THE OUTING

Karuppan squatted by the roadside. He chewed the tobacco and gazed into the middle distance. The soft breeze ruffled his flowing hair. He was oblivious to the cars whizzing by, the occupants comfortably ensconced in their air-conditioned cocoons, some occasionally casting an indifferent glance at Karuppan. A few eyed him suspiciously. He looked like a foreigner, and everyone knew most of these foreigners were violent criminals. One had to be careful.

Karuppan was waiting for his friends, Maran and Ghani, and Ghani’s cousins, Ghulam and Kader. They had a day off from their jobs at the estate, and had come into town to while away the time, and maybe see a movie. There was a new Vijay movie in town. Karuppan waited patiently.

Soon he heard a muted honking. Karuppan looked up. A ramshackle van was trundling down the road towards where he was. He watched for a while. Then he stood, and sent a jet of red tobacco laden spittle splattering against the bushes. He walked briskly towards the van. As it came closer, Karuppan could recognize Maran in the driver’s seat. And beside him was Ghani. Maran honked repeatedly, smiling through his yellowed teeth. Ghani looked pleased to see him.

“Dey, come on, it’s getting late.” The van door slid open, and Karuppan crawled in. Ghulam and Kader were sitting at the back, with two other men Karuppan had never met.

“This is Mani. He has come down from JB. And this is his brother Gopal.”

Karuppan nodded.

The van jerked and grunted. It spewed black smoke as it labored its way uphill towards the main road.

As they approached the school, Maran could see the long lines of people inside. There were also groups of people milling around outside, talking loudly. The sun was sweltering hot, but the people around the school stood, sweating.

The van slowed as it reached the school, as Maran maneuvered through the people standing around on the road.

A violent jerk, and the van jumped, almost hitting some of bystanders. The engine died. As Maran frantically tried to revive it, some of the people started peering into the van. Ghani, Karupan, Ghulam, Kader, Mani and Gopal sat sweating, scrunched against each other in the tiny van.

“Bangla !” the cry went up.

Everyone was looking into the van now. The occupants of the van peered back, looking terrified.

“Hoi, apasal you orang datang sini, ha?”

“Bangla tipu !!”

“Undi hantu”

“Hoi, penipu”

The crowd was swirling around, shouting and yelling. Some were screaming obscenities. Maran tried to get out or the van. He tried to explain. But all his protestations were drowned by the crowd’s chaotic shouting. Some had pulled open the van doors. Maran, Ghani, Karuppan… all of them were dragged out. The crowd set upon them with helmets, sticks and bare fists, punching and kicking.

Seeing the commotion, more people ran over and joined the melee, bashing Karuppan and his friends mercilessly.

***

Maran sat against the tree. His face was bloodied. He could hardly move his left hand. Ghani and Karuppan squatted nearby, panting and unable to speak. Soon Mani and Gopal appeared, supporting Ghulam between them. They collapsed in a heap under the tree.

“Where’s Kader ?” Ghani looked anxious. Everyone scrambled to look back towards where the deadly attack had taken place. But Kader was nowhere to be seen. They looked at each other, the terror playing in their eyes.

***

Kader lay on the ground, his leg at an awkward angle. Blood ran from his nose and mouth in a tiny stream, snaking its way to the edge of the road. The crowd stood back. A policemen was feeling his pulse. He looked up at his superior and shook his head imperceptibly.

Kader’s wallet lay nearby, its contents scattered around. One piece of paper fluttered in the wind. The words “NATIONAL IDENTITY CARD, PEOPLES REPUBLIC OF BANGLADESH” were printed in fading bold letters, above a picture of a youngish looking Kader.