The village was on the boil since the morning. There was a large crowd near the railway crossing close to reporter Basant’s grocery shop. There were similar crowds at Suresh Gupta’s snack shop and at Majeed’s Carney Tea Stall too. Robin said after his morning tea, ‘Jack, I’ll have my other round of tea at Carney’s.’ But Jack didn’t seem to be too sure. ‘Well, if you will, you will, but perhaps you are not aware of the latest development. Tuinyan Ganjhu’s son Bifna has been arrested by the Budhmu Thana police before daybreak. There is a lot of tension in the village, Robin Babu.’ ‘Why, whatever happened?’ asked Robin. His voice did not betray excessive dismay because he knew Jack had a habit to exaggerate. ‘What will happen? Just the old MCC problem? It’s nothing new. Bifna’s link with the MCC is known to be an old one. Lack of employment has forced many youngsters of the village to join this outlawed party.’
As Robin walked towards the station, he felt that Jack’s assessment of the situation was somewhat correct. At Carney Tea Stall, there was a full relay of the screenplay of Bifna’s arrest. Having heard of his arrival, and guessing that it was Robin, Majeed hailed him, ‘Robin Babu, why are you standing outside? Come in, come, come.’ Then he forced Robin to sit on his stool. ‘Make Robin Chacha a cup of special tea, with plenty of cream and sugar, understood,’ Majeed barked at his younger son. Outside, the swelling crowd spoke of nothing but the arrest of Bifna with plenty of fanciful inputs, which Robin readily swallowed.
The Budhmu Thana police had stopped before Tuinyan Ganjhu’s shack even before dawn. Hearing the brake of the police jeep, Bifna had tried to escape by the back door, but the police were too quick. He was easily overpowered. Tuinyan had never dreamt of such a scene. He pleaded but in vain. Inspector Sukhdev Ram would hear none of him; instead, he shouted back abusively, ‘Nothing, you motherfucker, your son is a bloody MCC-wallah, goes about looting guns while his father sings songs. Son of a bloody singer! Those MCC bastards come and eat and drink at your place. Do they or do they not? Your son will now rot in jail.’ So saying, Inspector Sukhdev Ram revved his jeep and went off, leaving a wailing Tuinyan and his wife behind.
Tuinyan had suspected his son of having MCC leanings for some time now. Bifna would disappear for days on end, and when he returned, he would appear totally exhausted. Just a couple of days ago, the MCC militants had seized licensed rifles from Padman Sahu, Marcus Toppo, Manohar Panda, Harihar Sahu and Suraj Karketa. On that occasion, Bifna was absconding from home. Tuinyan Ganjhu was worried about his son and would occasionally tell his wife, ‘Bifna will be the cause for our shame one day.’ And that is just what happened as a result of the rifle snatching. Then the police raided house after house. ‘Show no mercy to those blackguards,’ was the order of the deputy inspector general in Ranchi. Reverend Tom Lakra of the McCluskieganj church had prayed, ‘Oh God! Save us from the ravages of the MCC, they have cut and carried away all our trees!’ The MCC commander of that area, Hembrom, was synonymous with death itself. Some called him ‘Black Cobra’. Like the gods of the Hindu pantheon, he too had many names. Although many of the fathers had earlier run away from fear, Father Lakra had taken the bull by the horns. He had counselled the villagers, from among whom the MCC cadres were known to be recruited, on the importance of education. ‘It’s all very well to lead the life of a peasant, but if you don’t study you will remain like a caged parrot.’ Father Lakra had also dispensed medicines during the recent outbreak of diarrhoea in the village. The MCC was well aware of his service to their community; that was why they had not struck on the church till now. Yet, when they learned of young tribal girls visiting Father Lakra at night, they lost no time in pasting a warning on his gate: ‘STAY AWAY FROM THE GIRLS.’ Father Lakra was quick to note the warning. He was careful about his activities with regard to the Adivasi girls. His return to his celibate state was his saving grace. Just a few years earlier, Mr Bal, a very colourful personality, had been bodily lifted by the MCC. Sardar Bal and his wife were not exactly compatible and one day after a terrible fight, Mrs Bal left permanently for Ranchi, where she took up an assignment in a school. Her departure gave her husband the freedom and licence of an untethered bull. Gossip went around that Mr Bal was enticing the local girls with money to satiate his libido, which was when the MCC abducted him.
The Budhmu police searched the forests high and low, but nowhere could they find him, until one morning clad only in an underwear and tied in ropes, Mr Bal was found groaning outside the thana; a letter was found pasted on the thana wall: ‘You police bastards, you are sinners yourself. What punishment can you possibly give to people like Bal? That is why we have done the needful to bring him back to his senses. If ever he gets funny with our girls, we will cut off his genitals!’ Never was Mr Bal’s drawstring ever loosened again. When his wife heard of it in Ranchi, she returned to McCluskieganj. With tears in his eyes, Mr Bal apologized and swore to his sardarni, ‘Let bygones be bygones. Please forgive me.’ Mrs Bal became a great admirer of the MCC. Sitting in Australia, when Mrs Gibson heard of this, she lost no time in writing to her son Minto, who had by then perforce shifted to Jamshedpur. ‘Tell the MCC about your father! They will settle and cool his lust in his old age forever!’
Even though Minto and his family had left McCluskieganj for quite some time, there were informants in the village who kept Mrs Gibson posted with all the latest developments. In return, she would send these well-wishers small gifts from time to time. She knew from them that her husband was now consulting legal opinion on how to make Parvati and her son his legal heirs. Again she wrote to Minto. ‘You sit in Jamshedpur while your father is planning to make that bitch Parvati and her pup his heirs. Just go back! What will your father do? He will be abusive for a while. He will shout and scream. Pour oil into your ears and relax. At least he will know he is being watched.’ But Minto declined point-blank.
Mrs Gibson, however, refused to be deterred. Sitting and weaving her web like a sorceress, she threw a dice afresh. She knew the politics of war and worked on a new strategy. Mrs Gibson wrote to her useless brother Mubarak sitting in Lucknow. She ordered him to go and settle in McCluskieganj with his wife and children. ‘As such, Mubarak, you have financial constraints in Lucknow, you will have none of that in McCluskieganj. Your brother-in-law has fallen into lecherous ways. I am sending you to McCluskieganj to keep an eye on my damned husband.’ Mubarak’s begum too was pleased by this ‘Operation Brother-in-law’, Mrs June Gibson’s strategy being no less than that of Razia Sultana’s orders to her commander-in chief.
Once in McCluskieganj, Mubarak was quite surprised by his brother-in-law’s reception of him and his family. It took
Mr Gibson no time to get the drift of his wife’s plan, but he turned the table on her. He posed to welcome Mubarak and said, ‘Just see, Mubarak. What a beautiful cottage I have built for your sister. But she will have nothing to do with me, it seems. I believe this is all a fallout of Minto’s wife’s complicity!’ Mr Gibson made it clear to all at Peacock Guest House that his brother-in-law was there to stay and that he and his family should not be spared any comfort. Mubarak and his wife appreciated his warmth, realizing at the same time that it was the absence of his wife that made him lonely, and perhaps that was why he sought the company of Parvati and her son. So when Mubarak wrote to his sister June, she really felt very baulked. All her plans to rein in her husband had failed. ‘Wish I had the MCC commander’s name. I would have both my husband and brother abducted by them.’ But Mr Gibson was confident of his own locus standi: ‘Had there been any doubt about my character, would I not have been targeted by the MCC by now?’ Mr Gibson, like Mrs Bal, was a great advocate of the MCC. When Bifna Ganjhu had been arrested by the Budhmu police, he said, ‘These thana-wallahs who quarrel over small things like mangoes and jackfruit, what character can they boast of?’ The fact was that a few days before Bifna’s arrest, Inspector Sukhdev Ram’s fourteen-year-old son had carried away all the jackfruit from the lady daroga Manju Singh’s compound. This had triggered a bitter trade of abuse between the inspector and Manju Singh, who had caught the boy red-handed and given him a sound thrashing. And so Mr Gibson continued, ‘If this is the character of the police, what good can they do for society. Disgusting! Don’t worry, Tuinyan, we will seek for Bifna’s release. Whatever the expenses, I will pay them. Don’t worry!’
In the aftermath of Bifna’s arrest, when the whole of
McCluskieganj was seething and its residents were all over discussing the event, it was then that Robin met Mr Gibson for the first time at Majeed’s tea stall, where they had a few affable exchanges.