Musings of a Criminal

The man looked at his handiwork. This time whatever had happened had been unintentional. The same could not be said of his earlier deeds, which had been very much intentional. The woman lying in pool of blood had been like a mother to him, rather she was his mother. Not exactly, but still a stepmother. She had brought him up from a very young age. His mother had died in childbirth when he was born. His father had remarried when he was two-year old. So he had known no other mother than the woman lying there, very much dead. And he was the culprit.

The police came. He himself had telephoned them. He had not been able to answer any of their questions as he was in shock. They had dragged him to their vehicle and deposited him in a cramped cell. He was alone in that holding cell. They did not bring any other criminal to his cell, even criminals are afraid of murderers. They need not have worried, violence was furthest from his mind at this time. He was also not looking for company. Rather this was one time he craved for loneliness.

He always had anger issues. When he was small, he resented the power of grown-ups to reprimand and occasionally beat him. He had taken up his anger on small animals like cats or even dogs. Most of the times he had escaped, but whenever he was caught, his father had given him severe thrashing. His stepmother had, however, always treated him with empathy. It was beyond him that he had killed the same woman. But then, he never had any control over his anger.

He had never repented the actions taken in anger, at least till today. Although he had known that angry actions taken in haste lead to remorse. Remorse, as a feeling, was new to him.

He was still a teenager when his father had died. Nobody was surprised as he was quite a drinker and must have killed himself in the process. He was almost glad at the old man’s death, although he had pretended grief. His mother must have sensed his mood, but to her credit she had not said anything to him. And this is the woman he had betrayed. Probably he had inherited his violent tendencies from his mother. He had no memory of his real mother.

He had taken to the life of crime during his adulthood, yet he never spoke about his criminal life to his mother. For her he had always been a loving son. She had always welcomed him whenever he came home. He had made enumerable visits to prison, but came out without any punishment as he hid his crimes well. His mother, even when he came from jail, never showed that she was aware of his criminal life. Although she had always pleaded with him to settle in life. By settled life she probably meant marriage.

He assumed that even he must have been fond of her in his own way. So far, they had lived peacefully. Today was just another day.

Alone in his cell he pondered over the events of the past few hours. For the first time in his short life of crime, he was filled with something bordering on remorse.

Perhaps it did not have to come to this, had she handed over her ornaments to him. He was really in need of money. As it is, being the only son, he would have inherited everything in any case. It was beyond him why she had to fight him for such insignificant matter. He had initially tried to reason with her. But she had refused to listen to him. Perhaps she was fighting with him on his own behalf. The realisation had not dawned upon him at that time.

He wondered why had he not tried to escape after it was all over. The law would have found it difficult to trace him with his contacts in underworld. He could easily have escaped to Nepal or some other country and enjoyed life with the money stolen from his own house. Gold alone  would have been worth considerable sum of money.

But here he was, sitting alone in the cell. He presumed they would take him to court tomorrow morning. He may have to suffer for his actions this time and yet, he was not afraid. This was one time in his life he really wanted to suffer for his actions.

….

Having been on the wrong side of law for a long time, he was clear that he won’t hang for this crime. He had committed many crimes in his life for which he deserved more stringent punishment, but all the times luck had been on his side. He had always escaped with lighter punishments relative to his crime. Perhaps he will get more stringent punishment for the crime. Even for a hardened criminal like him, this crime appeared to be unpardonable.

His mother (he had never thought of her as stepmother) had always wanted him to study well. Although he had never lived up to her expectations, yet he had developed a habit of reading. That habit had continued even in his adulthood. All those readings had convinced him that no story was complete without a villain in it. Whether in religious tales, books or films; the presence of villain was essential.

It amused him to think that people like him were essential for this world. But even villains did regret their actions sometimes. He had killed, beaten up and robbed people, yet that was all part of struggle of life. There was nothing to be ashamed of his profession. Like everyone else, he had to make a living. And like all others he had to use the skills he had learnt over a period of time.

The religious texts which his mother had taught him when he was a small child came back to him in the lonely cell. He remembered that almost all the tales ended with the villain suffering for his actions. The hero always managed to subdue or kill the villain in the end. Perhaps his tale will end in similar fashion. In his story perhaps the law will play the role of hero.

….

His eyes fell on the wall clock just outside his cell. He must sleep to face tomorrow’s challenge. Sleep took its own time in coming to him, yet when it came, instead of providing rest it filled his mind with dreadful nightmares.