That day Binda Oraon of Kwar Patar went for his usual morning ablutions to the edge of the stream. His body broke out into rivulets of sweat at the sight before him. A cry escaped his lips. In the bush before him, he saw the bodies of two children smothered under a huge rock. To be confronted by such a vision of death was beyond his imagination. Somehow completing his job, he ran distraught towards Oraon Tola, his heart pumping like the bellows of Pancham Lohar, the ironsmith.
Taking along some three or four people, Binda Oraon returned to the spot of the gruesome deed. ‘Who could have dealt so cruelly with these innocent babes?’ he wondered. He was tortured no end by the happening. All those who went with him approached the bush and saw that the bodies were of two children aged about eight and ten. They were of a boy and a girl. Their mouths were badly battered. Had he got his way, Binda Oraon would have extricated the bodies from under the rock, but he was prevented by the rest of the group who said, ‘This is a police case and we should not even touch it. We will inform the Khalari police station the moment the sun rises.’ The children were bespattered with blood, their bodies appeared dark with congealed blood and their eyes that were open had turned opaque.
The news of this brutality spread like wildfire through the village of Kwar Patar. The moment Sadhanu Oraon heard of it, he exclaimed, ‘Could they be the grandchildren of Ishaq Mian? They have been missing for the past two days. He has been going mad with worry. I met him at the station only a day ago.’ Sadhanu Oraon who used to sell fruits and vegetables at the station narrowed his eyes in consternation and said, ‘They are surely Ishaq Mian’s. For some time past, his daughter and son-in-law have not been getting along. This is a fallout of their personal tension.’
At sunrise, Binda Oraon and the rest of his group set off for the Khalari police station. Sadhanu Oraon returned with the police, telling his grandson Manjhi to run off to McCluskieganj and inform Ishaq Mian of the incident. ‘Run fast,’ said Sadhanu Oraon, who was very proud of Manjhi’s cheetah-like speed.
Like the young monkey god Hanuman, Manjhi ran almost in one breath to Mr Thorpe’s house where Ishaq and his family lived. He told Ishaq, ‘Please come with me to Kwar Patar immediately and identify the mutilated bodies of two children. Only you will be able to do that.’ Hearing the news Sobarati, Ishaq’s wife, screamed out inconsolably, ‘Oh! my Shabana, oh! my Afzal’; the white bungalow resounded in early daybreak with her wails. Ishaq Mian tried to quieten her with a mild admonition, ‘I don’t like your outburst. You layer the ground with your tears even before ascertaining facts.’ But Ishaq himself was sick with grief inside his manly exterior. Fortunately, his daughter Amna was out at that hour. She had gone towards the station to try and locate her missing children and that was just as well. In the past few months, Ishaq Mian had been troubled by the deterioration in the relationship between his daughter and son-in-law Dilawar.
Seeing the bodies of the dead children, Ishaq broke down completely. He just collapsed on the wet ground. If Abraham, the prophet of the Jews, had been there, he would have just taken him into his lap. ‘Control yourself, Ishaq Mian. If you buckle down, what will Amna do?’ said Sadhanu Oraon, but Ishaq Mian lay prostrate next to his grandchildren like a third corpse. Thoughts rushed through his head, ‘No one but Dilawar could have done this. I feared something like this would happen the day, when after fighting violently with Amna, he had threatened to kill both the children.’
After quarrelling with Amna continuously for some time, Dilawar ran away one day from McCluskieganj. Both Ishaq and his wife had thought then that he would return once he calmed down. Sobarati had asked her husband to make inquiries about his whereabouts. But Ishaq Mian had replied, ‘Where do I get the CID from to set upon him?’ The fact was that Amna had married Dilawar against the wishes of her parents and now he was probably being influenced by his family to abandon her. Ishaq Mian believed that he was probably hiding somewhere nearby. But no one, not even Amna, could have dreamt that her husband would ever commit such a heinous crime.
When the Khalari police station cops came and lifted the bodies, Ishaq Mian said, ‘I am now a headless body.’ On the basis of the FIR lodged by Ishaq, the Khalari police filed a case against Dilawar. They sent the bodies for post-mortem and expedited the entire probe. Still it was evening by the time Ishaq returned with the two bodies. This news of the gruesome double murder spread like wildfire in McCluskieganj. Amna was getting fits and in his bid to prevent her from biting her tongue, Ishaq Mian’s finger got badly bitten by her. He had never approved of the alliance. Parents could give everything to their children other than their fate. After all, Dilawar belonged to the Kurmi caste. His name was Dilip Mahto, but he converted to Islam so that he could marry Amna.
Jack too had gone to Mr Thorpe’s bungalow to ascertain what had happened. He returned and filled Mr Miller in with the details. Mr Miller told Robin, ‘This was bound to happen one day. There was tension all the time between the two families.’ Tuinyan Ganjhu corroborated,‘Yes, there was “defect” between the two since a long time!’
Dilip Mahto had been married into his own caste once before, but the marriage had not worked. Then, in course of time, he began visiting Mr Thorpe’s bungalow to meet Amna. Ishaq Mian strongly disapproved of their proximity. The entire village was agog with gossip, ‘A young Muslim girl openly having an affair with a Kurmi boy! These unmarried girls are always a curse for the family.’
When these rumours had reached a crescendo, one day at dawn, Dilip eloped with Amna. For four years, they absconded, and no one knew of their whereabouts. Dilip had fled with Amna to a town in Madhya Pradesh where he lived with her, working as a labourer to make ends meet. It was there that their nikah was solemnized. Dilip converted to Islam and changed his name to Dilawar. After a lapse of four years, when the memory of the people in McCluskieganj had begun to fade, the couple arrived one day to the shock of them all. Dilip’s father, Ram Prasad Mahto, forbade his son from entering his house, but Ishaq and his wife after a while reconciled with their daughter and gave her as well as her husband a room to stay in Mr Thorpe’s bungalow.
A year later, the couple had a boy and Ishaq named him Afzal. Dilawar’s parents showed open disapproval of their son. Dilawar too was remorseless. For the first few years, things went smoothly. Dilawar earned enough to support his family, but slowly tensions rose regarding his earnings and both he and Amna began to bicker every so often. Amna’s concern for her growing children and their requirements for which more money was needed reflected in her attitude towards her husband. She wanted him to be more serious about his work.
Once after a serious fight, Dilawar left Mr Thorpe’s bungalow and went to the station master whom he knew. The station master offered him some painting job. Dilawar went with him and stayed in Patna for a while after which he returned to
McCluskieganj with about three thousand rupees. But some time later, both he and Amna began to quarrel once again. This time he went to the station where he ate at Suresh Gupta’s hotel and slept on the platform. Dilawar never crossed the railway line to go towards Mr Thorpe’s bungalow again. The railway line was like a ‘Lakshman rekha’ or the warning line beyond which he would not go, as a crossover would mean entering Amna’s territory. He had decided against having anything to do with Amna.
Seeing the estrangement between his son and Amna, Ram Prasad Mahto and his family were secretly very pleased. Could it mean that Dilawar would once again be weaned back to his Hindu lineage? Eventually Dilawar did revert to becoming Dilip Mahto again. The murder of the children took place soon after. Meanwhile Amna continued to spend sleepless nights, weeping for her lost babies.