Blue Eyes | Divy Tripathi

The hands struggled to maintain their hold on the cusp of the washbasin. The wet fingers, dirtied by the holed-up muck that neared its brim, were wriggling their aquatic keynotes. Under the flickering yellow light of the blackened light bulb, a figure swayed uneasily on the floor. His right knee held on like a solitary stump, albeit one that was dwindling toward defeat. There was no such quandary for the left leg, which had already slumped on the floor.

Almost foretelling his doom, the body seemed to be tilting towards the secret cockroach lair to his right, which had already begun its nightly operation amidst the assortment of mugs and buckets that lay over the naali.   The clouds outside seemed to be gurgling in their excitement. The splashes of rain which hit the window pane were losing their assertiveness by the second as if awaiting a stormy bugle, whose roar would call time on the man’s night.

A rapturous, guilty scream pierced past the blue sky as if intent on deafening the listeners before they could hear its plea. And as if by the thunder’s jolt, the vanquished man holed up in the bathroom of his one-room flat was awakened. He sprung upright, albeit his head faced downwards, staring right into the mix of the vomit-laden water in the basin.

Disgusted at the floating inhuman balls of grime, his watery eyes looked for an escape.

A pair of blue eyes caught hold of him. Their sighting kicked in the well-accustomed ‘attention’ stance. He could see his quivering lips praying to contract in the mirror, even as his lower jaw began a mechanical back-and-forth twitch. It operated like a contraption, which passed on the tremors onto his hands and legs. He folded his fists and twisted his toes as if to shut the shivers. But they wouldn’t.

Another bolt of lightning arrived to reset him immediately. After a quick blink, he could see his less than well crafted, but clean-shaved face in the mirror.

It was his pair of woody brown eyes that welcomed him this time. His lips had contracted and went on to make an inverted U. His eyes caught a wayward arthropod’s return journey to its haunt just below the window pane. Suddenly it seemed that invisible dotted lines had enveloped him. Like a puppet following the lead of it’s master’s strings, the man pushed towards the insect.

By the time he reached the wall, the cockroach had already entered the shadowy domain within the bathing area that was its abode. The man hurriedly tossed away the assortment of mugs and buckets only to see that the vermin had made it to the other side of the drain strainer, and was sensing its surroundings with curious antennae which cropped out of the naali. 

An angry stamp from the man’s foot made the insect scurry back inside. A loud growl emanated from the beast. He went back to the washbasin and looked into the mirror.

“Pisaach! You hid again,” He screamed and then stared into the basin, as if talking to the murky pit, “Next time I’ll get you out! And we’ll see what happens then.”

And as if following a cue, the mischievous clouds hushed up outside. The only thing the man could feel were the rotating antennae of the roach. He looked back at the naali.

His face took a form not seen thus far in this agonizing state. His eyes were fixated at the marked place, his lips were twitching from left to right as if in a wave.

All his brain could run through were scans of images, which depicted his plan of action. A pair of tongs captured the roach’s antennae in the first frame, the next saw the protruding sharp blades defeating the futile pleas of this helpless creature before developing an invincible hold over it, and finally, the half-dead was being served to the flames of a match-stick.

However, an evocation from behind broke this medley.

“Saare jahan se achha, hindostan humara…

Hum bulbule hai iski, ye gulsita humara…”

His eyelids drooped and then rose again. The eyes started bulging, even as his mouth was agape in an unknown horror. He looked at the window pane, where the loud thuds felt like splashes of water ramming into his face.

He was enraptured by an attentiveness, unlike one that he’d experienced earlier. It felt like a vehement yet benign force had him under its grasp. The song playing in his bedroom’s television behind the door was a drumroll of sorts, for he turned and started towards the khakee clothing on the bathroom door hanger.

However, before that, he pushed himself towards the steel water tap above the basin and opened it. Splashes of its water were directed towards his face. Then he took out a worn-out brush from one of the small wooden cupboards above the basin and quickly jagged it past his teeth, before gargling them with the tap’s water. In less than a minute, he was inspecting his odour by blowing out breath after covering his nose and mouth. 

This makeshift alcohol breathalyser was a farce, for the nose took cue from the eyes which were dancing towards the left and gazing at the khakee.

The uniform’s inactivity was taken as assent. A sudden burst of lightning outside tore into the cop and he paced towards the police attire.

***

The cop woke up with a screeching pain in the bridge separating his eyebrows.

An instant memory was of two bright lights swerving towards him, as he was trying to light his Navy Cut with one hand while alternating between handling the vehicle and rolling down the window with the other. As he looked around, he observed a fly buzzing in the backseat.

She had been a constant companion through the journey, having sought shelter from the storm in his car. And at once, he envied her.

He thought if only he had several arms like her, this mishap could’ve been avoided. Two to light the smoke, another two to handle the steering wheel, a fifth to open the window next to him for disposing of the match stick, and the last to swat this irritating trash.

When the policeman opened the door and walked into the mild rain while holding his nose, he was surprised by the pristine shape of his Sarkari Suzuki Ertiga which had been dragged off the road. Though it was painted by a volley of dirt amidst its station in a puddle of muddy water there was hardly a scratch from the impact.

These observations could be made with clarity because of the light of the advertising board above, which stood like an oasis of radiance in the otherwise darkened, deserted stretch. The white neon light also illuminated the various trees and undergrowths that lay around the billboard.

Still soothing the nasal bridge with his left hand, the policeman was suddenly accosted by a splurge from above. A large patch of dark cloud had separated from its cousins and bestowed its outlash on him.

The cold drops awakened the cop’s survival instinct and pushed him farther to the right. His short sprint was halted under the inadequate cover of the advertising hoarding. Holding on to its right wooden leg, he examined a menacing black woolly patch several kilometres above peering back at him.

Its stoic stare made the drenched man experience a meekness within. It was as if he had been wrung out in the open, about to be squeezed by an unshakeable force. A protective counteractivity started and as if in a trance, the cop started moving away from the hoarding.

It had been a few paces on the grassy patch before his left foot experienced a lightness that went against the strain of nervousness running through the rest of his body. This feeling of relaxation turned into one of horror when he realized that his foot was on empty air, and he was slipping into an unknown hollow.

His right knee collapsed onto the footing of mud, stones, and grass. Soon the rest of his person followed the all too well-known diktat of self-preservation, and grasped for all that was within his reach.

He had barely breathed a few heavy heaves of relief, before the neck turned and forced him to confront his terror below. 

It was too dark for the eyes, but his ears remained wide awake. They worked through the heavy raindrops that splashed against their big sharp stony opponents, failing in the quest to break the will of these ancient troops. They worked through the leaves that whistled against the heavy torrent down the ravine, with the last, faint sound seemingly coming from the other end of the earth. They worked through the woody trees that swayed and creaked uneasily against the might of the storm, ever so ready to disassemble their pointy branches.

The relief soon gave way to a void that seemed to originate from an unknown point within, but pronged its tentacles through his entire existence in no time. Emulating the storm above, clouds of dissension appeared in his head.

The skies roaring far away hooted at the loss of an emancipating opportunity. The trees below rattled their branches as if inviting him to correct his mistake. An entire universe was dissipating within. Tiny molecules of his body were fragmenting towards the abyss below.

This survival felt like a mistake.

At that precise moment, the load on his shoulders was lifted. The erring cousin moved away, dropping the intensity around the man. A very soft breeze from the opposite direction hit him with a gentle tap. It slowly drifted him towards the car.

The hoarding’s light provided a haven of safety and reinvigorated clarity. He turned towards the advertising board, as if thankful to its light for clearing up the darkness within.

Delayed exhaustion hit him as soon as he laid his eyes on her. He dropped on his knees and imbibed the earthy smell of the muddy carpet underneath. The nostrils welcomed this odour which would’ve been an unwelcome companion in other circumstances, even as a frenetic smile captured his face.

His eyes glanced but didn’t quite read the “I’d Rather Drop Clothes Than Wear Animal Skin” caption at the bottom. They ran straight towards the plastered blonde’s mid-riff, which was covered in a lettuce bikini. The barren droplets from the sky took a white tinge after hitting the hoarding’s light, and after striking its metallic top, drippled down onto her.

The sight of the liquid covering her barely sheathed body made his eyes bulge, even as the lips stretched to their farthest point. His mouth was open in excitement. The water within surged as if the rain directly entered it. At that very moment, he wanted nothing more than to pierce a hole in the faint translucent sheet that wrapped her and become one in the canvas.

Even as the drops fell gently on his head in the pleasant wind, his eyes ran through her long legs. The cop felt an immense hunger within. And it felt as if only the firangi could quench it right there.

Words like Russian, Israeli, and randi rung up in his head. He imagined a thousand such posters spread across the deserted stretches of his mind’s forest.

His thoughts then went straight to his home in the village. His wife, clad in a green saree with a ghoonghat sifted through the flour, even as the children played outside in the dusty lanes. His mother prayed in a corner with her beads. No such posters could be seen inside his house.

His head dropped with a certain resignation. When he looked up at her again, he comforted himself in the perfect features of her face. He was relieved in doing a slightly less wrongful act.

Then he met her eyes. Those blue pearls were staring right back at him.

It felt as if they had been playing him all along. The feet contracted within, the shoes pointing at each other, like a child that had been admonished for a silly mistake. Her mischievous all-knowing smile that glittered on the poster stuck into his heart.

The drops gained in weight and discomfited his shoulders, even as a cold wave sprinted from the east to confront him with uncomfortable whispers. His lips clasped together for safety, but the cold breached their defence as he shivered.

He was overcome by a sudden need to grasp and smash her face on the floor, and then stomp her gut with his foot. Then he imagined draping her with a saree made out of a jute bag, as if covering her nakedness would provide a great relief.

This sequence was broken when the walkie-talkie in the car came to life.

He marched back towards it, to take note of the routine orders. But it seemed another he was still there, forever fixate before the hoarding. As he sat in the car, his left hand made an automatic movement towards the adjoining seat, from where a buzzing sound was emanating. It ceased after his action.

His lips spread wide and then pursed together holding back an imminent laughter. His eyes mirrored that intent for they became fixated at an unknown spot in the sky, as if awaiting an order. Suddenly he screamed,

“Pisaach, do you want this?” He leaned and brought his left hand closer to his opened mouth as if expecting someone to peer into his car from the outside. “Will this be enough?”

And for the first time in the night, the rain became next to nigh. There was no sight of lightning in the sky. The cop forced himself on the backseat, and let out a sigh, before breaking into a cackle.

“Hahaha! I knew it. I knew it!” He rolled out his window and then freed his palm. The half-dead fly buzzed out into the forest.

He started the car and drove off once more.

***

If one looked down from the dark clouds, the Ertiga seemed to be aping the gait of the snail which was situated to its right at the other end of the road. When the car came to a full halt, the shelled mollusk had almost touched its nose and seemed intent on continuing its arduous journey, the prospect of which burdened its pace.

Ertiga’s headlights illuminated a young girl in her early twenties pacing ahead of a bronze Innova Crysta, all the while waving her hands frantically. Her elongated forehead bore crumples that had borne out of concern but were now sourced by intrigue. The cop’s vehicle remained crouched opposite the Crysta, giving no hint of movement, as if it was a prey studiously scanning its surroundings.

The cop saw her eyes widening, followed by an indecisive halt before she continued in his direction. He quickly glanced over to the two male silhouettes in the background, one of them was lying on the floor, with his back adjacent to the door behind the Crysta’s driver’s seat, while the other had hands on his hips and was staring back at the cop.

“Excuse me?”

The girl, dressed in black and white formals, had stopped a few feet away from his door. Protected by the black-tinted glass veil, the cop gazed at her intently with his bloodshot eyes. As the clouds started roaring once more, he felt as if his cornea was being engulfed by a sea of searing redness.

To him, her worked-up low arch eyebrows, highlighted eyelashes, and lips painted with a peach-coloured lipstick, all visible in Crysta’s oncoming light, birthed a foreignness that stood against her wheatish complexion.

Without thinking twice, he stepped out. It seemed like the mild precipitation, that had started moments back had arrived with the sole purpose of creating a gulf between them. The mascara had begun to tear down her cheeks. She looked at the badge near his chest, her lips quivered before halting. An energetic beam ran through him.

“Sir, actually our friend is… He has become unwell. We were looking for some water and medicine…”

She stopped mid-sentence as if gauging for something. Her fear had catalysed his cauldron of unspeakable, strong emotions, and made his eyes gorge on her body. He stiffened and felt unfettered. It was as if he could have her right there without any repercussions.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?”

The sternness of that evocation pulled him out. He went back to her face; the eyes had sharpened and were looking straight at him. Mixing with the rainwater, the mascara on her pointed cheeks added to her fury. He felt like something was throbbing at his throat.

Exhaustion hit his legs. He felt as if a part of him at limped out and collapsed on the floor. A nakedness wrapped him, forcing a refuge to his khakee.

“Madam” He muttered, trying to keep his Royal Stag-laden breath to himself, “Why are you out this late?”

Her eyes shrunk in towards her nose as if responding to his question with a question. The cop almost stepped back, wishing that the blanket of rain between them thickened.

He was still working out a follow-up, when he noticed the man who’d been staring at them thus far, moving forward.

The approaching man’s receding hairline was complimented by his growing waistline; the coat found a comfortable space under his left underarm but the arms in themselves were urgently folded across each other. A thin layer of French beard was spotted on his manicured face. The cheeks sprawled outwards in all directions, almost threatening to eat into his lips.

“Pallavi, what seems to be the trouble here?” His words carried no emotion, but his head bobbed towards the left.

Pallavi took a quick look at the cop and then moved closer to the man.

“Rajiv sir, I was checking if we could get some water or medicines for Sanjeev.”

Rajiv, who was already searching for something on his iPhone, stopped for a second and stretched out his eyes at her. His expressionless face tilted to the right as if it were interrogating and admonishing at the same time.

His jowls reminded the cop of a cartoon pig that he’d seen on TV while on guard duty at SP Sahab’s residence. Rajiv turned towards the cop with raised eyebrows, giving a smile that threatened to droop his cheeks even further, and gave a small nod that felt more like a bow.

 “Arey Pallavi! Sahab is at work!”, His honey-reeked tongue spoke.

 “Don’t bother him with these things. I’m sure I’ll get the network, and we’ll fix this.”

With that, Rajiv started back towards the Crysta. Pallavi almost hesitated and then followed in tow.

The lonely raindrops felt like pins falling on the cop’s body. Their sharpness instigated a rebellion against the natural state; one inculcated quite early in his police days: act in accordance with a person’s aukaat.

He sped past the duo, arousing a plea of “Arey Sir!” from the chubby man.

Ignoring the stench of vomit that came from Sanjeev, the cop flashed his torch inside the car. The ray scooped the landscape studiously. He couldn’t make out much on the first time, other than a bottle of Lagavulin in the back seat. On the second inquiry, his vulturous eyes stopped next to the passenger seat.

He fought the need to turn towards the two who had finally caught up with him and remained stationary in his position. He heard the ‘swine’ asking Pallavi, “Did you leave a rolled blunt there?”

He switched off the torch, tucked it underneath his left armpit, and folded his arms after attaining the attention position. His head moved to the right almost at the same time as a big bolt of lightning cloaked the night’s darkness with a temporary blanket of light. He saw past their quivering lips and disquiet faces. All he could see was the fear of the unknown in their eyes.

The wayward cold winds populated the silent road with a hissing noise. The big trees shrugged their branches in indifference. Howling animals could be heard from far away as if readying to participate in a twisted game.

It felt as if the thunder and lightning had been sent at his invocation.

The girl trembled into a sob. Rajiv went ahead and held her shoulders in consolation. She almost let out another when they made contact. He nodded at Pallavi, let her be, and then walked towards the cop.

“I’m the M.D. of GRW Finances. My wife is very good friends with K.N. Singh, your deputy commissioner at vigilance. I’ll just,” He glanced at his phone, and let out a sigh. “If only there was a network…”

Rajiv’s face shrunk in, with the nose protruding ahead of his lips, even as his incisors jutted out. 

“Saab, If we could settle…”

Before he could register the impact, Rajiv was already on the floor. A simmering pain arose underneath in his right cheek and made itself felt fully around the jaw. He looked up and saw the cop’s right hand above him, the palm stationed exactly at the place where it had made the impact.

“Saale! Ganja karega? You’re destroying the life of this little girl?”, the cop screamed as if a volcano had erupted inside. He’d been drained of all emotions, with only pure rage reigning inside.

His mind’s eyes wandered and saw them next to each other in the car’s frontseats. Rajiv’s tongue spread its thick saliva on the opened leaf of the rolling paper to ensure that the joint held itself and then passed the blunt to Pallavi. His left arm went behind her neck and placed itself on her shoulder. It slowly slid down and above. As Pallavi started coughing, Rajiv’s hand stopped and grasped her arm tightly.

The cop’s fists tightened.

He returned to notice Rajiv scrambling backward without even making an effort to get up. Pallavi stood motionless in the rain that had picked in strength. He could feel her shivers. She was akin to a leaf that dangled uneasily in the arms of its branch, living forever in the fear of a strong gust that might separate her from home…

A chime appeared out of nowhere. And then another followed. And then one more.

Both men turned to its origin point: Pallavi.

Their attention broke her trance, and she went towards her phone. And then, completely disregarding Rajiv, she spoke to the cop,

“Mummy…my mother, she’s been trying to call. The network was dodgy. These messages are notifying the missed call.”

The cop’s fists loosened and he folded his hands behind him. The drops rolling down on his body acted as coolants that drowned the tense madness with them. He walked towards the Ertiga strongly aware of his uniform’s worth.

He witnessed a small home, not too different in size from his village house, stationed in an undisturbed locality with narrow lanes. Kids playing on the streets, postmen doing their rounds. A letterbox stood outside the house, which was garnished by a beautiful garden. Inside, Pallavi sat smiling with her parents on a comfortable sofa.

He opened his car’s door and took out a cylindrical object.

When the cop turned around, their eyes were fixated on his right hand, which held it. Rajiv had already stood up, with his feet pointing away from both the cop and Pallavi, drifting slowly towards the Crysta.

The cop reached Pallavi and handed her the object. It was only after she touched it with her trembling hands, that she realized that it was a bottle of water.

“Give this to your friend,” He pointed towards Sanjeev. “Please go back to your home. Your mother must be worried.”

He turned towards Rajiv and made a small tilt in the direction of the Crysta.

“Come, Pallavi, let’s leave.” Rajiv didn’t wait and paced towards the car’s door. A confused Pallavi turned in the cop’s direction.

The Ertiga had already made its start and made a crackling sound as it sped away. Its abrupt departure took her by surprise and when she followed its trail, all that could be made out in Crysta’s faint light were some bony remains splashed on the road.

***

The police car screeched across the road till it came to a full halt. The cop was holding onto the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. The panting man didn’t remember how long he’d driven since his run-in with the trio. He looked at the heavy raindrops on the windshield, and his hands went straight to his face, to wipe it clear of the beads of sweat on it.

He let out a sigh as the panting subsided, and then slipped back onto his seat. He took out a packet of Navy Cut from his left pocket, along with a matchbox. Placing the cigarette between his mouth, he took out a match and struck it against the striker. The act was so mechanical for him, that his sleepless eyes had almost shut themselves.

“Please don’t!”

His lit matchstick dropped on the floor, even as the cigarette slipped from his mouth. His worn-out eyes had been alerted towards the rearview mirror. Her teary blue eyes looked straight back.

His hand bolted towards the car door instantly, even as the body fumbled outside. The cop vomited inside a big watery pothole amidst the falling rain. After a wave had stopped, another one pushed through, as if intent on getting his innards out.

Suddenly, a force grasped him. His head lifted itself. The remaining spew was forced back inside the throat. The cop let out a growl.

“Pisaach!” He pounced at the rain, “I sacrificed that snail. Why are you doing this to me?”

His lower lip contorted towards the left, as his jaw slipped downwards. The eyes looked intently above, even as the brows seemed to collapse on them. Saliva was drooling out of his mouth as if the body wanted to eject a deformity.

The sky opened further, bawling out rain and thunder like never before. The cop spread out his arms and closed his eyes. It seemed like the man was intent on facing the storm alone. His mouth opened and let out a howl. It was a loud incessant sound that took the attention of the critters crawling around him.

And then, it all stopped. He was in his attention stance yet again.

A tear dropped out and mixed with the raindrops outside. He went back inside the car and took his seat.

The hands went underneath searching for the fallen smoke. They made contact with a tight, hairy mess, and recoiled as a result, but intrigue brought his thumb and forefinger back. They carefully pressed through the mass.

The cop was trying to understand the make of the rope. A knife and a big jute bag featured in his train of thought as necessary accompaniments. He started the car and let out another hysterical howl. This time, it became a laughter.

He looked up, straight into a roaring cloud that repeatedly thrashed rainy blows on his car as if to prevent any further movement.

“I don’t listen to your commands anymore. I’m under complete control.”

He started the car and drove away. His eyes were darting about, searching for the next pair of blue eyes.

Divy Tripathi is a cricket journalist, and movie essayist. His short fiction has been published in The Chakkar, Active Muse, Friday Flash Fiction, among other places.