Dibyasree Nandy

Tragedy

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Dibyasree Nandy

Tragedy

Pop-by Dibyasree Nandy

Pop-by Dibyasree Nandy

10 mins
135


“Brother,” he rested his fair head against his elder sibling’s chest, “I’ve always indulged in your altruism and so, I’m… sorry.”

The older man was taken aback.

“Wh-what’s this, all of a sudden? Wh-why… Why are you… doing this?”

The younger man only embraced his dear brother tighter.


On Sunday, the countryside folk gathered near the marketplace to chat. They knew not much, the village being nestled amidst hills and forests, far away from town.

“Lots of comings and goings here nowadays, wouldn’t you say?” The owner of the grocery store lit his pipe and settled down comfortably.

“That teacher, you mean?” Asked the farmer.

“Not just him, the other two who bought that large house beyond the mill. They say that the younger one is ill. That’s poppycock, mark my words, he looks perfectly fine to me. Now, if only I could remember where I’ve seen his face before…” The grocery shop owner blew out a few rings of smoke.

“Forget about him,” snorted the milkman, ‘it’s that teacher we need to worry about. How many times has it been since government officials have warned him that they’d burn down that little school of his?”

“Come to think of it, what’ll become of those orphans if they take him away? He’s raising them, after all.” Inquired the butcher, but there wasn’t much concern in his tone.

“Dunno. Who cares?”

“Excuse me…” A pleasant, refined voice stilled the callous chatter. The man was smiling, however, in the light of the dying afternoon, the villagers swore his eyes glinted with a dangerous aura, very close to wrath. “Forgive me, but I couldn’t help overhear snippets of your conversation. Are you not worried about the little boys and girls who have no one but their teacher to care for them? Ah, but I think I’m being rather presumptuous for an outsider.”

“Exactly, whippersnapper! Leave us alone!”

“I shall get going, then. Good day, gentlemen.”

As soon as he left, the crowd broke into gossip.

“The elder brother, that was him!”

“Such arrogance!”

“First time seeing him walking around without that twit. Dotes on his brother like a son!”

“I’ve heard he picked the boy off the streets!”

“Eh? The younger one’s adopted?”

“All that affection’s a sham, I’m telling you!”

“No doubt about it!”


“Teacher, he drew crosses and circles on my face when I was sleeping!” A tiny boy with ink on his chubby face pouted while his fellow student giggled, pen in his palm. Another student who was very diligent only sighed in exasperation. These three were particularly close. They often fought over who would get to hold their teacher’s hand while strolling around the village.

“You three, stand outside on the porch!” The teacher was trying very hard not to smile.

“But I was sleeping!”

“And I didn’t even do anything!”

“Teacher, when you see a sleeping face in front of you, drawing on it is normal.”

“You keep quiet!”

“And I’m getting detention because of the two of you!”

They were standing on the porch grumpily when a man approached them.

“Were you being naughty?” He smiled very gently as he offered a handkerchief to the child with drawings all over his face.

“Thank you, Mister!” He rubbed his face vigorously and then turned to the perpetrator who stuck his tongue out. They both began pulling each other’s cheeks. The quiet boy informed the newcomer sagely, “Don’t mind them, Sir, they always do this!”

“Oh? So, you’re the good boy?” The child beamed proudly.

“Here, have some candy. They’re mango-flavoured. Share them with the rest of the class too, yes? And could you inform your teacher that I’d like to have a word with him?”


In the local pub, two men, almost of the same age, sat opposite each other, drinks in hand. To an observer, it would appear as though two of similar disposition were having a nice discussion over alcohol.

“You’re not just some teacher, are you?”

“And you’re no invalid here to recuperate in this quiet village, right?”

They both smiled.

“Listen,” urgency seeped into the fair-haired man’s voice, “my brother and I are here on behalf of the government to ‘liquidate’ you. Or, to be more precise, we are the government, the ones who order the top brass in the military intelligence unit and the foreign office. What the rest of the government doesn’t know, is the fact that we are the nationalists, the ‘inside men’, so to speak. You, on the other hand, are from the foreign army, their ally, yes? You ran away from them, didn’t you? That’s why they come calling every now and then, to get you back, am I right? My elder brother and I staged this drama to rescue you and your students, our subordinates couldn’t refuse since we’re the ones calling the shots.”

“I teach to atone, Sir. Our country has preyed on yours for too many years. Every one of my students lost their family in the purge that was carried out five years ago to smoke out nationalists. I was instrumental in that mass slaughter. They threaten me, you see, by stating they’d reveal everything to my students if I refused to go back. I’ve held out for this long.”

“Hence, you teach them seditious literature so that they can become future patriots and turn their blade on you. I have a suggestion. Why not join me? This Thursday, they will come to raze your school to the ground. My brother told me that they’ll bribe the villagers. Understand? I don’t know what your views on patriotism are and I won’t ask, but you’ll have to protect those children. Fight alongside me.”

“B-but if your betrayal is exposed-”

“So what? I pledged myself to the nation long before I was ten. My brother taught me all about nationalism. I am more than happy to die for the sake of innocent children. You are too, right?”

“Are you done with your farewells? Are you sure you have no regrets?”

“Regrets, eh? Well… My brother is a very good man. Good men, you know, once faced with raw injustice, tend to break apart.”


A child was blowing bubbles as he sat alone on the riverbank.

“May I join you, little one?”

The child looked up. “Then you have to blow bubbles with me.”

“Of course.”

“You look sad, Mister.” The little boy peered into the face of the man.

“And you have an injury on your face, my boy.”

“Oh!” The boy touched the side of his face and winced. “The villagers were bullying Teacher. I told them to stop. So they pushed me roughly and I fell. I didn’t mind, though, since it was for my teacher.”

“You seem to be very fond of him.”

“I love him.” The child remarked with such innocent honesty that the man’s internal turmoil worsened. “He’s like a Papa to me and my brothers at school. Say, Mister, who is your favourite person in the world?”

“My brother. I’ve always guarded him like a son. I believe you have met him. He treated your class to candies.”

The child brightened.

“Oh, him? He’s very nice, he gave me a handkerchief! But I forgot to wash the ink marks. His smile is very kind.”

“That’s what matters to me the most, not this country! But you see, his life is a lot like that bubble.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe, after Thursday, you shall.”


“Have you evacuated the children?” The man who had tipped the teacher off, inquired in a low voice.

“Yes. And your brother, is he sleeping?”

“He is only pretending to be asleep. He’s vigilant, though.”

“Then why won’t he stop you or join you?”

The teacher glanced at the sticks strewn all about them and the blown-out lanterns.

“He knows I’d never forgive him if he did. If I’m the one carrying out this operation, they’ll execute me, not him, for I’ve decided to declare it loud and clear that I’m the ungrateful fellow who took advantage of his brother’s generosity only to go against him.”

“Then, your idea of nationalism is the same as mine. To become foundation stones for the people we love. We don’t care about our respective nations, do we? We’re just ordinary men trying to protect what little we can grasp within the palms of our hands, not anything beyond.”

“Heh! Nice to have a comrade while doing something so ordinary!”

They both raised their sticks as the sound of boots approaching in the dark reached them.


Three children, horror etched on their faces, rushing madly, tripping repeatedly, panicking, finally reached the house at the edge of the mill and banged their little fists on the door.

“They burned our school! And Teacher… He… And that nice man…”

The door was flung open. A hand pulled them inside and shushed them.

“I know.” That was all that the man said.


“The plan was to let you escape! Why did you remain behind?” The man let them sit on his sofa, kneeling down before them.

“You mentioned ‘Thursday’, Mister,” the bubble-blowing child whimpered, “I told them that something was going to happen tonight.”

“We watched everything!” Another boy softly sobbed.

“Teacher and that nice man fought against those who tried to set fire to our home! But the villagers beat them up so badly!”

Peals were heard across the village. Bells were rung to alert people of the fire.

“Help us, Mister!” The third boy clutched the front of the man’s shirt. “They ring the bells when a criminal is about to be publicly killed!”

The man stood up abruptly. “Stay inside.” He locked the door and walked out, blood dripping from his palms from digging his nails into his skin throughout the night.


A head on a spike. The eyes were closed. Beautiful even in death.

A seventeen-year-old teenager scooped up a child with an angelic face who laughed sweetly, kissing his brother on both the cheeks…

A little boy sat on his brother’s lap, painting whatever came to mind. The elder brother smiled as he watched the child who touched his own face in wonder as it was smeared with yellow, green, pink, orange…

“Brother, brother, I love you lots!” The child spread his arms wide to show exactly how much he cared with the most adorable of grins…

People were laughing.

There was another head too.

Crows were flocking to the corpses riddled with gunshots, pecking at the flesh.

He fell to his knees.

The villagers were throwing dirt and stones.

The orphans were wailing.

He began to scream.


“Can you fight?” He asked all the children of the ruined school whom he had sheltered in his house. “Can you kill?”

“K-kill?”

“Yes, ‘kill’. They beheaded your teacher and set his head on a spike. Can you tolerate evil such as this?”

“But killing is-”

“The villagers cheered.”

The child who had been happily blowing bubbles only a few days ago stepped forward.

“I will fight.”

Another boy timidly followed suit.

“M-me too.”

“He always sat by my bed when I was sick. I want to kill.”

“I saw the villagers kicking Teacher’s body. I’ll fight!”

Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!

Eyes were scintillating vermillion with hatred.

“Join me! I’m no patriot, you see. Just an ordinary man who wants justice for a loved one. I don’t give a damn about the nation, I simply want to claw out the innards of the cretins who emptied my heart.”

**

The village was a battlefield. Around 300 people against 25 children and one man mad with rage. The outcome was grim. The man who had had the image of a head on a spike and a body being violated by scavengers etched into his mind had transformed into a demon. At the mercy of the bombs and firearms typical of a nationalist of that era, not one lived to see the following sunset.

The children, armed with sticks, were benumbed with terror as they experienced their own bodies moving against their will to hurt others and stepping over corpses. And a village where only the wind whipped and dark leaves swirled, devoid of life.

A genuinely good man, yet diabolic when the brakes burst, was inherently capable of making children go through a harrowing encounter their innocent souls could not weather.

“Mister,” the child who had complained of having ink marks on his face in life light years away, tottered to the man who had now slumped to the red ground, unable to speak, “I can never blow bubbles again, can I? Our lives may pop like those little spheres anytime, right?”

Maybe after Thursday, you shall.


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