The Rain, PVV Satyanarayana [rosie project txt] 📗

T H E R A I N

<<font;courilike><<font;justify>THERE was a sudden change in the weather in the evening with the gale and the strong currents of wind sweeping all over. Soon there was heavy downpour submerging the sky and the earth. An Ambassador car stopped at the travellers’ bungalow that stood in solitude in the precincts of the village. A gentleman alighted from the vehicle and ran into the bungalow accompanied by another man and a police officer. They were almost half-drenched by the time they entered the building. The watchman of the bungalow looked surprised to see the gentlemen and his party at that hour.

Their clothes were half-wet and the cold wind made them shiver. They sat in the hall. The driver brought two bottles of whisky and the watchman poured it into tumblers. The gentleman emptied two tumblers. The other man whom he addressed as his Secretary, motioned to the police officer to take one, but the latter was hesitant. Not that he was a stranger to drinks, but he was not sure if he could take it while in uniform in the presence of the gentleman who happened to be a V.I.P. and whom he was escorting. The VIP sported an understanding smile and nodded his approval. The officer thanked him and had his sip of the drink. The driver too had his own and even the watchman was allowed one. After the initial round, everyone seemed to be in better spirits.

The gentleman was a Member of Legislative Assembly (MLA) from the local constituency. He was a stout, tallish man in his fifties. On his bare forehead there scintillated restlessly the polished lenses and the bright gold frame of his glasses. In his 2-decades of political career, he was thrice elected to the State Assembly – every time, of course, through a bye-election. One of his strengths was his success at bye-elections, though losing in the general elections. So he was considered the master of bye-elections! Another trait of his was changing of parties according to the political wind. Just as women changed their saris, he changed the parties. As a result people did not remember to which party he originally belonged. Presently he was in the ruling party that formed a coalition government. So he came to be known as Mr. Turncoat! People forgot his real name and remembered him only by his nickname.

Mr. Turncoat was not an ordinary politician. He owned a lot of money mostly invested in major industries and real estate. He was one of the most influential and powerful members of the ruling party. He was now tipped for a ministerial berth at the next shuffling.

Mr. Turncoat was scheduled to inaugurate a seminar on the Welfare of women the next morning in the nearby town. Since he was an MLA as also the Chairman of a State Committee, a police officer was accompanying him for security. Mr. Turncoat wanted to reach the town the same night, as he was to meet the local politicians. But the unexpected rain had forced him to break the journey at this wayside village. This was indeed annoying.
None of the men spoke for sometime. Mr. Turncoat threw away the butt of the third cigar he smoked, and spat out. He memorized the keynote address prepared by his Secretary for the seminar … The women in our society are still a suppressed class. They are subjected to many atrocities. Despite the steady progress in the female literacy and employment rate, things have not really improved. Women in India, unlike their counterparts in the West, are exploited, treated as slaves and subjected to violence. It cannot go on forever. There should a movement in the country to change the plight of the women in the male-dominated society. Especially we, men, should take a pledge to restore and preserve the honour and freedom of our womenfolk… The speech would go on like this. He was sure that the audience, especially the women, would give him a roaring applause. There was also an emphatic reference to the all round improvement in the condition of the women in the State under the able guidance of the Chief Minister, his party leader. When the media carried his speech, the CM, his party men, people – everyone would be pleased. This, he hoped, would better his chances for the ministerial berth, should the reshuffle of the ministry take place in the near future.

The Police Officer who was in his thirties was very much bored to be imprisoned in that old building. He cursed the rain and lit the cigarette offered by Mr. Turncoat’s Secretary. He started a conversation with him. Soon Mr. Turncoat also joined them. He talked of everything on the earth. He also gave a long speech about the politicians and their relationship with the public. The watchman, bored by this talk, was conveniently dozing in a corner. The driver poured another round. The watchman looked up at the tinkling of the tumblers. The Secretary, who took pity on the shivering watchman, gave him some. The man, gratitude writ large on his face, emptied the tumbler in one gulp and again slipped into drowsiness. The driver too was dozing in a chair now, while the others talked. The police officer looked at his watch. It was half past seven and there was no sign of the weather improving.

SUDDENLY the gate outside creaked and there was a sound as if somebody was running. The men stopped and glanced at one another. Even as the police officer was about to move, they saw someone coming over to the verandah that was dimly lit. All the eyes were on the subject, sending curious looks.

She was a young, slender thing – probably in her teens. She was fully drenched in the rain. Obviously she was one of those farm girls returning from work – caught up in the sudden rain. She was as such poorly clothed and the wet clothes clung to her body all over revealing every shape and curve of her body. Ignoring the presence of the men, she turned aside and started squeezing the wet clothes and wiping off the water drops falling from her head.

The men in the hall held their breath at the sight. Her shapely body with its alluring curves, her natural beauty, her attractive posture – all worked on them more than the whisky. Four pairs of eyes intently watched each of her movements.

AS Mr. Turncoat gurgled a little, his Secretary looked at him. Their eyes talked for a split second. The Secretary looked at the watchman. Two doses of the foreign whisky worked well on the man and he was down. The police officer’s hungry looks were still on the girl. The Secretary whispered something to the driver, who got up and approached the girl. Expressing sympathy for her condition, he offered her one of the rooms for changing her clothes. At first she was reluctant, but on seeing the gentle-looking, elderly Mr. Turncoat and the police officer, she accepted the offer gratefully. She was given a towel and led to a room inside, escorted by three pairs of hungry-looking eyes.
The girl closed the door behind her, but found no bolt inside. She hesitated for a moment and then started undressing.

Exactly after a couple of minutes, Mr. Turncoat entered the room being first of the series…..


THE driver came out of the room. He whispered to the others: “I’m afraid she is dead!”
The Secretary could not believe it immediately for he was still enjoying his experience with the girl. While the police officer was startled, Mr. Turncoat remarked calmly: “Dead!? Poor girl – was she so weak…!?”

“Good God! What to do now?” The police officer looked worried.

“Why worry, Inspector?” Mr. Turncoat was cool. “After all, it’s the rain that’s responsible for this”.
“But, how to account for this, sir?”

“Don’t be a stupid, man!” chided Mr. Turncoat, stealing a glance at the watchman. “The fellow is still down and out, under the influence of the drink. Give him some more, if need be”.
“You mean, sir, the fellow…” The police officer was quite stunned.


THE next morning – the devastating rain had stopped. The police picked up the bungalow watchman who was still reeling under the influence of alcohol due to further doses, for rape and murder!!


MR. TURNCOAT had resumed his journey for the seminar on The Welfare of women. He was to deliver his key-note address on the occasion emphasizing that –Especially we, men, should take a pledge to restore and preserve the honour and freedom of our womenfolk…
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Text: All rights reserved
Publication Date: 11-09-2010

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To all those exploited