Sumita Dutta writes

Storm

“Get down,” he ordered abruptly. I slithered to the ground. He dragged me to the jeep by the scruff of my collar. I stumbled; he slowed. As in the other jeeps, the canvas covering was in place to keep out the rain. He pushed aside the flap at the side entrance and shoved me into the passenger seat before getting in the driver’s side. Whatever happened to the gentleman who dusted off the step of his jeep for a lady? Well, no lady would be caught dead in such a state as I. Muddy face, muddy clothes and I had actually done it to myself. Only, I hadn’t spared a thought to my appearance until he showed up. I wiped the worst of the muck off my face on my sleeve. My nose had begun to leak. I wiped that unobtrusively on my other sleeve.

Reaching to the back, he pulled out a folded blanket from under a seat. Bits of dry grass fell off when he threw it at me. I shook it out and wrapped myself. I was shivering. It must be in reaction to the excitement for the rain was warm.

“All right? Let’s recollect what happened. Six youths attacked your home with a gun. They tried to rob you, but your grandfather managed to trap them in a room. Something happened in that room -- an explosion that we need to investigate. SI Basak reported considerable damage to the room. All six robbers were hurt. When the police arrived, they had to revive one unconscious fellow; another had hurt ribs. The others were hurt with superficial wounds. The room was covered with grey cement dust, but their faces and palms were black with ash. They appeared shaken and repentant but they had the presence of mind to bind up the ribs. The jewellery was recovered in a bag under the cot. Your family said nothing was missing. The damage to the room and its contents was the biggest loss from this incident. The gun wasn’t found amidst the rubble in the room,” he stated, then demanded, “Where were you when all this was happening?”

I cleared my throat. “I was with my family.”

“How did you happen to be here at this time of the night?”

“I felt like a walk, then climbing a tree, and then all of you appeared.”

“Donna, did you help those thieves escape or not?”

“Not.”

“Donna, you knew those men, didn’t you? Was one of them a special friend? Did you tell them your aunt was rich, that she had brought a lot of jewellery?”

I looked at him awestruck. Did he think I was old enough to have a boyfriend? I was too stunned at the implication to think up an answer, even a lie.

“Look, you might as well confess. We will catch those young men you know. Do you want to be interrogated at the police station? Tell me everything that happened, and I’ll do my best to keep your name out of this mess. You are a child, you misjudged. Trusted the wrong person. It happens. Nothing to be ashamed. Just tell me, and I’ll take you safely back home.”

I frowned. He still thought I was a child. A child who’d tell tales about her family to outsiders! 

He tried again. “Those men were searching that room for a long time. They also searched all over the house. They found quite a pile of jewellery, but they were still seeking more. Was there something in particular worth stealing?”

I considered staying silent. He’d come and question the folks at home. Hari Kaka... “Yes, Chaterjee Dadu sent a trunk full of gold jewellery, but it was sent back as soon as um … Kaka saw it, which was the same day -- the Bou-Bhaat day.”

He smiled at me, a dazzling vision. “Good girl. You already knew there wasn’t anything worth stealing. My first assumption was obviously wrong. Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened, instead of letting me make wild guesses?”

I stared at his handsome face. Why had I thought his eyes were cold? They were smiling at me with a great deal of warmth. I found my tongue, or rather my tongue found me and started blabbering on its own. “I know some of those boys. Actually only one of them reasonably well, but I know their parents. I have eaten their food. They have always been kind and generous. They would have suffered if their sons went to jail. The boys were repentant. This is their first attempt at robbery. They have promised to reform and I believe them.”

He stared at me. His face did not look charming anymore. “Did you tell all this to your grandfather, your mother? Did they advise you to pull such a dangerously asinine stunt?”

“No, I did not tell them. At first, I wasn’t sure -- the thieves had hidden their faces under gamchas -- I didn’t recognise them; later, the police arrived, and I didn’t have time to confer with my family.”

“Did you even pause to think what they must be going through? It’s past midnight. Do you habitually stay out so late that your guardians won’t be distressed?”

My tongue lost its power. Past midnight? Ma must be going mad with worry. I dragged the blanket tight and looked out the windscreen at the pouring rain. I just wanted to get back home and reassure everybody I was fine.

“Who are these boys? What are their names?” asked JD starting the jeep.

It was cascading outside and the windscreen wiper was hardly having any effect. Then I clutched the dashboard as we fell backwards. The jeep tilted back and slid off the road. One moment it was horizontal and the next almost vertical, with its nose in the air. We plunged backwards and came to rest with a jarring thud about five-six feet below the level of the road, in the paddy field.

He swore and hopped out. I got out and found myself waist deep in swirling muddy water. A torrent was gushing off the road and down the embankment like a waterfall. The stones and earth packing the side of the road must have loosened and washed off, carrying the jeep with it. The back wheels were deep under water. JD braced himself and tried to push the jeep up the incline. I couldn’t see much point in the effort but went to lend my strength. The jeep didn’t budge.

JD jumped into the jeep, tried to drive it up the embankment. The tyres couldn’t find purchase. They revved; mud flew up and hit me in the face. I quickly stepped out of the way and found my legs sliding out from under me. Next moment, I was buried in water. Spluttering, I got to my knees but the river of mud dragged me down again. Stumbling, sliding, my hand encountered a large rock. I clung on. His hand seized my collar and hauled me up the slope, on to the road. I lay there, my cheek against Mother Earth, gasping for breath. Inches deep dirty water flowed past my nose and mouth. Fat raindrops made giant splashes on its surface, battered my face and every bit of exposed skin. I couldn’t make myself get up. All strength had drained out.

He wouldn’t let me be. His fist on my collar dragged me up to stand. “Come on,” he bellowed. He dragged me to the comparative protection of the mango trees. I had lost the blanket. The warm rain, sluicing the muck off me, felt good. I collapsed, with my back against the tree trunk, sucking in great mouthfuls of air.

He sat down to shout in my ear, “Your grandfather’s house is about ten kilometers by road and much less as the crow flies. With this rain, it might be dangerous to try to navigate the fields. We’ll follow the road for a while; then try cross-country. Buck up. You’ve brought this on yourself. Next time stick to your mother and your warm bed instead of taking on the responsibility of saving the world.”

He hadn’t finished. “Repentance and second chances -- that’s just an act to fool idealistic saps like you. Get it into your head -- we DO NOT live in an ideal world. Those boys you saved today? They’ll be hungry again tomorrow. They’ll again be tempted. Weakness of character will lead them to search for the easiest route. Your trying to save them today did nothing more than postpone the inevitable. Spending a few nights in the lock-up will teach them a harder lesson they won’t easily forget.

"What you did today was extremely foolhardy, causing your family extreme worry. Your father seems to be a sensible man. Do you think he would approve of what you did today? Would he have done what you did? No, he wouldn’t. Most sensible adults understand that certain things cannot be helped; in fact, should not be touched with a barge pole. The law has a function in a civilised world and should be allowed to carry out their duty without meddlesome bleeding-hearts!”

I shook off his restraining hand from my shoulder, put my head down, and started walking up the road. He caught up in moments. We trudged through the driving wind and rain in the light of his torch; he held it tucked inside the sleeve of his trench coat to protect it from the worst of the rain. He had lost his hat. The trench coat didn’t seem very helpful flapping around his legs, and his boots made a squelching sound with every step. I began to feel he was far more uncomfortable than I -- striding along in sturdy cotton clothes and comfortable canvas shoes. The thought cheered me; I put up my face to the threatening sky and smiled. The heavy rain quickly washed my face clean.

Sometime later, his hand on my collar steered me to some trees at the side of the road. My legs were trembling from fatigue. I thoughtlessly sat down in the flowing mud. He sat next to me; both of us concentrating on the act of breathing.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said after a few minutes of rest. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’ve been brave. Foolish, but brave nonetheless. Do you want my trench coat?”

I looked at him surprised. Not by the ‘foolish but brave’ comment -- that was so him. “It will swamp me. Anyway, the wind will probably carry it away if you take it off. I’m fine, really.”

Instead of abating, the wind had been steadily rising. It churned the rain around us in a crazy dance, whistling, whining, and shrieking. The trees behind us creaked and groaned as they bent double. It was rising to a gale force.

“We should get out of this storm. Do you know of any shelter nearby?”

I shook my head.

He continued, “We can’t stay on the open road in this wind. We’ll go cross-country from here. The trees should prove a windbreak. Your grandfather’s land can’t be far. Come on,” he said and offered his hand to help me up.

We walked off the road, slipping and sliding in the mud. Under the trees, grass grew below the layer of water and walking was easier. We must have been hurrying in a north-east direction, for Thakurda’s farm lay that way, but the path was unclear. In the tumult of the storm, nothing looked familiar. I would have been lost without JD.

The wind whipped ferociously. We weren’t buffeted as badly as on the open road, but it was darker here; the storm, pulling and tearing at the branches above our heads, scary. He kept a firm grip on my wrist as we hurried on.

A horrifying streak of lightning leached the sky of colour; the trees around us stood out in sepulchral grey. A loud bang of thunder followed right overhead. Lightning bolt had hit something close by and the odour of incinerating wood reached us. The wind screamed a warning. Branches broke off and hurtled past us. His hand shoved me down. I obediently hunkered at the base of the nearest tree. The wind caught its branches and pulled ferociously. The tree groaned and tilted and righted. The earth beneath my fingers heaved. JD yanked me away, under the protection of his body, just as the roots tore themselves free from the soil. The tree came crashing down on us.

I knew immediately JD was hurt. He lay motionless; arm heavy across my back, protective hand on my head dead still. The wind howled, branches creaked and thrashed around us. I dragged my legs out from under him and tried to check the damage. Lightning flashed, showed me the frightening sight of a huge trunk hovering above; the branches had stopped it from crushing us. While it trembled a little unsteadily under the force of the gale battering it with flying detritus, the boughs were strong. This might be the best shelter for the moment. Leaves, twigs, and branches were flying in the open, and no way could I move this enormous man. Plus, if anything was broken, that may not be the wisest action.

I found his torch and shone it on his prone body. He lay at a slight angle to the tree trunk. His long legs protruded beyond, open to the pouring rain, torso under the trunk. His legs didn’t appear to be hurt. The torch beam was powerful, but all I could make of him was drenched hair and mud. The light gleamed on the clean bits of the wet trench coat; the rest was in folds of mud and shadows. He was breathing.

Was his hair shining with water or blood? I touched it. My fingers came away red. I remembered that head wounds could bleed a lot––wondered if he would bleed to death by morning. Trembling, I examined his head in the beam of the flashlight, too scared to touch and worsen his wound. His hair seemed matted at the back of his head. I probed gently, but there didn’t appear to be free-flowing blood or foreign matter. Breathing a little easier, I searched his pockets for a kerchief. I never remember to carry such things.

His wallet and the jeep keys were in the trouser pocket near me. I shoved them back in and reached to search the other pocket. Yes! A neatly folded wad of kerchief. I pressed it down on the back of his head. I sat hunched up next to him, protected from the wind and rain by the massive trunk above and the branches around us, praying he wouldn’t stop breathing. The ground was wet but not soggy, and I was grateful. I dropped off with the torch still beaming brightly in my lap.