Present Day, Mental Asylum
The camera setup on the tripod stand continued recording the motionless frames of the patient sitting on a chair in front of the table, as his minimal movements made the senior psychiatrist, sitting opposite, more and more impatient. Next to the doctor, was the lady psychiatrist trying to figure out the thoughts that populated the patient’s mind and had made him to freeze his stare at the camera lens. After a seemingly uncomfortable question from the senior doctor, the patient had remained quiet, unmoved, as the entry level camera continued capturing still images at sixty frames per seconds.
‘What’s better? To live a safe life and die as a nobody or to take risk and try being somebody?’ said the patient, alas disturbing the silence in the room.
As soon as the patient had completed, the senior doctor retorted, ‘Am I supposed to answer that?’
‘I remember, that was the question I would ask to all those who broke my law before deciding their fate’ said the patient with a delightful expression that was enough to alert the senior doctor, who gripped the chair tightly, ready to move in case of any sudden assault from the patient.
‘What are you talking?’
‘It doesn’t matter if you give the wrong answer or choose to stay mum, cause anything other than the right answer is certain death.’
‘What are you saying?’ exclaimed the lady psychiatrist, unable to believe whatever the patient was blurting out.
‘The difference between your life and afterlife is one simple answer. So what would you choose, being a somebody or a nobody?’ continued the patient, unaffected by the lady’s questioning. On listening to his seemingly threatening statement, the senior doctor, engulfed in fear, somehow managed to command, ‘You may go. Guards take him inside.’
Listening to the order, the patient stood up, even before the guards could reach him, all the while staring at the experienced senior doctor with his rage filled eyes.
About thirty years ago, Court Room
The judge calmly resumed observing the photographs from the respective crime scenes, which showed the dead bodies of four men from different angles. But more importantly it was the message accompanying these bodies that had proved to be substantial in this case.
The first two sets of photographs showed dead bodies of artists with the message engraved on the floor beside, ‘Destined to be a slave.’ Similarly, the third was of a businessman with the writing ‘Destined to be an artist’, while the fourth, of a service man, ‘Destined to be a businessman.’ There was a fifth photograph, as well, showing a tattoo made above the left wrist of a man, ‘Destined to be a slave’.
Just as the court reporter was blessed with some rest, the judge asked the two lawyers to conclude the case aloud, one by one, starting with the representative of the prosecution. Following the orders, the deputy clerk handed over the statement of the suspect, recorded by the police, for the same to the prosecutor, as the court reporter immediately got ready to note down a lengthy dialogue.
The lawyer began, ‘From the very first hearing it was all but obvious, the person captured by the police was the sociopathic killer causing terror amongst the citizens. Hence, without any more additions, I am going to quote the exact words of Mr. Rakesh Bhosale.’ He took a pause to clear his throat and continued, ‘It’s a law we Indians follow since centuries. Or a tradition if I must say. The blood of the royal family was meant to be a king. The son of a farmer was compelled to be a farmer. The son of a warrior was destined to be a warrior. And so many years later, in a world made up of these self-declared civilised men, the son of an artist or sportsman is expected to achieve something in the same field. The son of a businessman is compelled to head the family business. And the son of a slave is born to be a slave. Out of the three, I belonged to the family of slaves. A family where the better slave you are the more respect you get. And they would consider you extraordinary, if and only if you are a slave in some foreign nation. But if you dare to break the shackles, you are considered a failure even before you begin. These men broke those shackles. They broke the law. I merely punished them.’ Finishing off the statement, the prosecutor conveyed to the judge, ‘That’s all my lord.’
On completely reading the statement, all eyes in the court turned to the defence lawyer. But to everyone’s disbelief, the court appointed lawyer of the defence, simply stood up and said aloud, ‘I am sorry my lord but I got nothing to say.’ Following the statement, it was apparent, the case was lost. One of the lawyers, sitting next to him, whispered, ‘That was a good decision, the prick deserves punishment.’
But before there could be any more discussion on the defence’s decision, the judge began his final hearing, ‘The court has considered all the accusations and arguments from both the prosecution and defence and it has finalised its decision. Taking into account the statement recorded by the police, the court finds Mr. Rakesh Bhosale guilty of all the four murders and as per the Indian Penal Code 302, the court declares him the punishment of life imprisonment. But considering the mental state of the criminal, the court recommends he should be provided proper psychiatric treatment and hence be kept in the high security jail for the criminally insane under strict observation. The court is adjourned.’
As soon as the judge was done with his decision, the police present for the hearing, got hold of the handcuffs of the person, whose status had recently changed from suspect to criminal. There was no need to drag the man who had ‘Destined to be a slave’ tattooed on his left hand. Because the way Mr. Rakesh Bhosale cooperated with the police, was not because he had accepted the court’s decision, it was because he had no realisation of what was happening around him. During the entire hearing, his mind had been unstable, just like it had been while committing the murders, turning him into a so called ‘Destiny Killer’, a fancy name created by the media to sell their news with some catchy phrase.
Present Day, Mental Asylum
The senior psychiatrist was reading the pages, typewritten by the court reporter. On finishing with the last line, he started setting up an entry level camera on a tripod stand, next to where he was seated. The lady psychiatrist had recently joined him and was seated on his other side. Although an established psychiatrist, inside the asylum she was known by the nickname ‘the helper’. Both of them had placed all the concerned documents in front of them, on a wooden table which also held two glasses full of water. Apart from the two occupied chairs and the table, there was one more empty chair, positioned opposite to the two doctors. At some distance, behind the empty chair, was a dark passage, providing entry to the room which was an old construction, with faded walls.
As soon the senior doctor switched on the camera and started recording, he declared, ‘Call Mr…’ Unable to remember the surname, he referred the file once again and continued, ‘Bhosale’
The helper, the psychiatrist responsible for Rakesh Bhosale’s treatment, was unable to understand the necessity of a camera. Compelled by curiosity, she questioned, ‘You are gonna record this?’
‘Looks like you are new to this’ replied the senior doctor, ‘Let me tell you, if I am going to let someone out, I must have some proof that I made the right decision. See, if they commit crimes again, I am not to be blamed.’
‘I assure you sir, he is no harm to the society.’
‘OK. But it’s the procedure. I have got to follow. Also to make sure of his lucidity, I am going to ask him some uncomfortable questions about his past. It’s a test. Let’s see whether he attacks me, or is mature enough to stay calm.’
‘I fear even the sane would fail a test when asked about their forgetful past.’
‘Just to enlighten you, there is no such thing as a sane person. All human beings are mad. It’s a universally unaccepted fact. We, doctors, simply quantify their madness and decide their legibility to live in the outside world.’ Saying this line, the senior doctor once again referred the case file and said, ‘Getting to our topic, it seems there was no so called sane person who would visit our insane friend. Not even one. I hope all this bio data is updated.’
The helper confidently replied, ‘Yes sir. I updated it two days ago only after verifying the records. Actually, he is the only one in here with no visitors.’
‘OK then.’ Before they could discuss about anything more, the two guards had brought in Mr. Rakesh Bhosale, hand cuffed, and helped him to the only empty chair in the room.
The senior doctor greeted him, ‘Good morning, Mr. Rakesh Bhosale.’
‘Good morning Sir’ replied Rakesh. It was the kind of reply that is expected from any civilized man, although not all civilised men bother saying it.
‘How are you? Everything’s fine in here?’ questioned the senior doctor, trying to start the conversation.
‘Yeah. It’s good. I mean there are a lot of mad people in here whom I am afraid of. But I have a group of friends who are quiet normal. They don’t even seem to be mad. I feel…’
On listening to Rakesh, the senior doctor, interrupted him by asking ‘So, you think they should be let out? I mean your friends.’
‘No. That’s for the doctors to decide. I am no doctor. I just gave my opinion.’
Content by the immediate answer, the senior doctor said, ‘That’s a good answer. But I am curious to know, why do they call you the storyteller? Heard it a lot since getting here.’
The statement delighted Mr. Bhosale as he went on to say, ‘It’s simply a name they all have given me. Although I have to confess I feel honoured by it. I tell them the stories which I make up. And fortunately enough, the people in here like them. But more importantly it’s the joy I get by sharing my creations with others. The way these guys get engrossed listening, it’s nothing short of appreciation.’
‘I must tell you Sir, he has quite a large audience in here. And it’s nowhere an easy task to entertain the patients of an asylum’ said the helper.
‘Now you are simply being humble, doctor. There wouldn’t be any audience had it not been for your help. You were the one who assisted me by convincing the authorities to allow my storytelling sessions.’
‘So that’s why they call her the helper’ queried the senior doctor.
‘Not just that. She is a helper for all of us. Always ready to assist.’
Getting back to the questionnaire prepared by him, the senior doctor resumed, ‘By the way I have gone through the case files provided by her and read about your self-made law. Got to admit, I agree with it.’
Rakesh remembered the law, that he himself had made up. It was the law that turned him into a murderer, into a sociopath. But now as a sane person, he knew the senior doctor was saying this, to merely know his current opinion on the law. He bent forward, closer to the table, with a firm grip on the chair and said, in a low tone, ‘Careful. They might term you insane for believing in such a law. They certainly did term me once.’ His body language conveyed to the doctor, the unartificialness in his words.
‘Thanks for the advice, will keep it in mind.’ On thanking the patient, the senior doctor continued, ‘Now tell me, do you remember anything from your past? Like when were you brought here?’
Rakesh took his time to remember, before answering, ‘Yeah! It was 2016.’
‘Ok. Do you remember why were you brought here?’ emphasizing on the ‘why’.
Rakesh nodded positively, answering the question.
‘Then why doesn’t the storyteller share his very own story with us?’
But before Rakesh could say anything, the helper expressed her concern saying, ‘Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea. It might just….’ Prior to the completion of her statement, the senior doctor waved a hand asking her to stop. He further said, ‘Mr. Rakesh, I insist. Start right from the beginning.’
Rakesh cleared his throat and began his narration, ‘When I was a small boy, I remember, the kids around me had dreams, goals of achieving something great. They had these ambitions even before they were old enough to know what it exactly meant. And these unthoughtful ambitions were needed to make their parents proud. Cause, in the end, that’s what any kid wants.
Then there were those selfish parents, who had their own dreams. Something they wanted to achieve, but failed, and now they wanted their child to live their dream.
Fortunately, my parents were normal. But unfortunately for me, I never had any kind of ambition. Living such an aimless life, I finished my school and reached that point of life when these normal humans decide their future and chase it, unlike me who couldn’t decide anything. In the end my father finalized the next phase of my life and although I had performed poorly in exams, I was chasing the dream of becoming an engineer. Sometimes I wonder how any individual is supposed to take such an important decision at this phase of his life. It’s an age when these kids confuse friendship for love, sports for war and teacher for enemy. The age when they are termed as immature but at the same time are expected to take the most important decision of their life. It seems…’
Before Rakesh could complete himself, the senior doctor said, ‘Sorry to interrupt. But I think we are losing our track. It’s better if you stick to your past incidents.’
As per the doctor’s advice, Rakesh immediately resumed, ‘Getting back to my past, I remember my grandpa say, ‘In the end, all that matters, is you don’t die as a man filled with regret.’ Back then, I never understood what he meant. But now over the years I know he was merely trying to help me. He wanted me to take the most important decision of my life and stand by it, or as they say, chase it so that I don’t regret later.
Life continued, as it does all the time, getting the kind of scores in exams where you lie on the edge of dropping into a deep valley of failure. Now that’s my ideology. Once you drop into the valley of failure, it’s always going to be real difficult to get back to the upper surface. This was simply my way of pushing myself through the torturing studies.
And then came that part of life where I finally dropped deep down that valley. All hell broke loose and every who’s who of no one started questioning my normalcy. Instead of moral support, all I had was a sense of rejection, and every statement addressing me was a reminder of my failure.
The senior doctor interrupted him and requested, ‘Please keep looking at the camera.’ While saying this he pointed to the camera, placed on the stand, beside him.
Rakesh looked straight at the camera lens and continued, ‘Just like every mother knows her child, my mom knew I was troubled and she knew the cause for it. She would ask me, ‘What will you do in the next 5 years?’ And I had no answer to this question of hers. I never understood, the reason for which she asked this question. I never implied that, similar to my grandpa, all she ever wanted was me to search an answer to the question and hence, find the path of my life.’
Rakesh took his time before saying, ‘I miss her a lot. How is she? Not seen her since I came here.’
‘She is… May be you should keep going.’
Rakesh knew what the senior doctor’s incomplete sentence meant. He tried to somehow spurt out, ‘It’s okay. I got my answer.’ But his emotions were getting the better of him, making his words difficult to understand. He immediately got hold of the water filled glass from the table, and drank it, trying to suppress his emotions.
On finishing of the water, he continued, ‘Thanks to the engineering rules, I continued my studies even after failing, as the process of pass and fail continued for the next few years. But in the last year these ideas, I would rather say stories, engrossed my mind. Before I could know, imagining these stories became my favourite pass time. Or if I could say, they became the hope of my life. And even though I kept these stories to myself, the imagination never stopped. Thinking of new things every day. That’s when I thought of becoming a writer.’
‘For the first time in my life, I knew what I had to do in the next five years.’ Saying this Rakesh uncontrollably let a few droplets roll down his rough cheeks as he remembered his mother. ‘I wish I had told her then. Things would have been different. Life would have been different.’
But before any of the two doctors would say anything, Rakesh continued, ‘It was difficult finding work after completing my education’ resumed Rakesh, as he wiped his tears. ‘But I continued living life on my parents’ terms as my father made sure I get some small time job. At the same time, I continued thinking of those stories, hoping that things will change someday. Someday I will get that chance that will change my life.’
‘But from the inside I was losing my mind. The only thing I did was, going to work, get back home and think about the stories. I was termed as a failure by all those people who never bothered to know me for my entire life.’
‘But the final nail in the coffin was the death of my beloved grandpa. His worry about me and my future made me feel guilty. It was my failure that was responsible for making him die as an old man filled with regret. With all the sorrow and frustration, the world of my imagination seemed better than reality, causing me to lose the track of what’s real and what’s not.’
‘After that I don’t remember much, as it’s just flashes of memory. I made up a law and started targeting individuals whom I thought did not follow it. I would think of myself as someone from my imagination and kill innocent men. Don’t remember much after that, until six months ago. May be that’s when I got back to normal. Thanks to the doctor or shall I say the helper’ said Rakesh as he smiled before continuing, ‘And then I made some friends here. I don’t even remember when was the last time I had friends. That’s it. The story of my life. The way I remember it.’
‘You seem to remember most of the important things of your life’ stated the senior doctor.
The statement made Rakesh smile as he calmly replied, ‘Actually there isn’t much to remember. That’s why.’
‘After listening to your story, it seems your father was a dominating personality. Do you consider him responsible?’
‘No. I never would. Whatever my father did was simply to make sure that as an individual I am able to survive in this society and be self-dependent. If there is anyone responsible for my insanity, it is me. It was my mistake. Nobody else is to be blamed. Instead of waiting for the chance that would change my life, I should have tried to help myself. If there is one thing that I have learned from my life, it’s that ‘Things don’t happen unless you make them happen.’
On listening to Rakesh, the senior doctor was more than assured of his saneness. Yet he decided to go ahead with the planned questions, as he flipped few pages of his case file provided by Rakesh’s psychiatrist, the helper, ‘Well, it seems the doctor owes her life to you.’
On listening to the senior, the helper immediately replied, ‘Yeah, I am thankful to him’
But Rakesh nodded in negation as he went on to say, ‘These men might be mad and dangerous, but they respect me. As an elder you know. That’s why they listen to me.’
‘That’s Good. By the way do you know what date is it today?’ questioned the senior doctor.
‘Not exactly. But the year might be 2047 or 48.’
‘Looks like you had been keeping a count.’
‘Yeah, tried that. But lost my track somewhere. Have been counting since a week. I should at least be knowing my age before I go out’ said Rakesh, with a smile on his face.
‘It’s 2048. Alright. One last question Mr. Storyteller. What next? I mean what will you do once you are let out of here?’
It seemed as if the question from the senior doctor had left Rakesh in limbo as he stared at the camera for some time. But before the doctor would interrupt, his voice disrupted the silence in the room saying, ‘It’s not like I can chase that dream now. Of become a writer. I am what’ gave a bit of thought, ’56, I think.’
‘I personally think age is just a number. So why not chase that dream and become a storyteller? At least give it a shot.’
‘Neither do I want to die as a man filled with regret. But the fear of failing is too much. And beside I got no one left outside who cares for me or my stories.’
‘In that case, we will provide you with some work and place to stay. But haven’t you got anybody you might be knowing.’
Rakesh continued staring at the camera, lost in thoughts. The two doctors, unable to guess whatever he was thinking, due to his expressionless face, waited for him to voice his decision about the rehabilitation the government offered. But Rakesh knew they would never understand the feeling a storyteller gets, on losing his audience. Everything he created, the name, the respect, the friends, all of it will be erased as soon as he steps out of the four walls of the asylum. Staying enclosed within this asylum for the past many years, the outside world now seemed like an alien place. It was not the place where he was a storyteller with audience engrossed by his words. It was a place where everyone would fear him as a criminal, a murderer.
Getting out of the thoughts and finalizing a decision, Rakesh spoke out, ending a prolonged period of silence, ‘What’s better? To live a safe life and die as a nobody or to take risk and try being somebody?’ It was an abrupt question, which seemed out of context with their discussion.
‘Am I supposed to answer that?’ questioned the senior doctor.
‘I remember, that was the question I would ask all those who broke my law before deciding their fate’ said Rakesh with a delightful expression that was enough to alert the senior doctor who gripped the chair hands tightly.
‘What are you talking?’
‘It doesn’t matter if you give the wrong answer or choose to stay mum, cause anything other than the right answer is certain death.’
‘What are you saying?’ exclaimed the helper, Rakesh’s personal psychiatrist, unable to believe whatever he was saying.
‘The difference between your life and afterlife is one simple answer. So what would you choose, being a somebody or a nobody?’ ignoring the doctor’s questions.
Listening to Rakesh’s seemingly threatening statement, the senior doctor declared, ‘You may go. Guards, take him inside.’
But before the guards could reach him, Rakesh got up from his chair, as he stared at the psychiatrist, and continued with a louder tone, ‘Technically the chances of your correct answer are 50:50. So is the chance of your survival or death’ using his handcuffed hands expressively.
The helper pleaded, saying, ‘Please wait sir. Just… just give me a second. Let me talk with him’ the confidence in her words exhibiting her assurance about Rakesh’s normalcy, even after his insane statements.
By now the guards had got hold of him. But before they would require any force to hold and drag him, Rakesh calmed down. His sudden change of gesture seemed weird to them all as the two guards started guiding him towards the exit door. He too cooperated with them dissuading the need of dragging him.
Seeing Rakesh leave along with the two guards, the helper declared, ‘Guards stop.’
On listening to her voice, the two guards, who by now had loosened their grip on Rakesh’s hand, immediately followed her command. Rakesh too stopped, as the helper, by now aware of the situation, questioned, ‘Rakesh, why are you doing this?’
Ignoring her question, Rakesh turned around, until his wrinkled face became visible to both the doctors. The movement made by him caused the two guards to unknowingly free the grip on the handcuffs, as he asked the senior doctor, ‘Sir, are you going to inspect anymore patients?’
‘And why do you want to know that?’ questioned the senior doctor, yet unable to understand the sudden change in Rakesh’s behaviour.
‘May be I am being selfish, but I don’t want to lose my audience any more. They are the only one I got.’ On completing himself, Rakesh turned around and without bothering for any command or the guidance of the guards, continued walking back towards where he came from.
THE END
