Manual Well
Only manual well of the village was running away! Napla
was chasing after it. Or so Ratna claimed to have seen. Whether she had
witnessed it awake or in dream, that she could not swear upon. To uncover the
truth, perhaps the CBI—or at the very least the CID—was required. Otherwise,
the public would simply have to go on living inside a lie.
But where did Napla go? It has been three days without a trace. His wife, his children, and his old mother refused to believe that Napla had gone walking down the bypass after Well, toward Calcutta.
The most boastful boy of Tili Para, Nidhiram, declared that he had seen Napla being chased by two civil policemen. One was half-starved, the other a cripple—so how could they ever catch him? After a short sprint, the policemen too decided that for the salary they drew every month, such exertion was not worth the sweat. Instead, they slipped into a park along the highway and fined the couples hiding in bushes fifty rupees apiece.
But what of Napla? On the third day, urged by well-wishers, his wife went to the police station to file a missing-person diary. She took along Nidhiram and Ratna as witnesses. With elections approaching, the police had no time to procure even a blank sheet to record the depositions properly. So the wife had to rush to the panchayat. The panchayat chief, eyebrows knit, labored over writing out the statement himself.
The next day, on page nine of the newspaper, a single-column report appeared before the democracy-loving citizens of the state: Nepal Majhi Missing. Two political parties immediately claimed him as their member, accusing the rival side of abducting or murdering him. At the bottom of that small item, a “public intellectual” too had his say—issuing a grave reflection on the rising violence in social life.
We know that afterward, the government formed a Special Team to investigate. Their report, submitted some weeks later, argued thus: Well could not possibly have walked away. And no young civil policeman could possibly lose a race to a villager. After all, in the summer heat they were each made to run ten kilometers at noon before being confirmed in their jobs.
Thus, no coherent theory of Nepal’s grand disappearance could be constructed. However, an amateur geologist announced that Well’s well had no water at all. In fact, even the one river of the area barely carried water these days. Villagers recalled that once there had been water, but it gradually vanished. At first, they assumed it was another case of theft—like coal theft, cattle theft, or sand theft. Water theft. Nobody took it seriously, for villagers hardly needed water daily for their lives. So the matter passed unnoticed.
Hearing all this, Nepal’s wife recalled that on the day of disappearance, her husband had left the house saying he was going to bathe. So perhaps Ratna was right—perhaps Napla had indeed been running after Well.
Later, a senior officer came down to the village. With binoculars he peered into the well. A local elder lowered a rope into it. Nearly half a kilometer of rope slipped down, but still no water was found.
A few days later, the government dispatched tankers to supply water to the residents. With elections close at hand, such tender concern was displayed that within a month the villagers nearly forgot Napla. Even his own family forgot. Rumor said they had received a handsome compensation from various sides. And so, Nepal’s disappearance remained a mystery.
More days passed. Another small news item appeared: in Tili Para, a coal mine wall had collapsed, trapping twelve miners. Special Force officers rescued them, no loss of life. But an immense gush of water poured out of the mine into Tili Para.
No journalist covered Tili Para after that. Such things happen often enough. Most things that happen never become news. If any had gone, they might have heard from Ratna that she awoke one midnight from a dream—Napla had finally caught Well. Hardly an unnatural event.
Another small occurrence followed. Two days after the mine collapse, water suddenly rose inside Well’s well. With it surfaced a rotting corpse. Its condition was such that no identification was possible. But no one paid it attention. For people’s minds were elsewhere.
Water had flooded the village, drowning houses and hearths. Families had climbed into the trees to live with the birds. Who would think of bathing then?
But where did Napla go? It has been three days without a trace. His wife, his children, and his old mother refused to believe that Napla had gone walking down the bypass after Well, toward Calcutta.
The most boastful boy of Tili Para, Nidhiram, declared that he had seen Napla being chased by two civil policemen. One was half-starved, the other a cripple—so how could they ever catch him? After a short sprint, the policemen too decided that for the salary they drew every month, such exertion was not worth the sweat. Instead, they slipped into a park along the highway and fined the couples hiding in bushes fifty rupees apiece.
But what of Napla? On the third day, urged by well-wishers, his wife went to the police station to file a missing-person diary. She took along Nidhiram and Ratna as witnesses. With elections approaching, the police had no time to procure even a blank sheet to record the depositions properly. So the wife had to rush to the panchayat. The panchayat chief, eyebrows knit, labored over writing out the statement himself.
The next day, on page nine of the newspaper, a single-column report appeared before the democracy-loving citizens of the state: Nepal Majhi Missing. Two political parties immediately claimed him as their member, accusing the rival side of abducting or murdering him. At the bottom of that small item, a “public intellectual” too had his say—issuing a grave reflection on the rising violence in social life.
We know that afterward, the government formed a Special Team to investigate. Their report, submitted some weeks later, argued thus: Well could not possibly have walked away. And no young civil policeman could possibly lose a race to a villager. After all, in the summer heat they were each made to run ten kilometers at noon before being confirmed in their jobs.
Thus, no coherent theory of Nepal’s grand disappearance could be constructed. However, an amateur geologist announced that Well’s well had no water at all. In fact, even the one river of the area barely carried water these days. Villagers recalled that once there had been water, but it gradually vanished. At first, they assumed it was another case of theft—like coal theft, cattle theft, or sand theft. Water theft. Nobody took it seriously, for villagers hardly needed water daily for their lives. So the matter passed unnoticed.
Hearing all this, Nepal’s wife recalled that on the day of disappearance, her husband had left the house saying he was going to bathe. So perhaps Ratna was right—perhaps Napla had indeed been running after Well.
Later, a senior officer came down to the village. With binoculars he peered into the well. A local elder lowered a rope into it. Nearly half a kilometer of rope slipped down, but still no water was found.
A few days later, the government dispatched tankers to supply water to the residents. With elections close at hand, such tender concern was displayed that within a month the villagers nearly forgot Napla. Even his own family forgot. Rumor said they had received a handsome compensation from various sides. And so, Nepal’s disappearance remained a mystery.
More days passed. Another small news item appeared: in Tili Para, a coal mine wall had collapsed, trapping twelve miners. Special Force officers rescued them, no loss of life. But an immense gush of water poured out of the mine into Tili Para.
No journalist covered Tili Para after that. Such things happen often enough. Most things that happen never become news. If any had gone, they might have heard from Ratna that she awoke one midnight from a dream—Napla had finally caught Well. Hardly an unnatural event.
Another small occurrence followed. Two days after the mine collapse, water suddenly rose inside Well’s well. With it surfaced a rotting corpse. Its condition was such that no identification was possible. But no one paid it attention. For people’s minds were elsewhere.
Water had flooded the village, drowning houses and hearths. Families had climbed into the trees to live with the birds. Who would think of bathing then?
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