A House of Murderers

 It was raining heavily when Raju woke up and got dressed for work. He tiptoed to the kitchen trying not to wake his wife or the kids. Lighting a candle, he ate a small breakfast of some leftover rice, after which he left for work. He cycled to the far off flower market to buy fresh flowers at a nominal price and then turned his cycle around to head to his destination at the heart of the city. About an hour of cycling later, he reached a house in North Calcutta, a big, yellow, three-storied house, guarded with a black iron gate. It was still fairly early morning and the neighbourhood was quiet. He entered the premises and rang the bell, hearing which a woman shouted from the top floor, “who’s it?”

“It’s me, Raju.”, he answered.

“Oh Raju, wait, I’ll send the keys. Wear double mask before you enter.”

“Yes ma’am.”

A couple of minutes later, the keys came down in a bag swinging from a rope tied to its handle. He opened the door, wore his second mask, changed his clothes and went upstairs for further orders for the day. It was Mr Chatterjee’s house. He stayed on the top floor with his wife, son, daughter-in-law and his young seven-year-old grandson; while on the first floor resided his sister-in-law and her husband. One of the most well-to-do family in the near surrounding, they were not only highly privileged but most of them were in the possession of elaborate degrees.

“Did you bring the flowers, Raju?” asked Mrs Chatterjee as soon as he entered, “how much are they?”

“30 bucks ma’am.”

“What? It was twenty-five the last day.”

“Ma’am, it’s different every day.”

“Did you go to that market we told you about?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright, if you say so”, she said, not quite believing his honesty, “there’s some money there on the table and a list of things you need to get today. Head over to the market and get them soon.”

“Sure ma’am”

Obeying her orders Raju left for the bazaar early morning. The Chatterjees always had a long list of things to be bought fresh from the bazaar and they sent Raju to the bazaar every day. Do they really eat so much? he wondered. On his way down, he knocked at the door on the first floor wondering if they had any list for him. When they didn’t answer, he went away to the other house where he worked to collect their list.

It was almost ten, and while the Kolkata sun was burning on his head, his stomach was burning and churning from hunger. All he had eaten was a handful of rice at five in the morning. Five hours, a long distance of cycling and a long, hot and humid trip to the bazaar later, there was no more fuel left for the rice to be provided. He longed for food but his expectations were dashed when he went to Mr Chatterjee’s house to deliver the things he bought.

“Here’s the list for my sister’s house. She was sleeping when you came so she couldn’t give you. Go over to the bazaar and get it soon, will you?”

“Ma’am, can you give me some food first? I am starving.”

“Of course. Get her stuff first and then I’ll give you breakfast.”

Away he went for another trip to the bazaar and by 11:30, he could feel his head spinning when he returned after having run the errand. Although his breakfast comprised of a couple of tough pieces of bread and a little pickles, he devoured them.

He spent an hour at Bhabi’s house, for whom he cleaned the apartment and the furniture, did her daily grocery shopping and ran any random errand that she would send him on. Sometimes she gave him lunch if he stayed on late, and sometimes the Chatterjees gave him some food in the afternoons.

Even though the food was inadequate, he never complained or asked for more. “They do so much for me. They lent me the money to buy the cycle, how can I ask for anything more?” was his steady reply whenever Riyaz nudged him to ask for more.

“Idiot! They are the most affluent family here. It won’t starve them to give you a little more food, rather they will starve you to death. Don’t you see how they subtly exploit your obedience and helplessness?”

Nothing Riyaz said, had any effect on Raju. Mr Chatterjee was his master and he wouldn’t question his decisions or orders.

Things were particularly difficult for Raju back at home. A wife, two young children and an ageing mother to support and he was the only earning member. Things had never been easy for him. However, with the rapid spread of Coronavirus disease, his financial situation looked tighter than ever. From his twenty-five hundred salary at the Chatterjees, they deducted a thousand bucks every month to compensate for the fifteen thousand they had lent him to buy the cycle.

“Let’s limit our diet only to rice and potatoes. With the money being deducted and mother’s medicines, we can’t afford lentils and onions anymore. And no more milk either.” Raju informed his wife a month later when the Chatterjees deducted another thousand from his salary.

“But the milk is only for the kids.”

“I am sorry, I really am. But I can’t manage. Even the electricity bill and the rent for the last month is pending.”

“Why don’t you ask them to lend you some money?”

“I am already paying off a loan I had taken previously.”

“Ask Bhabi.”

“I will.”

---

“What?” said Bhabi the next day, “more money? You had taken leave three days last month and I didn’t deduct that from your salary taking pity on you. How come you ask me for more money? With the virus spreading and the economy crashing, our finances are tight too. Even then I haven’t stopped paying your salary and I give you one meal every day. More money!!” she said aghast.

With his head hanging low, he went about his work of cleaning her apartment and returned to the Chatterjees who gave him the keys to their other house “the caretaker has gone to his village for a month. So you have to go clean the house once a week.”

He worked late into the evening cleaning the house, every nook and corner of it and while cycling back to the Chatterjees, he met Riyaz on the way.

“Did you settle how much they will pay you for cleaning the house?” Riyaz asked after Raju filled him in.

“No,” he replied innocently.

“Do that you stupid! Ask them for an even thousand if not more.”

---

“No, we won’t pay you anything extra for that. You’re already paying off a loan. Consider this as repayment of that loan.” Mr Chatterjee replied.

“Please, sir. I need to buy medicines for my mother and pay the rent and the electricity bill. Even the ceiling has a crack.”

“Raju, you know the situation now. Payment is less everywhere with the economy steadily spiralling downwards. We can’t pay you more till you have repaid the loan. Our finances are tight too. You understand, don’t you?”

“Definitely sir, I know you would help me if it was possible for you.”

“Of course we would. Who gave you the various jobs in this neighbourhood that help you feed your family? Who gave you the money to buy the cycle so that you could avoid public buses during these contagious times?”

“Yes sir, I completely understand. I will manage at home sir. Thank you.”

Along with the economy, Raju’s family peace crashed too. Despite all her efforts, she couldn’t make him see how the Chatterjees and Bhabi were leading him to a slow death. Unable to compromise on his loyalty towards his master, Raju compromised on his and his family’s health and nutrition. While his wife pleaded with him to look for work elsewhere, he couldn’t turn his back on that family.

A month later when Mr Chatterjee came down with fever, Riyaz warned him of the possibility that he had been infected with the virus. Dismissing his warning as always, Raju kept working for them when one by one all five of them got attacked by the dreaded virus.

“We will get tested Raju, but until then please work for us.” Mrs Chatterjee told him.

Obeying her as always, she continued working for them until a few days later their test results came positive and it was time for Raju to stop working for them. Raju’s wife saw this as an opportunity to persuade her husband to look for another job but her dreams were dashed when he arrived home the next evening and declared that he would continue working there.

“Are you out of your mind?” she asked shocked at his decision of slow suicide.

“They offered me money if I serve them during these times.”

“It’s not important. Riyaz said he will help you look for other jobs. Please! Don’t jump into the well. Please!!”

“Ten-thousand Rupees.”

“It’s your life. I don’t care how much they are offering, please don’t go.”

“I have no choice. It’s a lot of money.”

“Please! I beg of you.”

No matter what she and Riyaz said, Raju made up his mind and the dire need for money compelled him to be at their beck and call without a worry for his life. In a house where all the members were infected, he cleaned the floors, dusted the furniture, changed the bedsheets, and did everything they asked him to do. Bhabi did not let him enter for fear of getting infected and that just let him remain always at the service of the Chatterjees.

He sent his mother, wife and daughter to live with his sister while Riyaz offered to take in his son. He lived by himself and served the Chatterjees without tire or complaint for ten days straight until he took to bed with chilling fever and a banging headache. Drowning in pain and fatigue the next day, he called his only friend, Riyaz.

Morning, evening and night, Riyaz, Raju’s wife and their elder son, Sonu took turns in looking after him, cooking for him while sleeping and spending time on the porch outside their small hut. One fine night when Raju struggled for air, he gasped and gasped and while Riyaz went frantically in search of oxygen but did not have the money to pay for it, Sonu pleaded with the Chatterjees to lend them money.

“My father is dying sir, please!!” he begged over the phone. Bhabi, angry at Raju for choosing to serve the Chatterjees and leaving her without house help, did not receive the calls.

“We can’t pay more than five thousand right now. The expenses have gone through the roof since we all became Covid positive.”

Devoid of oxygen or any kind of medical care, Raju breathed his last the next afternoon.

A week later, Sonu got dressed early morning much to the surprise of his grief-stricken, widowed mother.

“Where are you going?”

“To work.”

“To the Chatterjees?” she said aghast, traumatized and about to fall unconscious.

“No mother. Riyaz chacha is going to help me get a job where he is working.”

“Oh thank God!”

“Don’t worry. I know better than to step into a house of murderers, mother”, saying so he left as Riyaz came calling for him outside their shabby little hut.

-Reva.