The first one who came out of the pit was Kallu bania. The mason followed him, then the chunewala, the bhishti, the kasai and last of all, the ganderia. They had untied the knots which had tied them to each other and were now separated from one another. However, they still walked and carried out their tasks in the same order. The earth that had been thrown out of the pit lay around in heaps. They lay on the soft, faintly warm soil for some time to rest.
The pit was in the centre of a huge mustard field and was as huge as a pond. Beyond the pit and the heaps of earth that had been dug out, pale white moonlight glistened over the yellow mustard flowers. Once the sounds of digging stopped, a fearful silence enveloped the vast expanse of field. From Kallu to the ganderia, they were all troubled, uncertain how to confront it. Reality, that had been obfuscated by the sheer efforts of their labour, was slowly returning to them. The cool night air revived their bodies that labouring had made hot and sweaty.
After a while, they all sprang up together as if at the bidding of some mysterious force. They moved towards the carcasses of the dogs that had been unloaded by trucks just beyond the pit—dogs that had been shot, poisoned, or simply beaten to death. The blood on their bodies, their protruding eyes and the tongues that hung out were visible even in the faint moonlight. According to the calculations of the municipality, there were a hundred and sixty-four of them. They were the last lot. The authorities had gone from door to door to make sure that not a single one had been left behind anywhere. Pets that had been raised with affection and that children had taken to bed with them had been poisoned by their masters. Volunteers had patrolled the streets with guns and sticks. At one spot, after a bitch that had just littered had been shot, its little pups that had not even opened their eyes had been beaten to death.
The men, women and children of the town had been doing nothing but this the last five days—destroying dogs. Four thousand seven hundred and thirty-four dogs had been offered up for this great dog sacrifice which had lasted five days. The Liberation Army had ordered that the town be completely cleared of dogs within a week. The commander had put up announcements on the walls in several places in town that two human beings would lose their heads for every live, stray or pet dog or pup seen anywhere after a week. The residents proved their subservience by completing the task two days before the stipulated one, such was the fear the Liberation Army generated in the minds of the people. Even the municipality, which was supposed to be on the government’s side, extended its support so that the people would not be endangered. For the Liberation Army was sure to keep their word.
It was at night that the members of the army carried out operations like slaying enemies or setting up bombs or booby traps in the town. Supporters of law and order by birth, the dogs would start to bark, exposing them to the police, the arm of the government. This was why the Liberation Army had been forced to issue a fatwa against the dogs.
Kallu bania and the mason began to retch suddenly as they stood before the carcasses. The others turned away in order to control themselves. Somehow managing to overcome their feelings of disgust, they lined up in pairs and began to throw the carcasses into the pit, going from one heap to the next. When all the dogs were in the pit, they picked up their shovels and filled up the pit. When they finished, the night was nearly done. Once it was all over, the six of them stretched out prone over the mounds of fresh earth that covered the pit and wept. They did not see the moon disappear, the darkness dissolve and the town take shape beyond the fields in the pale morning light. Although they were exhausted, they could not sleep. Their hands seemed stained with blood and poison. The cries of the dogs, their convulsive movements, came back to them over and over again. Over the last five days, they had been just murderers—like madmen possessed, out on a spree of hunting and killing. And now they longed to reclaim their old identities. They wanted to begin living the lives they had earned by swimming through a river of blood. But they realized they would not be able to.
‘I want to go and open my shop, it has been two days since I did so,’ said Kallu bania to himself. It was the first time one of them had opened his mouth to speak since they had arrived there at night with their pickaxes and shovels. After a while he added, ‘Or maybe I won’t. No one comes now to buy anything from the shop.’
‘Half the population has left the town, hasn’t it? The houses are empty. I have no work either,’ said the mason, getting up.
The chunewala and the bhishti nodded in agreement. The kasai said firmly: ‘Even if there’s work, I’m not coming. I don’t want to do a kasai’s work anymore.’
The ganderia agreed. ‘I can’t catch goats and take them to the kasai anymore either. With the dogs gone…’
‘The truth is,’ said Kallu, ‘we have all been thrown out of our professions.’
The ganderia tried to define their situation more clearly. ‘Are we not on the veranda of life already? We were thrown out of houses long ago! We are just veranda-people now.’
They came down the mound of earth and watched the sun rise over the horizon in awe.
The ganderia mumbled to himself. ‘The king’s declaration forced us to come out of the security of our homes and closed the doors behind us. At that time, all we had for company were these dogs that had been sleeping on the verandas and in the streets.’ When he spoke, his voice was choked.
‘These creatures were with us even before houses were built.’ It was Kallu who spoke. ‘They watched over us as we slept on treetops and caves. When we built houses, they stood as sentries on our verandas. And when fate threw us out on the verandas, we pushed them into their graves.’
Stroking his beard, the kasai said: ‘The next step from the veranda is to the grave, Kallu. We should have known that. We should have known, even if no one else knew.’
‘And didn’t we know?’ asked the mason. ‘But we wanted to save our lives.’
‘Yes, it was to save our own lives that we ran around the country hunting for Govardhan, who had done no wrong at all, to hand him over to the gallows.’ The bhishti’s voice was angry and bitter. ‘I used to make bags out of the skins of dead goats, fill them with water and moisten the walls to make them strong. And yet the walls collapsed! And it was a goat that died!’
‘There is a well inside each one of us, bhishti,’ said the chunewala who had been silent until then. ‘And it is not water we drew from them but the cries of those whom we betrayed. We listened to them and were glad that our journey was safe.’
The kasai pointed to the ground in front of them. ‘There, on our way, I can see a spot where we are all lying dead like dogs. With our limbs stretched out, our eyes protruding, our tongues hanging out…’
They turned in the direction he was pointing to. There was no road there, only fields. All six of them moved towards the field in single file as if sleepwalking. Kallu bania went first, then the mason, the chunewala, the bhishti, the kasai and last of all, the ganderia. No one said anything after that. Nor did they look back. The world they thought they had achieved by wading through blood lay behind them, now someone else’s enclosure. Their relatives had abandoned them long ago. They now left behind them their tools and their professions. Only their shadows, which they could call their own, followed them. And even these shortened steadily as the sun rose in the sky.
Although they did not look back as they walked on, they realized that the shadows shortening behind them had taken a certain shape that was becoming alive. They heard the sound of a four-legged creature running on the ground, sniffing and wagging its tail. Their shadows had dissolved into one and turned into a huge dog! Why are you following us, they asked, without daring to turn back.
The dog answered: ‘Here’s someone asking his shadow why it is following him! It should be the other way round—it’s the shadow that should ask this question. It was your own shadows you sliced off and threw away to ensure your safety. Assuming it would make you happy, you killed your own peace of mind. The fault you committed lay in one spot, while you searched to atone for it elsewhere. In what way are you different from those who tortured you?’