If you ask me details about that night, I will sound vague.
It's as if my memory has partially effaced the details, like an expert painter slightly distorts the details on a canvas, or a virtuoso musician plays slightly "off" and gives a smoky, hazy effect to a true-to-life rendition which affects the audience in an entirely new way. Or a photographer deliberately obscures part of a portrait to focus on a gleaming eye, or a puckered lip.
I don't remember who was with me when I saw Munnabhai next. It was not the Blue Bottomed Baboon, for he never entered a chai shop other than his fixed joints. It was not Daktar Saab, coz then I would have definitely remembered the coincidence. It was not the Shocker or Zitterbug or Billy Bunter.It was certainly not Grave Digger for I would remember. ( He used to write poetry that would invariably contain a grave digger. " Lo! The Grave Digger once again came, to dig the grave once again/ Not power nor any pelf shall stop him from digging our grave himself"). Grave Digger was an absolute ass.
Yes, all my acquaintances had nick names. Indeed, I had one myself. When I started entering the quiz-debate-poetry contest circles, Billy Bunter's Group named me Oudbillau. ( I think it means otter, but am not sure). When Billy Bunter told me much later who the Oudbillau really was , I smugly replied that to my group he was Billy Bunter the fat owl of Grey Friars. (Poor beggar was none too pleased, but remained a good friend none-the-less).
I was quite a mercenary in those days, entering every quiz, debate, dumb charade, poetry writing contest in sight since the prizes were mainly books or shields, and both are precious to a teen ager starved on a diet of monthly remittances from a parent who believed in plain living and high thinking. I can honestly aver, I lived very plainly in the last week or two before the month was over and I would go into a surfeit of half-fry slices at the beginning of the month.
No! I entered into those contests in a spirit of pure conquest , and after a few contests, I graduated from Oudbilau to Ganguteli and from there to Macmohan ( I grew a beard) and at the end Siddharth ( after Basu of Quiz time fame since I became a quiz master in the college circuit)
Why am I digressing? Probably because I do not want to write of the encounter with Munna.
So I do not remember who I was with. But the night was cold, so it was probably winter. A bitterly cold, foggy, windy night. It must have been winter for we sat close to the fire. It must have been winter, for I distinctly remember I shivered.
The location was one of the hostels, a temporary chai shop on a platform built around a tree on the open grounds, a coal fire smoking comfortably in the foggy night, the kettle glowing redly against the shadows thrown against the feeble gleam of tube lights.
I remember the hostel as a notorious one. A couple of years ago, some seniors had carried out a sensational murder just outside the campus in the course of which they had broken into the house of one of the most notorious toughs of the city and brutally hacked him to death despite his possession of a Mauser automatic.Since the campus was a no-fly-zone for the city police, no one was caught, though one heard rumours of certain GBs (Great Bosses) going underground for fear of reprisals.
Probably I had gone to pick up class notes from someone. I honestly dont remember.
It must have been near exam time, for otherwise you would not catch me dead in a ditch with a class-note in my hand.
Suffice it to say that I was astonished to see the hitherto-long-vanished Munna dealing out tea with a saturnine expression!
But it was not the Anil K-ish Munna with a cockatoo's pride . It was a Munna gone to seed. There were no celebratory pictures. The dress was dirty, the waist was thick, the hair was untended, and the face was lined. The Anil K designer stubble had been replaced by a sedate salt-and-pepper beard.
Someone mischievously ( I think, on hind sight) asked the question. " Aur Munnabhai, Shahar mein kya ho raha hai aajkal?"
That was the cue.
Munna gave a shrug and a grin as he slowly looked at us to see the effect of his reply. ( I do not know if he recognised me.)
" Salee police ke darr sey mera janaa kahan ho raha hai?"
And then the story slowly came out.
Munna had taken shelter inside the campus to escape the tender ministrations of the Police.
And why was that?
He started by relating his relationship with the girl, their visit to the village, and the story of his downfall.
After his eviction, the girl took another lover. In her case, it was probably the done thing, and acceptable, indeed encouraged, behaviour in the biradari.
Munna tried contacting her, but was rebuffed.
And so his thoughts turned towards revenge.
" I rode my bike towards the building. I was aware of the entrance and exits since I had stayed inside.
" It was a cold night, and I had wrapped myself in a shawl and a woolen cap that hid my features."
" I carried a rope around my waist, and parked my bike in a parallel gully on its stand, and kept the engine running. No one noticed it in the fog."
"I softly moved to the alley on the side of the building until I reached one of the two secret gates that are used to remove people whenever a police raid takes place. I entered without a sound and climbed to the terrace. No one noticed me."
" I tied the rope to the terrace railing, and left it coiled. Then I waited for all the people to go to sleep. Atlast, all fell asleep one by one."
" I knew where she slept after all activities were done. I slowly went to the section where the girls slept in a row in the presence of the elder women. All were fast asleep. I checked the blanket to ensure I had the right girl."
"Then I took out the bottle of tezaab and gave it to the salee!"
" She screamed, but in that instant I had switched off the light ( the shawl was around my face,) run up to the terrace before anyone could stop me, and slid down the rope to the motorcycle and drove off."
Munna looked at us with a smile. I could see no trace of remorse on his face.
If anything, he seemed exhilarated. I have never ever felt such revulsion for any human being before or since.
" Now I have to stay inside the campus, for the police are waiting for me outside. The news was published in the hindi papers!"
I never saw Munna after that. Wonder what became of him.
The audience did not seem to have any reaction. Probably they had heard the story before. As for the girl, tell me, do you think anyone gave a damn?
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