Vendetta

The ripened maize quivered in the evening breeze. So did the throbbing heart of Juma, as he concealed among overwhelming maize, biting his finger nails and listening intently in the direction of the small fragrant path between the holdings through which she would come. Her tall form, her bewitching blonde beauty, her soft flesh and the jingle of her trinkets already tormented him, as he looked again and again towards the sun. He did not mark the panoramic splendour of the west, the fired clouds, the glowing snow-capped peaks, heaving their enchanting conical breasts above the mist of the Happy Valley, or, the mad torrents and gay, rippling brooks stretched around the lush maize fields. Anxiously, he blinked at the elliptic sun, awaiting its dip behind the mountain, for she would come after sunset.

Oh! Allah is one! Allah be praised! The sun did set. A perfect twilight followed. The faint light of the full moon, already risen high in the east, harmonised with the last struggling glimmers of the day. Juma loved the moonlight. It heightened the exquisite charm of her body, sweet, soft, strong.

Presently he heard footsteps. She was coming. His wife be cursed; why did her memory disturb him in these moments of bliss? Shading his turban with maize stalks, he peered out. Two children were playfully returning to the village. Damn them, their sight disappointed him. And they reminded him of his own children, miles and miles away, sitting before the big hearth, helping their mother. Mehtab must have come. She ought to see the sunset and know the hour. Tense, restless and expectant, he was losing his patience now.

"CHOH ....CHOH". Some peasant was shouting after fagged oxen, returning from the maize fields. Homing birds started a merry choir. Juma was in no mood to listen to the senseless birds. Their songs sounded like so much chatter to him. Through these notes he made an effort to discern a rustling sound. He was right. She was coming. His witch, his love, his very life. She came, walking gracefully towards him; the mysterious, ethereal twilight clothing her in an enthralling voluptuous beauty. She found herself in the steel embrace of Juma, who, kissing her passionately all over her face, kept on saying, "My life, you kept me waiting." Blood rose to her cheeks and her warm contact maddened Juma, making him get over the disconcerting sense of guilt.

"Where were you, you prostitute?" shouted out Ibil, as Mehtab covertly stepped in the room. "Where did you disappear? You illegitimate woman, do you think you can throw dust in my eyes? No you can't. I've found out all about the devil Juma." As the jealous husband named his rival, he felt his blood boiling. He went on, fiercely, bitterly. "You beautiful coquette, have this"-kicking her savagely in the sides, with his heavy hobnailed chappal - "don't fall, stand up. You're a brave girl."

Prostrate in a heap restraining her tears, Mehtab imploringly appealed, "Mercy, Ibil dear. Forgive me!"

"Mercy! You talk of mercy! You deserve mercy! You call me 'dear'.

Balancing his mountaineer's turban to a more haughty angle with his left hand, he unhooked his new horse-hair whip from the mud plastered, smoky wall. "One....two..three..." he counted to "two tens" as he, clutching her long plaited hair, lashed the crying Mehtab with the whip. She made not much effort to free herself as that only pained her hair. Tears rolled down her cheeks, which had lost their flush by now.

She groaned as each stroke fell asking no more for mercy. Fortunately Ibil's brother came back. He returned from his trek to the Margs- upland meadows- over their village.He was bursting with news and he held back his conventional salaam as he saw his brother. counting "two tens and five" over fallen Mehtab.

"What's it, Ibil brother?" he demanded. "I've news."

"Damn your news", Ibil darted back, harshly. "My faithless wife must have it first. I'll kill her."

Ibil saw his brother's determined look as he came towards him and wrested the whip from his hands.

"She will confess", he said.

So she did. She, genuinely repenting, confessed all about Juma's next visit to her.

"You will meet him when he comes," Ibil commanded, "tell him that I know nothing. Invite the bastard to a night feast. We'll see you make him promise. We will watch behind the maize. We won't yet reap the maize of the patch that formed your cursed meeting place."

On the appointed day, Ibil made his wife go to the meeting place much earlier than the sunset. A cold autumnal wind swept over the bared, harvested fields. Leaves fell from mulberry and poplar trees. The trees made a moaning sound as the wind struck them rudely. The falling leaves danced their way down the trees. Dance of death, so brooded Mehtab, as she reluctantly took her seat upon the raised edge of the holding. Ibil said to her, "Remember," in authoritative tone, and he and his brother hid behind thick maize, a few yards away from Mehtab.

"So you're here, dear," Juma said, effusively, as he hurried yards her. "Today I've not to wait for you, my life."

Mehtab bit her lip as he again called her 'dear'! How would that word sound to Ibil, she thought? Juma, sitting beside her on the hardened edge of the holding, kissed her impetuously again and again. Ibil, hearing the sound of the kisses, made as if to come out of his ambush, but for his brother who caught him in his arms, whispering, "You wait, have patience, Ibil dear. Let her invite him."

"I heard a rustling," Juma suspiciously said to Mehtab, as he nestled close to her, thrusting his right hand down her undergarments to her heaving, solid breasts.

"It must be a jackal rat, " she said turning her head away. After a time, she added," No, next time," as she looked into his eyes, reddening and nervous, and caught his meaning.
"But why? You are cold to-day. You're avoiding my eyes, my life. I'll cross hell for you ...."

She stopped him, eager to finish up, a heart-rending conflict raging within her. Hastily she said, "Ibil is unsuspecting. We invite you to feast at ours on Friday next. Will you come?"

"Sure, dear." He imprinted a few more kisses on her face, embraced her and, suddenly, let her go. She did not look back at him when he left, as she used to.

Pale, breathless, and almost giddy, she let Ibil hold her hand as they took their way home. There, Ibil and his brother, talked aside for hours while she baked the maize bread and cooked the jungle vegetables. A heavy weight lay on her heart. She did her domestic work mechanically. Her restless left eye told her that some trouble was a stir. Unconsciously she prepared herself for what was to come.

Friday came. Ibil made arrangements for the feast. He had invited several neighbours so that it should look a real feast. He gave hurried orders to Mehtab : "Roast the chicken well. We will have no jungle vegetables but city vegetables and use the city spices but not too much. We will have sugar tea tonight before we set out."

"Where?" There was perturbed anxiety in her voice

"Horse-stealing," he replied, curtly

But Mehtab marked that Ibil did not look flurried as he did usually on feast days. Only he, towards the afternoon, looked out of the low window, towards the path which ran by the torrent, where the forest terminated into the Marg, saying impatiently, '"The cursed fellow - damn his sister-is not come yet. May be, his rickety pony stumbled somewhere and gave him a fatal fall." Why was he so very eager for Juma's coming, thought Mehtah? She saw that Ibli and his brother avoided her as they fell together and talked and talked- Ibil, impatient and hot, while his brother appeared to be less nervy about the affair. What was it? She did not know. She could not guess. She wished more than ever that Juma would not come. But Juma was their guest. They were having other guests. Surely, lie would be treated as one.

Earlier than the evening, Juma came, accompanied by his big watch-dog, riding his bony but tough pony. Ibil's brother warmly received him and when Ibil did see him, he was unnaturally freezing,. Why? But Mehtab had no time to think. Other guests had come. The meal was to be served.

The merry feast was happily shared by every one except Ibil who ate sparingly from the large copper plate with his brother and a guest. But he made attempts to shake himself from his depression. Ibii's brother made the guests feel at home as they talked about the recent
epidemic of fowl, the ill-known Tehsildar's greedy nature, the extorting city-bred clever Patwari who had received a sound thrashing at the hands of a young mountaineer, at whose wife he had made indecent advances, the excellent maize crop-Juma boasted that he would become a rich man this winter after the harvest profits would stream in and the result of crossing their watch-dogs with a breed of the Valley dogs.

Kashmiri sugar tea followed the meal close. The guests tooth-picked and enjoyed the tea at the same time. Juma unwarily gave Mehtab a fond look as she poured his tea. She did not look back. As she moved over to another guest, Juma saw Ibil's dangerous glance upon him. Their eyes met for a trice. What does it matter that I look at her, thought Juma? I don't eat her-Ibil's Laila-with my eyes. What can this sneak do to me? I've my new hatchet and my dagger on me, he went on thinking-and well, the watch-dog helped me to kill two bears, not to speak of men-jackals like Ibil! His brother is so nice. No, no, there can be no mischief, Juma reassured himself. The other guests are here, he reminded himself. The feast ended abruptly and in the brusque manner of the mountaineers, they, wiping their beards and steadying their turbans and blankets, left with little formality. Juma was about to depart but Ibil's brother said to him, as the last guest left. "Juma, we want you to help us. You're brave, you're strong. We're going to go horse-stealing in the Cow-Dung Marg where wealthy Bakravallas have camped from yesterday You've a small pony, we've none. Come on, we join and we help one another. Ibil is getting ready."

Juma feeling flattered at the mention of his prowess, agreed readily. Whatever hint of suspicion he had was set off by his complacent thought that he had his axe and dagger and his watch-dog with him. The idea of horse-stealing excited him and he, taking up a rope which lay near him, said to Ibil's brother, "Look here! This is my noose. Mark the knot. It is deadly in its aim. How many ropes shall we carry? Five, yes, that's right, brother. Here is Ibil. Oh! He is quite ready. We leave then."

"Yes, we are ready. My neighbours' ponies are saddled outside. Make haste." Ibil was preemptory.

They left. Mehtab heard the clatter of the ponies from the kitchen. A deep foreboding produced anguish in her woman's intuitive heart. She said nothing and suspected only a little. The watch-dog of Juma barked after his master as he was kennelled, for, as Ibil's brother suggested to Juma, they would not take any dogs with them. Dogs might give an unnecessary alarm. Ibil led, Juma followed and lbil's brother rode upon their heels. Jackals howled groaning after them. Juma's dog whined and barked helplessly after his master Juma reassured himself. Harm? No, who could dare? He had his axe and dagger and he could handle his pony as he liked, for he rode his own pony unlike Ibil and his brother. And he was a match for both of them; they knew that. Ibil cursed the pony that he rode upon.

Ibil reined in as they reached a marg, still muttering curses on his, pony . To Juma's question, "Why do you stop, Ibil?" he said, quickly ponies have tired us. Here we'll have some rest and we'll complete our plan of action."

They dismounted. Where should they tie their ponies? Ibil's brother took out his flint and making fire on hay, lit the rustic torch- a bundle of lashi' faggots. The flames of the virgin fire played merrily in the night breeze. Juma thought of Mehtab and his wife and children. Ibil did not return his gaze and busied himself with the ponies, tethering them with long ropes so that they could graze about. They heard the unmistakable grunts and snorts of a bear. The peculiar fierceness of these sounds signified that it was a she-bear, depredatory and fearless. But none of them minded or even mentioned the fact.

As they sat down to rest on the drying grass, over the crackling bed of the dead and decaying leaves, Ibil's brother remarked casually. "The Bakravallas are many in number. One of us might get caught. They would not kill him but bind him with ropes and, later, produce
him before the police. Ibil, suppose they bind you……."

"Come on, try ropes on me." Ibil, interrupting him boastfully, 'I'll show you how I can free myself."

"Yes, let us do it," agreed Ibil's brother, as he took up a loose rope and started binding his hands and feet. Juma helped and fastened some knots which he alone could tie due to his "superior knowledge", as he put it. Juma playfully said to Ibil, "Now, free yourself."

Ibil tried his best but he failed. He confessed biting hip scornfully, "I fail. "

Juma eagerly said. "Come on, you weak fellow, bind me and I'll show you."

"But we must first disarm you," put in Ibil's brother, "and then we can test your strength and see how you free yourself. If you do so you will, of course, lead us against the Bakravallas."

With the quickness of lightning, Ibil snatched Juma pulled out his dagger from his mountaineer's belt.

While so doing, Ibil saw the loosened end of his wife's handkerchief stuck in the pocket of his belt. Its sight burned him but he said nothing and he and his brother bound Juma with ropes. They tied his wrists together on his back and they fastened the hardest knots from which no Gama could extricate himself.

Juma did not see Ibil's face for the rustic torch burnt at their back as they bound him. There was a certain barbaric rudeness about Ibil and his brother while they tied the ropes over and over again on his body. Mad thoughts rushed to Juma's brain, while he said to them, "Why, you have used the entire length of the rope. It is humanly impossible to me oneself ...."

A yell of triumph rose from Ibil and his brother. The ponies gave a start and neighed. An owl ominously hooted somewhere. Ibil took out his fine deadly axe and gave terrible blows to the head of Juma. Juma gave a terrible heart-rending cry, as he fell back. But it did not soften Ibil or his brother; who stood by, while Ibil savagely shouted to his brother, "Drag the brute ....Prop his hulk against that pine's trunk. "They did so, letting the axe remain clinging to his unhinged shoulder.

"Juma bastard!" raved Ibil, "love Mehtab and kiss her now! Cross the hell for her!"

Juma groaned, "For Allah's sake, have mercy!"

"Mercy!" continued Juma. "You'll die a dog's death that you deserve. I let the axe remain kissing your plagued shoulder because I want you to let us know your last wish which we may fulfil immediately."

"Give me a puff at your chilum," came the suddenly weakened words, "I'm dying, O Allah!"

Ibil's brother filled his chilum with tobacco and loaded it at once with cinders from the torch. He freed Juma's left hand and he greedily puffed at it several times, when Juma snatched it from him and threw it away.

With the terrible alacrity of a leopard, Ibil disentangled the axe from Juma's shoulder and shouting, "Mountaineer's Vendetta!!!" several times, hit a more ghastly blow on Juma's left shoulder. Juma sank down, bleeding all over profusely.

"Mountaineer's Vendetta! Juma bastard will no longer rape my wife."

Ibil gave another blow on Juma's head, not knowing that he was already cold all over.

The wind blew out the torch and the she-bear's snorts were distinct, menacing and near.