Slaughter

There was blood everywhere. He would wake up to the smell of it. By now, he barely even noticed. It didn’t make a difference to him.  He woke up more these days to the sounds that were made rather than the actual smells. It began before dawn usually. Way before. In his state of pure drowsiness he could hear their screeches. Their pitiable screams in the hands of his father. Mother would usually be in the outhouse common kitchen by now. They lived in a semi concrete one level establishment that was more functional than fancy. The outside porch consisted of a large granite slab. Beneath the slab were sharp knives of different sizes. There was three buckets kept on one side. The other side, away from the slab had a weighing scale and a cash box. There was a door that separated the inner house where there was a makeshift  bedroom and kitchen area, barely taking up 500 square feet. There was a wash area that had water supply for only four hours a day. It was swamy’s duty to help his mother with filling the rows of plastic buckets with water before sunrise while the water was still running in the taps.

“ three kilo broiler”.

Mr. shaheen had come in early today.  Swamy was just waking up.  His mother was in the kitchen preparing the early morning  lentils. His sister was fast asleep in the makeshift cloth cradle.

He could hear them screeching as his father took a fat semi comatose bird out of the crate. One well-placed slice from the experienced hand of his father brought an end to the life of the creature.

Once again, there was blood everywhere. The smell was overwhelming. A slight breeze brought a few feathers into the house.

“ How long are you going to daydream? Wake up. Its time for the water. “

Mother was quite annoyed this morning. Probably it was because the baby had cried all night. Swamy barely noticed. He was too tired to notice anything these days.

School had started again after the prolonged summer vacations. This year he was in secondary school. There were an entire bunch of new faces. And the faces he knew had undergone such drastic changes that he barely seemed to recognize them.Swamy himself hadn’t changed much. Maybe his skin had acquired a deep brown colour once his father had opened up to concept of home delivered meat.

His entire holidays had been spent with his father. By now, he had stopped throwing up at the sight of the blood. His father had said that he had finally become a man.

“Stop!Enough. Don’t waste the water” – he could hear his mother cry out.

Swamy went about his early morning business with the dying of chicken and the clang of metal as his background score.

By the time the sun was out, and the distant cock had crowed till its throat was parched, an entire crate of birds had already breathed its last. Swamy had carefully tucked in his white shirt into his khaki shorts. he admired his reflection on the window pane. He loved the feel of the new fabric on his skin.

“ come! Take your meals. You don’t have entire day! And don’t forget the deliveries you need to make before reaching school” – his admiration of himself was short lived. His mother laid out a plate of rice and steamed vegetables. The same food he had been eating for breakfast, everyday for the past eleven years. It was the only meal he had at home. Lunch was usually at school and by dinner time, it was usually just a glass of milk or leftovers. But Swamy never complained. He didn’t find the point in it.

He carefully picks up his green school bag. He loves his school bag. In the ramshackle of a house, it’s the only thing that makes him feel like a city boy or the boys he sees on the screen of his neighbor’s television set. His father never believed in buying a television set. He even sold off the free one given by the government. He thought it made young boys dull and women gossip. Swamy had begged his father countless times. Everytime, his cheek stung with the marks of his father’s hands.

There’s a certain spring in his step as he walks out with his sandals and his green school bag.

“ 3kgs. Mr. Shaheen. 1.5 Kgs.  To Mr. Irani’s house and 500 at Mr. karruppu’s house”

Swamy thought first day of school and his father would not find him any work to do. But his commanding voice even made the baby turn in the cradle. Swamy had no other choice. He quietly took those three packets of freshly cut meat and carefully slung them on the backseat of the cycle. Carefully, not to squish the meat. Yet he ensured that the smell would not reach him.  He drove off. His mother had still not noticed that her son had left the house.

Swamy ensured that he avoided all the roadblocks, the manholes and the stones on the dirt bound road. The meat could not even for a second fall from his place. His new uniform would smell of it. And he couldn’t risk that. But he had to be fast too. He couldn’t risk being late on the first day of school. He had been looking forward to it entire summer. He had practiced also, the entire of his vacation to drive his bicycle perfectly in order to reach school on time.

By the second bell he pushed his cycle into the school compound. And by the third, he was panting away into the third floor corridor. He was in the secondary school now. It had almost slipped his mind that he had to climb up to the third floor.

Third bench. That was his favorite. He was not right up front to receive the blows. Nor was he too far to be lost in the crowd. Right in the middle.Maintains perfect eye contact.Swamy liked his teachers to know that they had his entire concentration. Their competence didn’t matter to him. He learnt quite early that school was going to be the only platform that would propel him out of committing a sin every day. He forgave his father for sinning every day because afterall his father did provide him with a roof over his head and food to eat. But he didn’t want to do it.

The third bench was empty. Despite the fact that he was a little late. The last rows were fully occupied. Chubby boys were literally wrestling with the skinnier ones for a space to sit.

Swamy carefully arranged his new pencils in front of him. He took out his new notebook. Placed it in front of him.  SWAMY K.N .he wrote in big bold on the first page. He looked up. The entire classroom was filled. He looked to the left of him. His bench alone was empty. No one was sitting next to him.

“ why don’t you sit in the third bench there? next to swamy? “  Palani master called out to the two students who were sitting down on the floor.

“ no sir, we’ll sit here. We are alright sitting here.” The taller one with the black polished shoes said. He was one of the only three boys who had black polished shoes.

“but why not?  You all are adults now! Stop behaving like junior KG children. “

“but sir… we can hear you and see the board better from here. And golu needs glasses also..” the taller one pointed towards the more impish looking one sitting beside him.

“ you can see very clearly from the third bench. Stop this nonsense. Pick up your things and go sit there”

Palani master was reaching a stage of fury by now.

“ please sir.. please don’t make us sit with him…” the impish one quipped up.

“ tell me what is going on right now or both of you’ll are going to get a strong trashing”

That seemed to have done the trick.

“ wecant sit with him cause he stinks sir! He smells of meat and blood and my father says that their entire family are sinners!”

The entire class burst into laughter.

What happened after didn’t exactly register much in Swamy’s head. But he heard sounds and names being called out. They called him names during classes. At lunch break,  Natraj’s  tiffin box “ accidentally” opened on Swamy’s head. By evening Swamy was tired of bursting out into tears in the washroom. He had looked forward to school. He wanted to learn, but everytime he put his pencil onto his notebook, they would snatch away his notebook and it would either return in tatters or with nasty caricatures. Swamy wanted to just run away. But between being home and in school, he couldn’t decide what was worse.

So at 4:00 p.m. when the children left school, Swamy took out his cycle. Someone had let out the air from his tyres. He dragged it out. Someone pushed him. He found himself tasting sand.

As he finally dragged his cycle into the dirt road, he knew he’d have to get it fixed. Otherwise the next day would be a disaster. But did he want to come back to the wretched place anyway?.School.The one place where he could escape the stench, the blood and the thoughtless killing of those birds. He had been against it right from when he was a child. Swamy was a shy child. It took him a while to make friends.  His uncle had taken a genuine interest in him and had gifted him a little chick to play with. It was a tiny, fragile little creature. Its eyes barely opened. Swamy took care of it with utmost devotion.  It grew along with Swamy. Soon it was a healthy little hen.

On Swamy’s  fourth birthday, his father killed the bird.  For the first time in his life, Swamy cried. Terribly. From that day on, he decided he would never be a part of this. He needed to find a way out. He hated his father. But the marks on his shoulder reminded him that he was still very much a part of a distorted family his father had tried to keep together.

Unconsciously, with all these thoughts in mind,  Swamy had reached gondu’s cycle repair.

“ eugh. With this much smell you should probably go work in the flower market or something…”

Despite the fact that Swamy desperately wanted to hit Gondu for saying that as all the frustration had begun to slowly mount, nevertheless it was in that sudden moment that Swamy realized that maybe life was not so dreary after all.

It didn’t take Swamy even a moment after Gondu had filled air in his tyre to speed off. He cycled like a mad man. Along the road people swore at him. But Swamy didn’t even notice.

“ pleaseKaliyabhai. I’ll deliver all the flowers. Carefully.  You won’t even have to pay me much. Just ten rupees a month. I’ll work the morning shift.”

Kaliyabhai was sorting out the marigolds from the heap. He finally looked into the eyes of this little boy who had, for the last half an hour been following him around like a lost puppy chanting the same thing. When the boy had first come into the shop, kaliya had thought he was just another ruffian. But the passion with which the boy had argued was something he wished maybe his lazy son had.

“ early morning shift starts at 7:00 a.m. and gets done by 8:30 a.m. “ kaliya grunted.

The smile he saw on the boy’s face would be one that Kaliya would remember for the rest of his life.

On his way back home, Swamy saw two big granite stones on the pathway. He picked it up carefully. With one clean blow, he hit it on his head. He felt his skin break. The pain stung his eyes.

“ what happened to your face boy?”

His father’s voice was thick and gruff.

“ teacher caned me.”

“Why?”

“because I went late for school. School for secondary  starts at six forty five. “

“hmmm……….. “

His father walked into the kitchen space.

“ meena, from tomo you will have to do the delivery. First order is at seven in the morning. So make sure you wake up. Don’t waste your time on gossip woman!”

That night despite his mother’s cribbing, his father’s  drunken brawl with the neighbour’s husband and the baby wailing, Swamy dreamt of flowers and butterflies and eagles that  flew to the very top of the tree and looked down on everything else.