The road to heaven

Imtiaz Akhtar uncovers a legal business of death in a remote village in the northern parts of Bengal.

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IN a small village nestled between the mountains that were millions of years old stood a village. No one knows how it came into existence. But legend has it that the Bau or father who first lived here had to kill the dragon. Only then could he nestle here in this beautiful village.

On three sides, the village was surrounded by purple mountains and on the northern side it was blessed with the most soul-soothing and picturesque view of the snowcapped mountain— the mighty Kanchenjunga.

During dusk, the top of the mountain would be draped in shades of red. Many villagers believed that Bau lived now in the snowy region of the mountain. The people who lived here were naive but they were nice. The life that they led here had not been polluted by the culture of radical hedonism or greed that is so prevalent now among our people.

I came to know of this village when I was still very young. I had the good fortune to get an opportunity to go to the hills at a young age and study there. Some of those who studied with me were Nepalis, that is to say they bore titles of Thapa, Gurung, Sherpa, Tamang and Rai. I got along quite well with them.

My love for them was so serious that slowly and incorrectly I even learned how to speak and write in Nepali. I had a friend called Rishi Tamang. It was he who had told stories about the village. In my own lifetime, I had already been to the village but that was many years ago. I was a school student whom the villagers politely shunned. But now when I arrived the hand of the clocks had moved thousands of times. I had ceased to be a child.

In 199-, when I had first arrived there was no electricity. But radios were fairly common. During the evening, I often heard Nepali songs on the radio. Needless to say it was pleasant, like the tea I was having. Now, one can find that electricity has reached every home. On Christmas, the lone Baptist Church of the village was shining in its resplendent glory. A big halogen light had been placed above the cross on the church's gate. The light scattered far and wide penetrating the darkest region of the surrounding forest. Thousands of long arrows of light had been shot from the bulb.

I was a journalist who had come to the village as an observer. I was expected to produce a solid 5,000–8,000 word article. My landlady was a polite woman. She was a Gurkha Christian who regularly attained the prayer. She had served my dinner at 6 in the evening.

Having lived in the city for so long now, it was impossible for me to have my dinner so early. I walked out of the house. The crescent moon caught my attention. I had to pinch myself upon seeing such a splendid moon after I did not know how long!

Having lived in small cubical rooms in the city, I had really forgotten the various shapes of the moon, the sparkling of the stars, the sudden appearance of a comet that gave the impression of a matchstick being lit.

The forest smelled of medicinal leaves and everything was so quiet. The crickets were chirping. The darkness outside had filled me with enormous silence inside. The outside was dark and empty. The interior of my being was silent and peaceful. The stars were displaying their magic in the sky.

I sat on my veranda and saw all this. I saw a squirrel who took the crumb of bread that I had kept. A long train of ants had appeared. Beetles were crawling all over the place. At night, I had to shut the windows because I feared that a snake might crawl into my room.

Starting the next day, the election campaign would begin. I was looking forward to it. The next day I woke up to the cries of hen locked in cages. The small 'jhora' (stream of a waterfall) was sparkling with fresh water.

At 7 a.m., when I entered the church, it was filled with people. The old pastor was talking to a group of people. Then I noticed the lead candidate of the Bau party. There were several candidates. The total number of candidates was ten. All were represented in colours such as red, saffron, blue and different shades of green, black and, lastly, white flags with symbols.

The population of the village was classified as below 500 citizens. The villages had once been prosperous. Traders dealing with animal skin would often arrive. These traders would travel by foot all the way to Sikkim and from there to China.

This was some two or three hundred years ago. The village was now in a bad condition. Now, only peasants lived in the village and the trading had almost ceased. The land of the village was held by all in common.

However, because of the harsh terrain, it was not possible to cultivate all types of vegetables and fruits. Wheat, rice, millets, spinach and some potatoes were all that could be cultivated. My overall sociological assessment was that the condition of the peasantry was not good. They were living a frugal life, a typical hand-to-mouth existence.

One evening, after I had finished my day's fieldwork, I decided to visit the tavern which is located at the center of the village bazaar. The waiters informed me about the rising cases of suicide in the village. Some of them were related to betting while others were related to poverty. "The villagers were internally exhausted," the waiter remarked casually to me while offering a matchbox.

The next morning, I could not believe my ears when I heard a voice on the loudspeaker say: "Please listen, listen to this. If the Bau party wins we shall construct an electric crematorium. And the first body to be cremated shall be offered ₹one lakh in cash by the MLA Sahib himself… Cash… Cash… One lakh for the dead."

This news spread in the village like wildfire. Soon, people began gossiping about what had been stated openly. The villagers, as already mentioned, were very poor. There was only one car and that too was owned by Bau. He was the only one with money as he pilfered most of the money sanctioned by the State for various purposes. The village had only one school and its roof was provided by the church.

In one household that I visited, I overheard the following conversation between a son and his father:

Son: "Father let me die so that I can repay all the debt."

Father: "You are young my son! I am an old man afflicted with bone cancer. I shall die soon. Let it be me."

Father and son hugged each other and sobbed.

In another house, I saw daughters trying their luck by lottery. It was pure chance that would decide life or death. But everyone I saw was so calm that it surprised me. There was no trace of nervousness in the thirteen daughters who stood huddled in the corner of the room waiting to come forward and pick up the chit.

In the local goods shop, the shopkeeper informed me that rumours were afloat that there was a shortage of ropes. What would ropes be needed for, I pondered and then came to the inevitable conclusion: to kill oneself.

Some villagers entered into contracts where they promised others land or houses in return for being killed politely. The proposal floated by Bau's party became so popular that it sent signals of defeat to other candidates. No one was as smart as Bau and the people from his party. Had not they killed a foreigner and gulped down all his wealth including his money and car!

That day, I visited various places in the village. Almost everyone was talking about dying so that they could give their pauperised family something to survive.

The election took place and out of 300 votes, Bau's party won some 210 votes. His party won and much to the chagrin of others, he implemented his promise. The programme was scheduled to take place on a Sunday. Fifteen dead bodies had arrived at the crematorium to claim a prize.

The prize went to the family of an adolescent. He had killed himself the moment Bau arrived in his car. Bau was impressed with his courage. He loved the sight and smell of warm blood. I later wrote a piece on elections but my editor edited large parts of it and then the same was published. I was upset at what they had done to my story.