part0013

Robert Nicholson had left on his voyage to England. Before going there had been a small party at the Greystone home when he had called to bid them farewell, and Ted had been present. It was clear that John was grieved at the old man's going and Robert Nicholson's last words were poignant with feeling.

"Good-bye, my boy. God bless you and I hope we meet again", he had said in a husky voice.

Ted Baker was thinking about these things as he sat at his office table. He missed his old chief strangely. Heavy footfalls down the corridor interrupted his meditations and he heard a tap on the door.

The door swung open to admit the Inspector, Ramchandra Rao, a fat Brahmin. There was a tremendous click of heels as he brought his heavy boots together and saluted. Then he commenced speaking excitedly.

"A message has just come from Ooparpet outpost, sir. It is stated a large crowd gathered there in front of the Police Station this morning, shouting very bad things against the English Government. As your honour knows, there is only one Havildar in charge with four constables. The Havildar told the crowd to get out. The blackguards started to hurl missiles of big dimensions, including stones. The poor Havildar; what could he do? So he and two constables proceeded to conceal themselves forthwith inside the lockup in the Police Station. The other two policemen endeavored to abscond. The badmash crowd there-upon made conflagration to the Police Station so that the concealed policemen came out 'cause of smoke and hot fire’. Then the rascal crowd began to 'marro ' them. They beaten with big sticks, stones and heavy objects. The Havildar lost consciousness, with head broken. Maybe dead. The two police-wallahs badly hurt. Expected their arms, legs and heads seriously fractured also. Report was conveyed ek dum expeditiously by lorry-driver who was passing thro’ Ooparpet and saw beatings. He done bunk before the crowd could apprehend him and came 'juldy ' to report matter".

"Good God!" Ted ejaculated.

He remembered Robert Nicholson had told him to expect trouble sooner or later. Then he thought quickly. There was no telegraphic communication between Nilambur and Ooparpet. He would have to act immediately. He knew he could muster a party of a score of constables. Of these, four were ex-military men and could use firearms. The rest were village recruits. According to the provisions of the law, the presence of a Magistrate was necessary to warn the crowd and read the Riot Act aloud before the Police could open fire, even in self-defence. This, Ted remembered bitterly, had been the cause of the loss of the lives of many policemen throughout India. They had been attacked by unruly mobs and beaten to death or burnt alive while their comrades had to stand by helplessly in the absence of a Magistrate. Ironically, he realised this was part of the 'British injustice' against which the Indians were clamoring.

"We will take an armed party to Ooparpet at once,” Ted spoke rapidly. "Summon the Sub-Inspector and order all ranks on duty to fall in immediately. Tell the armoury sergeant to issue rifles with fifty rounds of ammunition to each of the ex-servicemen. Everyone will wear steel helmets and carry lathis. Also, requisition the first available conveyance. I'm going to fetch the Magistrate. Ask the doctor from the local Fund Hospital to bring his assistant and come along with us. There may be shooting; so tell him to bring stretchers and first aid kit".

The Inspector hurried out while Ted took his .38 calibre service revolver from the drawer of his table, twirled the drum around with his thumb to ensure it was loaded, and thrust the weapon into the leather holster strapped to his belt. Snatching up a box of twenty-five rounds, he crammed it into his pocket. Pausing for his helmet, he hurried down the corridor into the police station compound where, by this time, all was in a state of great activity with constables rushing here and there, some of them partially dressed in uniforms they were in the process of donning.

Robert had sold him the Buick at a knock-down price. Ted jumped into the car and drove out of the yard towards the Magistrate's bungalow that was about three quarters of a mile away. The Magistrate, Mr. Choudri, was a Bengali. As Collector, he was the senior most Government official in residence and hence Ted's superior. He lived in a white, two-storied house with a high wall. As Ted drove in, the Gurkha orderly at the gate sprang to his feet and saluted. The next moment Ted was climbing the steps that led to Mr. Choudri's verandah. A Bengali servant came out and salaamed.

"Please tell the Magistrate Sahib that the D.S.P. is here and wishes to speak to him very urgently."

The servant bowed and went away. Within a couple of minutes Choudri appeared, a blue silk dressing-gown wrapped around his frame and slippers on his feet. In a few terse sentences, Baker told him the news, ending with the words, "I would suggest you come along, sir. We'll do all we can to persuade the mob to disperse, but they may become violent. I have only four men who are trained to use rifles. It would be dangerous if the crowd overwhelmed us.”

Mr. Choudri was a short, fat man who generally wore a woolen suit regardless of the weather, accompanied by a grey felt hat at a jaunty angle and gold-rimmed spectacles attached by a thin gold chain to a button-hole in his waist-coat. He was quite a fair man and had a round, fleshy, clean-shaven face and was partially bald.

"Of course,", agreed the Magistrate, "I shall certainly accompany you. It is very necessary. Please wait". He disappeared into the house, returning in an incredibly short time dressed in his usual manner.

Choudri sat beside Ted as they drove hurriedly back to the police station to find the constables drawn up in two ranks. A Sub-Inspector flanked the first row at one end. The Inspector stood in front of the squad. His great belly made the khaki shorts he was wearing bulge prominently before him and stretch tightly across his rear.

The car drew up and Ted and the Magistrate alighted simultaneously. The Inspector called the police party to attention and saluted. The Magistrate returned the salute by raising his right hand to the brim of his felt hat.

Ted asked, "Inspector, have you issued fifty rounds to each of the rifle-men?"

"Yes sir", replied the Brahmin, "and a bus has been requisitioned to convey the party. Also, the doctor and his assistant are here".

"Good; may we start, sir?" Ted turned towards Choudri.

The Magistrate inclined his head. Baker took over command of the police party. Most of them knew English to some extent, and he addressed them briefly in that language.

"I want you all to remain calm, keep together, and carry out orders". To the rifle-men, he said, "On no account should you fire until the Magistrate sahib has given the order".

The police squad piled into the waiting bus, which started on its journey to the Ooparpet outpost eighteen miles away. Ted and the Magistrate followed in the car, drawing ahead as they approached their destination. Everything seemed peaceful and there was no evidence that anything untoward had happened till they came into view of the small township itself. Then they noticed the black smoke spiraling upwards, and as they entered the straight stretch of roadway that ran through the town and formed the main street, they could see the smouldering ruins of the police outpost before them.

Gathered in the village square adjacent to the police chowki was an immense crowd of people all shouting and talking at the tops of their voices. They saw a figure made of what seemed to be rags and straw tied together, over which had been fitted a khaki tunic and the turban of a policeman. The crowd were in the act of setting fire to it. In the centre someone held aloft a long bamboo at the end of which fluttered a small flag, the emblem of the Nationalist Party, the Congress. It consisted of three colours; orange, white and green.

Ted brought his car to a halt and the Magistrate and he stepped out. The bus with the policemen stopped immediately behind and the police squad alighted hastily. At the same time the mob saw them and surged forward in a mass, shouting threats and obscene language.

Ted ordered his men to fall in, in two ranks, quickly, stationing two of the rifle-men in front at each flank. The Magistrate and he took up their positions in the centre and a couple of paces ahead.

Choudri extended his hand with palm opened towards the mob and called, "Halt! In the name of the Law!”

The crowd slopped running but still moved menacingly forward. Someone from the rear pelted a large stone. It sailed over the heads of the constables and fell behind with a thud. That was the signal for more missiles to follow and they did so in right earnest. This time brick-bats, soda-water bottles and stones. A number fell among the policemen and blood gushed from the face of a corporal. A stone struck Ted just below his left shoulder and he felt the dull aching pain where it hit him. Choudri was reading the Riot Act when another stone grazed his head, removing his immaculate felt hat. It was swept away ludicrously.

The rabble began closing in and Ted realised that if they came any closer his party would be engulfed. They would be wiped out to a man.

"Load!" His order rang out, sharp and clear, and the bolts of the rifles of the four armed men clicked back in unison. Itching fingers rammed home a clip of five cartridges in each breach, and the bolts of the rifles clicked home again. Ted drew his revolver.

Choudri was still reading; but his voice was lost in the roar of the mob. The people at the front of the crowd observed the police action and stopped, but the pressure from the throng behind pushed them forward. Choudri finished reading. He turned to walk back when a broken bottle struck him on the neck. He fell to his knees and then got up. Ted stepped forward to cover him and fired two rounds from his revolver into the air. Momentarily the mob came to a halt.

The Magistrate was bleeding from the deep cut caused by the jagged glass, and his red blood showed up sharply on the natty grey coat. It seemed to infuriate the crowd, who howled in frenzy. With ashen face he turned to Ted to convey the formal command that left the matter thereafter in his hands.

"Superintendent, if they advance any further, shoot to kill", he ordered.

The howling increased and more stones descended. Then, five thousand strong, the rabble charged the police.

"Aim!" called Ted; and then came the command, "Fire!"

The four rifles spoke as one, while Ted aimed his revolver at a huge man with a black beard who had been urging the throng forward with cries of "Kill them all", and was now in the act of hurling a stone. He squeezed the trigger. The man sat suddenly on the ground, clutching his chest. Four others from among the attackers also fell to earth. Blood squirted from between the fingers of the man Ted had shot. He held his breast and gazed accusingly, with rounded, reproachful eyes.

The shouting ceased abruptly. For a moment, the crowd stood glued to the spot, gaping in surprise at the horror of what had happened. Then it broke in all directions, leaving the five men who had been shot where they had fallen.

Ted turned to look at the Magistrate. He was standing behind, holding a silk handkerchief to the back of his neck. It was crimson and sodden with gore. Next, he looked at his policemen. The corporal who had been hit in the face was sitting hunched on the ground, his head buried in his hands, the blood seeping downwards to form a dark patch mat dried into the thirsty sand as rapidly as it fell. His brass-bound lathi lay beside him. The fat Brahmin Inspector was clutching his thigh, which was also bleeding. Five of the constables, including one of the rifle-men, were injured in one way or the other.

The crowd had melted away.

The injured policemen went, or were helped, into the bus. The death-rattle had set in when the bearded man shot by Ted was carried to the vehicle. Of the other four, one had been killed outright, two had been hit in their abdomens, and the fourth man high up in the shoulder.

The doctor and his assistant got busy with morphine injections and bandages. Ted, accompanied by one of the rifle-men and two lathi-armed constables, approached the burnt-out shell of the outpost to see what had become of the five policemen who belonged to it. They found one of them lying outside, his head beaten to a pulp by a big stone that lay beside the body, its surface still carrying evidence of the purpose for which it had been used. The Havildar who was in charge of the outpost or what remained of him— had been tied to one of the wooden posts and burnt with the building. A third constable lay on his back, his stomach hacked open with the intestines spilling out and piled upon the sand beside him. There was no trace of the remaining two policemen.

Reluctant to leave those men behind to the fury of the mob when the police party departed and should they be still alive, Ted determined to find them at any cost. He could ill afford to waste time. His squad, weak as it had been in numbers from the start, was now sadly depleted and would not be able to stand up to a concerted attack should the rabble re-assemble and surround them. His only chance was to act quickly.

Advancing with his three men to the nearest row of houses they forced open a closed door. Inside an old man and woman, and a boy and girl, were hiding, the four of them huddled in the corner. Pointing his revolver at the boy and girl, Ted told the rifle-man to inform the old man and woman that he would shoot if they did not tell him what had happened to the remaining two policemen.

The grey-beard remained silent, his face scowling hatred, but the old woman broke under the threat. In a quavering voice, she said that the constables had tried to run away but had been pursued and caught. They had been thrown into a well at the end of the road; but whether they were alive or not when that happened, she did not know.

Ted inquired the whereabouts of the well and she volunteered to show it. She led them down the main street for some yards and turned to the right, along a lane. Risking the dangers of an ambush at any moment, the four men accompanied her till they came upon the well. They looked in. It was an ancient disused structure and nothing could be seen except the dark, green, forbidding water. But the scum and muck of fallen leaves floating at the top was now not in one continuous layer. It had been broken into gaps where the surface of the water was quite clear. This indicated that something had been thrown in recently. Ted had little reason to doubt that that something was the two unfortunate policemen, and that the old woman had told them the truth. The three constables accompanying him agreed.

The rifle-man gave vent to the rage within him. Turning upon the old woman, he spoke between gritted teeth.

"Mother of a whore and daughter of a prostitute, is this the way you cowardly villagers, numbering thousands, murder five defenseless policemen who are servants of the Government and doing their duty? They are your own countrymen, don't you see? The Congress wallahs profess to be fighting to throw the sahib-log out of the country but murder Indians like yourself and me. Now I shall do the same to you". Thus saying, he seized his rifle by the muzzle and raised the butt aloft to batter the old woman to a pulp. Her broken voice rose in a frail, cackling scream.

Ted thrust his arm across the man's chest and restrained him. For a moment, the furies of mutiny flashed in the man's dark eyes, his sense of discipline forgotten. Ted appreciated the depth of his emotions and his voice was calm and conciliatory.

"I understand your anger and can agree with you. But she's old and defenceless. Also, she did not commit these dastardly acts. Let it never be said that you murdered a helpless old woman who was innocent".

His tact, and the logic of the argument, had its effect. The enraged policeman lowered his weapon, although a bit surlily. Baker noted the names of the woman and her family as possible witnesses and then went back to the bus.

The doctor was impatient at the delay in his return and did not hesitate to say so.

"Where've you been all this while, Superintendent? Don't you realize we have men who are bleeding to death aboard and that I have no available means to save them? They must be got to the hospital".

Ted snapped back, "Of course I realise. But don't you understand I couldn't leave the havildar of the outpost and his men to be torn apart by the mob without trying to find them? As it happens, they're all dead".

The doctor did not reply.

A party of policemen gathered the remains of the constable whose head had been smashed and the body of the other, after pushing his intestines, with the sand adhering to them, back into his belly. The corpse of the Havildar was very badly burned and could not be moved. They tried, but the result was so ghastly as to make them desist. The cooked flesh came away in their hands.

The bus looked a gruesome sight. It literally dripped with blood. From the lips of those not under the effects of the morphine administered by the doctor, groans and moans came intermittently. The man whom Ted had shot had since died. His wide-open glassy eyes stared at the Superintendent accusingly. He found it impossible to face that terrible look.

Choudri sat huddled in the rear seat of Ted's car, the crimsoned silk handkerchief still pressed to his neck. He did not speak. The D.S.P. ordered the driver of the bus to start, and taking the lead himself in the car, the two vehicles commenced the return journey to Nilambur.

The wheels beneath seemed to drone out the futility of it all—this murder of innocent people, leading to the killing of other innocent people, who were probably not the actual culprits at all. Because of all this, he had shot a man that day! Was that murder? Perhaps if he had not killed the man first, the man would have killed him.

Then, undoubtedly it would have been murder. Why?

Perhaps because he was the D.S.P. Surely because he was a white man. And now was it murder? Or merely justifiable self-defence? Anyway, the man who had been killed was not the D.S.P. Moreover, he was not a white man. He was a black man.

Was that what made the difference?

Why did not the Government and the Nationalist leaders come to some understanding? The country was being steeped in blood. Was it wrong that Indians should demand the right to govern themselves?

Ted Baker was a very, very tired man when he finally drove into headquarters. The bus went directly to the hospital to unload its compliment of injured, dying and dead. The Magistrate got out there, too. Then Ted drove to the telegraph office to report developments to his immediate superior, the D.I.G. of Police at Calicut, telegraphing a copy of the report to the Inspector- General at Madras.