "Don’t tell that to the Police Superintendent or you’ll have all of us in jail, Dyat. I’m going to use to advantage the fact that he cannot accuse any of us without proof - thanks to the earmuffs and blindfold - and it would have been dark in the storm water drain.

Hmm! Instead, tell him that six of us arrived at my house after shopping at the bazaar and found Rewal and Sathi, and Rajiv and Yasmin waiting for us outside. They were all terribly distraught as our daughter Pushpa had been sexually molested.

Let me think! ------ Yes! Tell him these two couples were playing cards after putting a tired Pushpa to sleep on Rajiv’s daughter Jasmin’s bed. She must have woken up, climbed off the bed, and disappeared outside without them seeing her.

Say four men and two women, the women carrying brassware, brought Pushpa and the molester home. All were strangers. They found this swine covered in Pushpa’s blood and caressing her close in the storm water drain. They blindfolded and ear muffed him then gave him a terrible beating. Obviously they used a lutthi or something on his back and feared the consequence of breaking the law in so doing.

Tell the superintendent the swine’s back is terrible - raw with welts.

They probably asked Pushpa where she lived and tied the swine to the neem tree in my back yard while the women soothed the child in the house, eventually ending up at Rajiv’s place where we had left Pushpa playing with young Jasmin. All the while Rajiv and the others assumed Pushpa was still asleep.

The captors told Rajiv they must leave to catch a train for Bareilly and they had already tied up the culprit in my back yard and given him another flogging. Before leaving one suggested that if Pushpa was his he would castrate the swine, but said that was up to the parents.

Tell him I asked a few neighbours over to help guard him until the police arrive. We lit several torches."

The messenger listened attentively. Which six went to the market? he asked.

Oh! Good point, Dyat. Moti Lal named two others besides the messenger and his wife, Lulli and himself.

After repeating the story several times to Moti Lal’s satisfaction Moti Lal told Dyat Gupta not to return with the Superintendent of Police within three hours. This will give him enough time to make sure all the others use the same story and allow him to carry out the retribution plan that was fast developing in his mind.

Dyat was middle aged and quite astute. He was a quiet man, small of stature. Yet he earned respect from all his colleagues because he rarely spoke unless he had something worth hearing.

Heavens! In all this I ----- Lulli! Quickly! Take Pushpa to the hospital. Ask another woman to go with you.

Pushpa was the only child of Moti Lal and Lulli and the focal point in their lives. Moti Lal was forty-eight and Lulli forty before they were blessed with a daughter. From the day Pushpa was born her parent’s primary purpose in life was to provide an environment of happiness and security for her. After careful and extensive inquiries they recently arranged Pushpa’s marriage to the son of a fine young couple of quite comfortable means. Now all these hopes and plans for their daughter’s future were dashed. They would agonise over these thoughts for years to come.

Pushpa was a pretty little child and small for her age. When her mother was not pampering her she stayed much to herself, infrequently playing with Jasmine from next door, a child of her own age. Young Jasmin was far more boisterous and outgoing than Pushpa and soon tired of Pushpa’s company whenever they played together.

Pushpa was liked and spoilt by all the neighbours living in the row of double storey buildings that lined one side of Hospital road. The road separated these from the tennis courts that were part of the railway institute property. All the men folk in these houses were Moti’s subordinates in the railway office control room where they controlled and reported on train movements in the Moradabad division.

Moti Lal was their Chief Controller.

Moti’s one thought was to make this molester suffer most severely and by the time they reached his house his plan for personal retribution was well established in his mind.

Rajiv, usually mild natured at heart, was happy to act as a lookout on the roadside to deter curious passers-by from joining in the activities. Moti told Rajiv to advise them that there was a serious problem involving several of the neighbours from these buildings, and they would do well to move on and not interfere.

Moti knew Dyat could be relied on to carry out his instruction accurately. He, too, expected the Police Superintendent and his wife to be at home; they rarely attended these institute functions. Dyat would take a casual walking detour to ensure he did not return with the Police Superintendent within the three hours nominated by Moti.

I want you to bring that animal to the backyard, Moti Lal uttered coldly while pointing at Ranjit, I’m far from finished with him.

At home Moti Lal arranged for Ranjit Mittal to be stripped to the waist. Listen to me very carefully! Moti advised the group, "I’ll do all the talking when the Police Superintendent arrives. Now tie him up to the neem tree. Use strong ropes; I have some in my godown. You will find mustard oil and rags in the godown too. Goshi! You fetch these while the others break branches to make torches."

The torches lit up the back yard and eyes of the group now waiting for further instruction.

Moti went over the instructions he gave Dyat Gupta several times with the group. They must all become familiar with the concocted scenario. Undoubtedly, all would be called up to testify in court. To this end he would sit down with Dyat and record all the details, and give each a carbon copy.

All the while both boys sat like statues in the hedge by the roadside as the crowd moved past and eventually spilled into Moti Lal’s yard.

It was several minutes after the mob disappeared into the backyard before Johnny whispered. I’m scared Benny! Let’s scram! You coming?

Benny nodded.

Do you think we have been too cruel to you? Moti breathed in Ranjit’s face, but loud enough for all to hear. So far we have only been playing with you. Moti was breathing deeply now.

Ranjit resigned himself to silence.

Hit him! Hit the swine! Goshi’s frenzied high-pitched voice excited the group now waiting anxiously for the real torture to start.

Ranjit heard not a word but felt Moti’s breath on his face and the growing expectation that something terrible was about to happen to him.

Moti disappeared into the house and came out a few minutes later hidden under a large white overcoat and a balaclava that revealed little more than his eyes. The dreadful looking cane in his right hand swished and hummed as it cut through the air several times during his approach.

There was a moment’s pause when he reached Ranjit then crack. The cane struck Ranjit mercilessly across his bare back. The accused screamed and arched his back in reflex action, and the group roared their satisfaction.

One after the other the group members repeated Moti’s lead with the overcoat, balaclava and cane; each striking just one uncompromising blow then returning indoors to pass the guise and cane on to the next punisher. When the roar subsided he or she emerged to strike a blow and again get the group yelling their support. Relatives, close friends and neighbours, all part of the group gone mad, discreetly claimed the right to strike a blow in retribution.

All the while flaming torches leapt and swayed, casting lights and shadows dancing in the surrounding trees.

Crack! Another ugly welt permanently etched into the back and mind of the accused.

So it was repeated, again and again, twenty-times in all.

It was a cruel cane. Hastily adapted to inflict extreme pain and draw blood, it served its purpose well. It was five feet long and split into four strips from one end down to the middle. The ends of the splits were tied to contain the segments. A rag wrapped around the other end provided a generous splinter-free grip. On impact the strips spread, then closed after the blow was expended to pinch skin, raise a welt, and as often as not draw blood.

The tree, gnarled and twisted, grew a few feet within the rear-hedged boundary of the backyard, well hidden from the road by the large double storey building.

Paradoxically, and from a distance, the irregular tempo of lights and shadows pulsing and dancing in the treetops accompanied by the frequent bouts of cheering cast the illusion of a happy and festive occasion.

’Rajiv carried out his task as lookout effectively. Throughout the evening’s activities only four passers-by stopped to enquire about the bedlam and moved on when told the concocted scenario about angry neighbours arguing.

The caning of Ranjit had started when Lulli returned from the hospital with her sleeping daughter and put her to bed. She was thankful the hospital was just a couple of hundred yards from her house.

She reflected on her conversation with the doctor and this served only to heighten the torment in her mind.

An attempt has been made to either forcefully man-handle or penetrate this child, Lulli.

"This I know, doctor jee. My primary concern is what lasting damage this swine has caused my Pushpa."

Well the child has bled quite profusely from the tear. In time this will heal. As to her virginity -----. He held his hands wide in hopelessness and sighed without comment.

Damn the swine! Lulli broke into tears again.

Fortunately the man was probably stopped from penetrating further by the child’s screams and the group of men coming to her rescue. The doctor speculated. I would rather not think about the physical damage and pain he would have caused her if those men were not in earshot. He paused to select the right words before continuing. There is yet another, deeper, concern. I am not a doctor of the mind, but I must advise that I hold much concern for her mental well-being; this was a terrible trauma experienced by one so young, a child barely into her formative years. He shook his head solemnly.

Oh! No! I have only considered her physical hurt and the probable ruination of her chances to marry the one promised to her. Lulli wept anew. She was a shattered woman.

"Doctor Jee, I ache to kill this man ---- very slowly and very painfully. Quickly she added, One of the men from Bareilly said if Pushpa was his daughter, besides beating him mercilessly – which they did before leaving to return to Bareilly – he would castrate the swine. Believe me, I am very tempted to arrange just that."

He nodded understandingly. Now! Now! You are very distraught. Be kind to yourself. Of course I can understand your deep hate for this terrible man, but time will heal even that. Now, I have given the child a sleeping draught and she should sleep soundly and well into the morning. Go home and put her to bed, and try to wipe this terrible experience and your ugly thoughts of revenge from your mind or they will be your undoing.

Moti came into the bedroom to enquire after his daughter and was relieved to see her sleeping peacefully. Lulli told Moti what transpired at the hospital. She felt quite clever when telling Moti of her statement to the doctor about what one of the Bareilly men said.

Moti smiled his approval.

Lulli changed into a fresh white sari then looked in again on her daughter. Thankfully Pushpa was sound asleep; even the bedlam outside caused no stir. She gently closed the door and moved downstairs. There were things she must do. She too had contrived a plan of revenge.

The caning was almost over when the slight figure of Lulli squatted cross-legged on the back veranda. Her back was to a large pillar that hid her from the cheering crowd.

Rocking to and fro Lulli pounded and ground chilli, rock salt and mustard oil between mortar and pestle. She paused momentarily at the crack of each of the last three blows to swing her head around the pillar to observe proceedings and nod approval. All the while she sobbed convulsively.

A terrible hate and anger, steaming and bubbling with venom, stirred within her. It was like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Just a little more and she would be ready to give it vent.

The flogging was over; only the infrequent low murmur and an occasional curse fouled the air.

Now the solitary demure figure of a small woman emerged from the back veranda, her shoulders still convulsing from uncontrollable but silent sobbing. A balaclava hid all but her eyes, and a loose white coat, ridiculously large around her, trailed on the ground as she walked. Slowly and silently Lulli moved toward the welt-covered back of the swollen and bleeding wretch.

Sight of her immediately silenced the group. None were aware of what was to follow. This wasn’t in the plan. A twig snapped and fell from the neem tree hitting the ground with a clearly audible though light thud. Ranjit sensed the mood and began to weep. Lulli slowed to gain composure and eventually stopped within reach of the pathetic, beaten