Sweet Home
- Part 2 -

By Nameirakpam Bobo Meitei *

Not moving from his place and the thought of presenting himself as a mere object of trivial scrutiny sends shudder sown his spine. Only when the driver jumps up and announces that he isn't going to stop till he gets to the destination he moves and rising from the seat in his combat boots and cargo shorts he gets down and rushes towards the place emitting foul-smell in an alley between two dilapidated shop buildings where the colourful thick clothes are hung but their lustre colours undermined by the sweeping thick mist.

The nauseating smell seems to hang thickly all over the place, in the dead end of the alley people are flocking around the mangled gate made of holed corrugated iron nailed onto a shaky wooden frame behind the gate is the crowded toilet.

When he's done he comes out swearing beneath his breath while his eyes cast at his urine-soaked combat boots, stamping them to get rid of the putrid paste he stands on the edge of the narrow tarmac road scrapping the paste off the boots soles over the road.

With the gathered repulsive smell he gets into the bus compelling fellow passengers to pull up their thick shawls to cover their nose, then throwing a glance over the driver he resumes his suitcase-hugging position privileging the frozen yet dutiful driver to assume that this ruined, now reeking, hopeless and inscrutable person only attachment is the one with what he has been hugging, perhaps a unloved, denied defier whose failure has been imposed onto him by some unfathomable power.

Groping his way the incorrigible vehicle picks its way through the misty and winding roads of Freedomland. Looking out the window one can get the untouched beauty of the mountains, the green mountains clothed at the top by dense mist, the distinct lines running over the mountains which one may conceive as road at the sight of some minute machine rumbling along, suggesting one the vivid meaning of solitude, then the deep ravine with glistening water running between the enormous trees and moss-grown rocks always shaded, the stillness in them interrupted by the chirping of birds, sometimes occasionally interrupted by the passing lorries and passengers buses.

Should one be mistaken by the placidity, by the unpolluted air, by the uncontaminated water, and by the wild orchids? This is nature from where we have drawn our civilization and because of the advantage we have drawn an unceasing tremor has been generated over the unceasing placidity it has offered to us.

A bit further from the serene view he is struck by the scattered logs, uneven roads, strewn boulders, the redirected streams running timidly through the man-made mounds, and at the end of this destructed landscape there are makeshift bunkers housing army personnel peering through the narrow gaps in the bunker walls while their extremely cautious eyes at the passing vehicles and their trembling fingers at the trigger of the loaded machines.

Hearing an ear-piercing whistle sound the driver abruptly brakes the vehicle, halts it and jumps down from the vehicle as if the guarantee of other's comfort rests with him. The driver accompanied by two INSAS rifle-laden army personnel cries out that the defenders of the largest endangered democracy expect their subjects to come down from the bus and to line up along the edge of the road so that their suspicion could be examined.

Having instructed the conductor to drag down the bags the junior commission officer saunters before the lined up weary people to examine how petrified they are and if one is found excessively petrified then the person must be questioned or possibly harbouring anti-government feeling.

Using a long bamboo cane he pokes on the pulled down bags, this is followed by summoning three privates to frisk the passengers. Everybody appears extraordinarily cooperative and outrageously submissive when they are frisked by the rifle-laden man backed up by two with their fingers at the triggers.

Supposing that all is done the inscrutable man strays off from the line and walks around glimpsing the place, drawing the attention of the untouchable and heavily guarded young captain.

The captain sits in a wicker chair, his feet resting on a boulder and on his lap lies an AK-rifle, which he cuddles it as a man hugging his hope and invincible dream, seeing the strayed man he puts his feet down and clutching his rifle, staring through his heavily discounted Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses, then he sends out a squeaky voice apparently ordering the junior commission officer to fetch the straggler-like dishevelled character.

The ordered person jumps to his feet and hastens towards the strayed character, seizing him by the arms, surprising the man, he pulls him while muttering malicious words " sister fucker come!", but the surprised man before he can figure out what's going happening finds himself being forced to his feet in front of the young captain still sitting in his chair, when he squints his sunglasses are pushed up and, for a while, covering up the thick eyebrows, the rifle resting against his chest, one hand still clutching it, while the another swinging up only to run over his meticulously trimmed moustache.

Displaying this royal air filled with the rising contempt which now seems to be permeating through his clean shaven face, detaching his hand running over his trimmed moustache he unfolds it and placing it on the dishevelled man's face and then exerting the face with some power as if he is displeased with the defiance in the man's eyes.

"What's the fuck is wrong with this chutiya( fucker)?" He slaps the man then " who the fuck taught you how to be defiant?", sensing the man's indifference he withdraws few steps back and stands while his displeased eyes taking shelter behind the sunglasses.

"I'm assuming this is the legitimate official mannerism an officer like you are taught at your reputed world-class military academy. Could you bestow me my fundamental right to leave this spot, perhaps we don't have to argue as I'm with the conviction that I can exercise my birthright at least without having to point out what article within the vicinity of this so-called the largest democracy?"

Hearing this unexpected verbal ejaculatory mockery the captain's grip on his rifle becomes tighter, but the other free nervous hand shakes in confused fury finally it reaches out for the sunglasses, pulling them down and involuntarily exposing his timid eyes to the indifferent person, seemingly exposing the cowardice side wrapped in that mighty military uniform.

Not knowing what contempt he should show and how his confused fury could be directed with a valid reason to this "mocking-fucker." Now his tone empowered by The Armed Special Power Act in a disturbed zone issues senseless orders inducing his subordinates to run helter-skelter and when the confusion finally settles he yells at the more nervous junior commission officer " haven't you told them to leave this bloody place?" "Not yet , sir!" shoots back the subordinate.

His calm confusion still hanging thick and conniving with the indistinct shameful fury he directs " sister fucker didn't I tell you to tell them to leave.?."

To be continued ......