Murari walked the long stretch from the desolate railway station to his village. It was sweltering hot with not a blade of grass moving. He could see no cattle grazing or birds flying. Perspiring heavily, he took the water bottle from his bag only to find it empty. He threw it away and looked around in frustration. He knew from the familiar scene he was almost near the village that he had left five years back in anger and humiliation. The anger had not died down but still simmering inside waiting for the revenge to soften it. He could gather the guts to avenge only now. He sat on the bench of a tea stall on the outskirts of the village to have tea before proceeding further
As he entered the village, he started trudging with a deliberate limp to mask his identity towards his old house to find the hedge between his house and the adjacent Bola’s house had been removed and the whole space enclosed by a common boundary wall. His house, a small tiled structure in the vast ground that was adequate for his wife and two boys stood undemolished but the cattle shed had been expanded with many cattle in it.
Trouble started when Bola cast his covetous eyes on his land. He wanted it to make one large ground along with his to start an akhada. He tempted him with a good price but when Murari declined telling that it was a family property coming from several generations, Bola started threatening him. He was a wicked man with several criminal cases of intimidation, assault, cheating, rape and land grabbing against him. He had managed to stay out of law enforcement due to his clout with local MP as his sidekick. He became insistent that Murari part with the property and when rebuffed he warned that his family would pay one day for his adamancy. Murari ignored the veiled threat
Till one day, he came to rue for not judging correctly the extent of Bola’s greed and cruelty. He returned home one evening from the fair in the adjacent village to find to his great horror his children lying outside the house shot dead and wife lying dead semi naked inside the house with deep cuts by knife across her face and several places on her body indicating much resistance before being violated.
Shocked he ran to Bola’s house screaming incoherently and mad in rage at the enormity of the crime. He saw several of Bola’s henchmen in the compound. Bola came out instantly and denied any knowledge of the gruesome killing or having heard any noise and commiserated with Murari at the tragedy. Murari could see through the smirk on his face his false pretensions and knew who the culprit was. He swore to himself in the name of his honour that he would avenge one day the death of his family.
Five long grueling years had passed by and he was at last back at the village with revenge still gnawing his heart. He saw someone sitting inside the porch in Bola’s house with his face partially covered by a pink towel and the eyes with sun glasses. Murari involuntarily felt for the country weapon on his side and moved closer with confidence towards the gate to get a clearer view of the man. Murari was sure that his own beard, his limp and unkempt hair would not give him away. He had also grown thinner in these five years.
“Hey, who are you and why are you standing there? What do you want? shouted the man from the porch. Murari could recognize the gruff voice with no difficulty.
“I am looking for one Murari who used to live here. He is a distant relative of mine,” replied Murari.
“Öh, oh. Don’t you know that he left this place year back along with family after selling his house? He was not making much money from agriculture and went in search of better prospects. Poor man, he was a good person,” said the man from the porch.
“Any idea where they have gone?” asked Murari
“No, he did not leave any information with anyone about his new place,” said the man.
“Thank you. I am unlucky to miss my relative. I will be on my way,” said Murari as he walked away.
There was silence for a while and the man from the porch asked one of his men to see whether the visitor was visible. The man went near the gate craned his neck and peered both sides of the road carefully as it was dusk already. He turned to the man in porch and said the man had gone and was not to be seen.
The man sprang up throwing away his pink towel and hailed his family to come out of the house. The men not knowing why the master was happy joined in the laughter much like Gabbar Singh’s men. Bola turned to his wife and said, “I knew it was Murari. The chaiwala Munni rang me up saying that one-man resembling Murari was walking towards our house with a limp. So I covered my face, had our men standing outside to scare him and asked you people to remain inside. Come on, let us celebrate our good luck.”
As Bola, his wife and two children of his danced their way to the gate and peered outside, Murari popped up suddenly from behind the side wall and as he put his hand on the side pocket he said “Lucky I am, that you celebrated your escape a bit too early. I had hidden myself inside the well outside the wall and knew you would come out but never expected the whole family. I have been waiting for this day for five long years. I thank God for my good fortune”
The henchmen who started crowding towards the gate fell back as Murari avenged the murder of his wife and children but spared the Bola’s wife and her children as he felt he had no quarrel with them. He did not care for his life anymore and started walking whistling a Sholay tune loudly. He felt lighter in his heart and better as a human as he walked with a spring in his step. The men stood back half perplexed and half afraid to follow him.