His back was against the wall. They say when there is no other option left to a man; he is possessed by certain madness. A madness stemming from the primeval instinct to survive at any cost. But the madness which was filling his eyes was something different. Amidst the fluorescent lighting, his young, unshaven, bony face was looking tired. Whenever anyone tried approaching him, he dangerously waved the pistol warning everyone not to come any step closer.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Arjun was supposed to go out on a dinner date with his girlfriend this evening. He was about to leave his office when he got the call from Deputy Commissioner of Police. A person was arrested on the charges of murder of a chemist in broad daylight. DCP wanted Arjun to carry out the interrogation of the arrested person. Being the junior-most officer in the police station, the onus of carrying out such tasks always fell on Arjun’s shoulders.
The case was a straightforward one. A murder has been committed in broad daylight. There were at least 10-15 eye witnesses who saw the crime happening in front of their eyes. They registered their statements at the police station. There was no way the convict was going to escape the sentence of at least life time imprisonment.
“God knows what more does the DCP wants” Arjun said to himself while walking towards the interrogation room. The convict was sitting in the chair with one of his hands hand cuffed to the handle of the chair. He was looking intently at the table and was scratching the wooden table with his nails. On the other end of the table was a vacant chair. As per protocol, one armed policeman was standing at one corner of the room. Directly above the armed policeman there was a video camera to record the proceedings of the interrogation.
Arjun entered the room with a file containing the details of the case and the statements registered by various eye witnesses. The armed policeman saluted him; Arjun nodded in acknowledgement. He dropped the file on the table and took his seat on the vacant chair. The convict was still scratching the table intently.
Arjun, “the table is already in a poor shape, stop damaging it further.”
The convict stopped scratching the table and looked up straight into Arjun’s eyes. “The world is in a poor shape too, does that stops us from damaging it further.?”
Arjun, “look Mr….. (Arjun checked the convict’s name from the file) Abhay, I am not here to get lectures on philosophy from you. You have been arrested for murder of a chemist in your locality. DCP wants me to interrogate you, I don’t know why. But be assured, you are getting either the death sentence or the life time imprisonment. So cut out the crap.”
Abhay was still looking in Arjun’s eyes. “Okay. I will cut out the crap. I went to Paritosh medicos today morning to get some pain killers for Pari, it was very urgent. But I didn’t have money at that moment. I told him I will give him the money once I receive the payment for my paintings, but he refused. Rather he started abusing me and laughing at me. I tried to reason with him, but he didn’t listen. I asked him not to make fun of me and my paintings still he didn’t listen. He even called Pari a bitch. So I grabbed him by his hair and smashed his head on the counter, several times, till he stopped laughing. Then I left the shop and hurried back home to comfort Pari but she was gone by that time. After a while your guys came and put me here.”
Arjun was taken aback by the cool demeanour of Abhay when he was narrating how he murdered a man. Although he didn’t look like a hard core criminal but there was something sinister about him when he was describing how he committed the crime. Abhay was back at scratching the table.
Arjun, “I think I asked you to stop damaging the table.”
A smile spread across Abhay’s face this time, he didn’t stop; neither looked up, “officer, I am convicted for cold blooded murder, I am going to be hanged; slap another charge of damaging government property, I hardly care.”
Arjun had to smile at the cool manner in which Abhay was talking about his own death.
Arjun, “the file says, you were arrested earlier as well, trying to set fire to an arts exhibition.”
Abhay, “yes, MODERN ART GALLERY, Sadarpur Road, 21st October 2011. Those corporate sell outs don’t know a thing about art; they just put up paintings by anybody who can afford to pay them. More the payment greater is the painting for them. Bloody illiterates can’t even draw a circle to save their life, but they have the authority to judge my paintings. And guess what they said? They said my paintings are obscene. The depiction of human form is too blatant. Bloody hypocrites, can’t even acknowledge their own body, and still have the audacity to judge MY paintings. They feel my paintings make no sense and lack the appeal. They even advised me to use more colours. Can you believe the audacity? They are advising ME. They are the judge of MY work. I will make paintings using only black colour, it’s my work and my wish, let me see who stops me.”
Arjun noticed a streak of aggression and madness in Abhay’s eyes when he was speaking about the art gallery. Abhay looked like a decent fellow when he was calm and smiling, but that demeanour changed very quickly whenever he talked about something which was non-conforming to his expectations. Abhay was back to scratching the table.
Arjun, “there’s another incident wherein you attacked the editor of a magazine. It says you attempted to murder him”
Abhay again smiled and continued scratching at the table.
Arjun, “well..?”
Abhay, “Attempt to murder… Right..! Tell me officer, does holding the collar of a guy and slapping him few times count as attempt to murder?”
Arjun, “But you can’t just go on and start assaulting anyone.”
Abhay, “that anyone said my poems are crap and I should be mentally treated.”
Arjun, “poems..?? So you write poems too..?”
Abhay, “yes I have all the traits of self-destruction..!” (he chuckled)
Arjun, “but just because someone has rejected your work, it doesn’t mean you should just go and start assaulting them. If he has rejected your poem, you could have gone to others.”
Abhay’s eyes flared up once again as he looked at Arjun, “You mean like the salesman selling washing powder I too should’ve gone from door to door, requesting and cajoling everyone to buy my product. Do you know officer, how does it feel when your months of hard work are called crap on your face..? To work on something with all your heart; then putting it up in front of others to listen to their jeers. To be told on your face that your work is for mentally retarded. The editor about whom you are talking said it is better to be hit on the head by a stone rather than reading my poems. So I tried to make him feel how it feels to be hit on the head. Would you like to be hit on the head officer??” (And he chuckled).
Arjun was surprised, “I don’t get you”
Abhay, “would you like to listen to the poem which the editor rejected?”
Arjun, “Go on, I guess”
Abhay, “it is titled FIRE.
The fire dwelling in me,
I feel it burn,
It takes me to a forbidden place,
From where there's no return.
It beats the silence of the nights,
Neither can it be seen,
It stays, like a hungry demon,
Only to devour me.
It comes out in the darkest nights,
Ever so helpless, I feel,
And even though I can't see it under the shimmering light,
Believe me, it’s real.
The fire dwelling in me,
It eats me up alive,
It tries to kill me, once for all,
But I'll live, I'll fight.”
Arjun was at a loss to say anything. From whatever understanding he had of poems, this seemed to be a good one. Just then, a constable opened the door of the interrogation room and gestured something to Arjun. Arjun nodded.
Arjun, “Excuse me for a moment Abhay. I will be right back.”
Abhay was intently looking at the table and scratching it, he didn’t say anything.
------------------------------
Arjun came out of the interrogation room and headed towards the control room. Dr. Maitra was sitting there; he was the departmental psychologist and was responsible for counselling of staff and to analyse the psychological traits of the suspects during the interrogation. He was a cheerful old fellow.
Dr. Maitra, “so young man.?? I guess your girlfriend is going to be mad at you for ditching today’s date”
Arjun, smiled wryly, “yes sir.”
Dr. Maitra, “anyways, we have got an interesting case in our hands. From the video feed which I have been watching till now, I can infer that he suffers from Dissociative identity disorder with extreme self-induction.”
Arjun flinched at the first mention of technical term.!
Dr. Maitra smiled and explained, “it is a psychological disorder in which a person detaches himself from his identity and starts behaving in a different manner altogether. He starts believing false notions about himself. Our guy normally knows that he may not be that great an artist, but when he encounters a situation where his work is getting rejected, he dissociates himself from his normal identity and makes himself believe that he is a great artist and reacts accordingly. Cases like this happen due to various reasons; lack of emotional support, lack of self-esteem, lack of sense of accomplishment etc. may force a person to self-motivation. Due to lack of emotional interactions such a person becomes heavily dependent on his self-projected image, in this case, the image of being a great artist is the only emotional support Abhay has. I gathered from his file that he is a loner and no one has ever seen his family. There is no one to give him emotional support but this guy is determined to be an artist so he projected an image of being a great artist on himself and upon facing a stressful situation, he behaves accordingly.”
Arjun, “I did not completely follow what you said, but I’ll have to say, I found him a decent guy at times.”
Dr. Maitra, “that’s another exhibition of his disorder. He is normally a nice guy, but when he is faced with a stressful situation, he dissociates himself and turns into this great artist, in his own head of course. At one hand he thinks writing a poem is a trait of self-destruction, but still he does it and he believes he is a great poet, so when his poem is rejected he goes and beats up the editor guy. Guys like him are capable of doing both good and evil, in huge proportions. The switch from the stable to unstable condition is very rapid and at times it is difficult to establish the real nature of the person”
Arjun, “yeah that is evident.”
Dr. Maitra, “The reason I called you from the interrogation room is because the post mortem report of the chemist guy came in a while back. It was a gruesome affair. The guy held the chemist by his hairs and smashed his face onto the counter. The counter was made of glass. The glass broke after the first 2 or 3 smashes. The broken pieces of glass got embedded on the entire face of the chemist. There were 23 fractures on the facial bones. The post mortem guys could not find anything remotely similar to nose or lips on the chemist guy. The impact of smashing was so high that the ligaments holding the brain to the skull got torn and the brain was detached from the skull. The face was so badly disfigured that the guys at the post mortem were horrified to even look at the body. This guy wanted to hurt the shemist so badly that he didn’t stopped even after the chemist died. He pounded the chemist’s head at least 5-6 times after the chemist ws dead”
Arjun, “But he said, he just wanted to stop the chemist’s laughter”
Dr. Maitra, “that’s what rage can do to a person. Abhay in that state was filled with so much hate that he couldn’t realise when the man died. His only desire at that time was to hurt the chemist as much as possible”
Arjun was silent. He was picturing the scene, where a guy was smashing the face of another guy in a crowded market place. What must have been the intensity of the act that no one dared to come and stop him?
Arjun, “Sir, tell me what more do I need to know. This guy gave me his confession at the very beginning. The case is solid, there’s no way he’s going to escape the death sentence.”
Dr. Maitra, “as per the case is concerned we have more than enough, but I am getting interested in his psychological profile. Try if you can get any more details out of him.”
Arjun, “right sir. As it is today’s date is not going to happen. So itdoesn’t matter if I leave office at 7 pm or 3 am..:D”
Dr. Maitra, “my boy, I know I’m making you do extra work. But trust me, it’ll be worth it. You are new in the department; a favourable feedback will go a long way to move ahead in your career.”
Arjun smiled.
-------------------------
When Arjun returned to the interrogation room, Abhay was still engrossed in scratching the table. Arjun wondered what the hell is he scratching since so long on the table and looked closely. Abhay was making a form remotely similar to a bull, but instead of legs it appeared to have paint brushes . Arjun shrugged and took his seat.
Arjun, “so Abhay, tell me, who all are there in your family?”
Abhay (not looking up from the table), “there was only Pari and no one else. But she too died, because I couldn’t get her pain killers in time.”
Arjun, “tell me about your paintings.”
Abhay, (looking up with a sarcastic smile) “suddenly you are interested in paintings officer? What shall I tell you regarding it? Do you have the brains for it?” (He chuckled)
Arjun was feeling uneasy. He was trained for interrogation not for questioning a person to develop his psychological profile. And despite having that lengthy disorder which Dr. Maitra explained, Abhay was not a stupid guy.
Arjun, “tell me, why you only use black colours in your paintings?”
Abhay, “black is my favourite colour.”
Arjun, “why is it so?”
Abhay, “BLACK
As I close my eyes
The shine of the world turns into black
The fake smiles are lost
My heart beats are left - all across.
Every season looks the same
Fame - name - the life game
Life is simpler when
lost in black
As I close my eyes
I see the blackness
The colour of your eye
I see your smile
The scent of your breath
I can sense it from miles
As I close my eyes
I see the past of mine
The one with golden shine
I search for you
The wetness is all I find.
As I close my eyes
I see the hopeful gleam
The expectations they dream
I see their faith - to which I bound.
The care and love they wrap me around.
With that 'responsibility' of love
I scream in black.
As I close my eyes
The sight is black
Sounds whack.
Imaginations dissolve
Plans evolve.
Dreams meet desires
Black makes it a fire.
And therefore officer, BLACK is my favourite colour.”
When Abhay was reciting the poem, his grave rich baritone was filling up the whole room. Even the armed security guard seemed mesmerised by the poem. Arjun was at a loss to say anything. Abhay returned to scratching the table. Arjun was struggling to find something to talk about. He flipped through the file to find any cue to talk.
Arjun, “A witness, in his statement described you as a trouble maker in neighbourhood. What do you have to say about that?”
Abhay, (chucked again), “you know officer, right since the ancient times, great personalities are considered lunatics, trouble makers, anti-social etc. There is a long list of such names; Vincent Van Gough was told that he can’t even draw a single straight line whom does he expect to buy his paintings. He died a solitary death with only his brother by his side. The same paintings which were rejected were later sold for millions. The Russian artist Pavel Filonov starved to death but still refused to sell his paintings to private collectors, who had lots of money but no sense of appreciation to art. You don’t need to go very far, our very own Munshi Premchand struggled whole his life to ensure the next meal. People called him foolish but still he never gave up. Everyone talks about Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore, do you know there was a certain poet called KAAJI NAZRUL ISLAM from Bengal. His life was plagued by tragedies. Due to repeated shocks at one point of time he lost his mental balance. On the streets of Asansol he used to throw stones at those who used to jeer at him. Still he returned back from it and created masterpieces but he never got the due recognition he deserved. (As he continued speaking, his tone was getting increasingly aggressive). Have you ever heard of the HUNGRYALIST MOVEMENT in West Bengal..? I doubt you have. It is one of the darkest chapters in the history of Bengali literature. It was a literary movement launched by Shakti Chattopadhyay, Malay Roy Choudhury, Samir Roy Choudhury, Subimal Basak and Debi Roy during the 1960s in Kolkata. The approach of the Hungryalists was to confront and disturb the prospective readers' preconceived colonial morality. Their counter-discourse was the first voice of post-colonial freedom of pen and brush. But the bloody government could not tolerate that few artists showed the courage to stand up against them and hit back. .. Due to their involvement in this cultural movement, the leaders lost their jobs and were jailed. There is a long list of writers; Binoy Majumdar, Sandipan Chattopadhyay, Basudeb Dasgupta, Falguni Roy, Subhash Ghosh, Utpalkumar Basu, Anil Karanjai, Saileswar Ghosh, Tridib Mitra, Alo Mitra, Ramananda Chattopadhyay Karunanidhan Mukhopadhyay, Subo Acharya who dared to defy the government and stand up against Victorian morality of those times, but they were convicted on the charges of treachery and public obscenity. They were tagged “ TROUBLE MAKERS” by the common crowd of that time, as I am being called trouble maker today by that guy who registered his statement with you.”
Arjun was stunned by the extent of knowledge this guy had regarding art and literature.
Abhay continued, “one day they will realise the real worth of my work. They will have to acknowledge my work. That will be the day when I will be smiling and they will be scratching their worthless heads wondering why they couldn’t understand me before.”
Arjun, “I sure hope so. But you killed a guy. In our penal code you will get at least life term or the death sentence.”
Abhay was back at working on his drawing, rather scratching the table, “ I hardly care, even people like Van Gough got their due recognition after death only. And as for that chemist, I am not even sorry. He insulted Pari, he had to go down”
Arjun flipped through the file to find a statement.
Arjun, “the officer who arrested you from your home stated the convict was sitting by the dead body of a dog. He held his head in his hands. The convict did not resist arrest. Tell me, where was the dead body of your Pari when our officers went to arrest you..?”
Abhay stopped scratching the table. But he didn’t look up.
Arjun,” Abhay?”
Abhay, “I was sitting by her side”
Arjun, in a tone of surprise” that means you were out to get pain killers for your dog? You killed the chemist because he refused to lend you pain killers for your dog?”
Abhay, still not looking up, “her name is Pari”
The guard standing at the back snickered.
Everything happened in a blink of an eye. Before Arjun could realise anything, Abhay lunged towards the guard with one hand still handcuffed to the handle of the chair, “You are laughing? You pathetic excuse of a man… I killed that chemist guy, now I will kill you.”
Abhay was pulling the collar of the guard with his free hand. Arjun tried to separate the two, but somehow Abhay was able to take out the side arm of the guard from his holster belt.
His back was against the wall. They say when there is no other option left to a man; he is possessed by certain madness. A madness stemming from the primeval instinct to survive at any cost. But the madness which was filling Abhay’s eyes was something different. Amidst the fluorescent lighting, his young, unshaven, bony face was looking tired. Whenever Arjun or the guard tried approaching him, he dangerously waved the pistol warning everyone not to come any step closer.
The guard called in for back-up but they were of no use in that cramped room.
Arjun,” Calm down Abhay. Put the pistol down. There is no reason for you to kill anyone.”
Abhay’s eyes were filled with madness “do you know officer, why I draw my paintings in BLACK? It is because black is the colour closest to our lives. Black is what we get when everything is absorbed, just like our lives which takes in everything and leaves us with nothing but blackness. When I close my eyes, guess what I will see…… BLACK…”
Saying this he put the pistol in his mouth. The guard lunged towards Abhay to tackle him down but it was too late.
Abhay was looking straight in Arjun’s eyes; , just before he pulled the trigger there was a hint of smile in his eyes. 0.45 ACP cartridge from a M1191 pistol, shattered the back side of his skull, splattering blood on to the walls. Few drops of blood also splashed on to the table, where Abhay was scratching to make something.
Upon looking closely one could see a bull with very long horns and paint brushes as its legs was charging through a queue of faceless human figures, cutting their torso with its horn. Few human figures could be seen lying down with their cut bodies. Few were on the verge of getting cut; few of the faceless figures were still a safe distance away. The splashed blood finally added some suitable colour to the otherwise black and white drawing.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Mr. Shyamlal finished reading the script. He tossed it onto the table. Abhyuday was eagerly waiting for his response.
Mr. Shyamlal, “it’s okay. Nothing much though. For me it’s a bit too depressing. Also it is confusing for me. I mean there’s so much going on, a mad artist, dead geniuses, a doctor making psychological profile, a young officer, then that dog... I mean bitch... what’s her name… (he picked up the script to check) … yes. Pari. I think it is lacking clarity of thoughts”
Abhyuday, “but sir it is about an artist who wanted to be great but the life was not kind to him”
Mr. Shyamlal, laughing, “See my boy. Life is not kind to everyone. But to make a successful commercial film we have to show the bright side of life. Everybody already has so much tension, why will they pay money to watch such a depressing story. And if it’s not profitable then as a producer how can I sanction it.”
Abhyuday, “but sir, we can’t ignore the dark side of life no? We have to show it as well in our works”
Mr. Shyamlal, “see that’s the problem with writers like you,, you just don’t understand commerce. Public wants to laugh, they want to feel good. With that story of yours no one will come to watch the film. If the film flops, it will be a huge loss of money, and then who will pay it.?? You?” (he snickered again)
Abhyuday, “but sir…”
Mr. Shyamlal, stopping him mid-way, “enough discussion bachhe. I have entertained you for so long because your writing style seemed nice to me. I will give you a suggestion, why don’t you try a love story between the officer Arjun and a gangster girl. It will be a nice commercial film. Picture this, “SHYAMLAL FILMS PRESENTS… LOVE STORY OF A DILLIGENT OFFICER… TORN BETWEEN LOVE AND DUTY…WHOM WILL HE CHOOSE…? FIND OUT IN “KHOONI PREMIKA”. Hell… that’s got a nice ring to it, isn’t it.? People will dig it. KHOONI… PREMIKA. Niice”
Mr. Shyamlal was amused by how talented he was at coining names for blockbusters, while Abhyuday seriously considered how many smashes will be required before the brain of Mr. Shyamlal gets detached from his skull.
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# A humble dedication to all those artists who deserved fame but never get it, who could have been great but it didn't happen.. who had to die a solitary death...alone
# poem courtesy FIRE : ARPA RAY
BLACK : SURABHI YADAV
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