Sweet revenge

GHOSH babu was relaxing in the teashop, solving all the problems of the world, along with other men of the village, when the police sped past in their smart new jeep.

"They must've come back from Binor, the cremation took place today," observed Ruplal Mahato, changing the course of discussion. It was obviously a subject which had already been closely analysed by the other regulars. Ghosh babu, having much less important matters to think about or attend to, was lagging behind the other menfolk by several days in his knowledge of local events.

Haren, the teashop owner, was the most knowledgeable regarding local events, "Don't you know about the witch-killing case in Binor?" he asked Ghosh babu. "Witch-killings" had become a rarity in the surrounding villages, it was surprising that Ghosh babu hadn't heard of the incident.

Accusing women, in particular, of being possessed by evil spirits, of being a dain (witch) was common. According to the rules of the occult, dains do not observe boundaries of gender or status, but, as with most facets of life (as well as the life on the other side) indigenous practices have been incorporated. Nowadays dains have a distinct preference for old, widowed, women without sons. In Parsabad, Adori's mother was identified as a dain by the sorcerer brought to the village by her nephew. One after another, children in her nephew's family had fallen ill, then he too suffered from severe pain in the stomach, causing him to take three days off work. His pain had nothing to do with the liquor he had consumed with a vengeance for two days during his brother's marriage, so the source of the trouble had to be identified. It just happened that the sorcerer identified his aunt, assisted, of course, by the meat, money and liquor supplied by the ailing nephew. Adori's mother had to pay a fine of Rs. 5,000 to the village panchayat, of which her nephew was a leading member, since it seems the evil spirits, too, have palms that can be greased. Since she didn't have this sort of money, her nephew kindly bought her last remaining field, so that Adori would inherit nothing. The village menfolk made merry for several days on the booty, and many more pains in the stomach were caused.

Anyway, to get back to Binor, direct "killing" of "witches" was rare. "No, it's not so simple," Haren continued, replying to Ghosh babu. Few things in villages are, it seems. The story that unfolded in Haren's teashop was far from simple.

The old woman involved was, as usual, a widow. She lived with her daughter-in-law and grandchildren, whilst her son - for reasons unknown - lived elsewhere. Certain "interested parties" wanted to get rid of the old woman, and called the sorcerer to identify the source of evil in their village. These sorcerers never, of course, identify such women by name, but with a description like. "An old widow who lives to the east, who has only one son who lives elsewhere", there's little doubt about identity.

The village men fined the old woman and harrassed her enormously, but they couldn't get rid of her. "Tradition" had failed to solve their problem, so they turned to more "modern" methods. A few of them went to buy sweets from town, and persuaded a distant relative of the old woman to give them to her - after they had been spiked with insecticide. Villagers have quickly learnt the many uses of these poisons - killing themselves slowly by rampant overuse without protection, and sometimes quickly when life gets unbearable. Murder, it seems, is one more application, indicating that backward villages are progressing after all.

The old woman ate some of the sweets and soon became unwell. She called for the sorcerer who had identified her as a dain and asked for him to exorcise the evil spirits within her. As a reward for his performance, she gave him the bag of sweets. The man happily trotted home, and distributed his goodies among his children and wife - after, of course, polishing off the lion's share for himself (as all male heads of households do).

At midnight, the old woman breathed her last and her murderers were ready. By dawn, nothing remained of her except a few smouldering ashes. There the story should have ended, the "interested parties" would have been happy, and the outside world - including Haren's teashop - would have been no more wiser.

At four in the morning, the sorcerer passed away, but not before indicating his suspicion of the sweets. His wife and children were hospitalised and saved by gender inequality - eating the last and least.

The "interested parties" had obviously not anticipated the death of the sorcerer, and the police - ever vigilant as they are - were quick on the scene. On the day of the cremation of the sorcerer, they managed to pocket some Rs. 20,000, according to Sukhdev Bouri (who has excellent access to inside information being regularly picked up by the police himself). And so the case has been registered as "accidental", and all lips are sealed. Except, of course, in Haren's teashop.

LINDSAY BARNES

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