The Hangman from Tibbar

Dedicated to all the extraordinary and weird professions in the world.


The Hangman From Tibbar

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I walk back home everyday. Over the years I have taken a liking to the narrow muddy road that takes me back home. In fact, given a choice I would just walk the rest of my life. Just me and the road to ourselves. The condition of the roads in Gurdaspur has improved over the years. Yet, this road has remained the same over years. Covered with trees, the walk on this one during monsoons is a sheer delight for a loner like me. By the way, my name is Chander Singh and I work as the Hangman in Gurdaspur Jail.

FLASHBACK

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As a 3 year old, I remember my father taking me to the Jail at times. He worked there. I was intrigued and thrilled whenever I went there. A massive structure, the Jail gave me an eerie feeling. I would immediately dream of dark dungeons, princes, swords and the villains of course. I always wanted to go in but my dad never took me in. I would sit with the two scary Guards outside. I always wondered what my dad did in the jail. My dad was a six footer. He had a typical villainous look that would scare the hell out of kids during nights when he got back home. With a large dark mole on his cheek, he was a monster. I pitied the convicts.

As a youngster I remember, noone would come to my house. Moms would warn their kids not to play with me. The colony never acknowledged our presence. It was as if I was living in a dead society bustling with people. My father was a quiet person. He would come back home, call for my mother to lay out the food. He would eat, kiss me goodnight on the forehead and promptly sleep.

I had no friends. None at all. In fact, after a while in my life I realised that I had stopped yearning for them. I got used to things this way I guess. It was a normal day and I got back from school when I saw a huge crowd gathered in front of my house. I saw the all the ladies sitting together and weeping. There was a murmur amongst the men standing to one side. As I went in, I saw the corpses of my father and mother. Both covered in a white cloth, the one my mom used to lay the food upon. I did not cry. I was shocked and lost. I was told that the house had been robbed and that the robbers killed both my parents. It was the first time in years that I had spoken so much. People came upto me and consoled me. Some I knew but most I did not.

After a month or so, I was paid a visit by the Jailer of Gurdaspur. He offered me the post of my dad and said I could join whenever I was interested.

THE JAIL AND HOME

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It was not as scary as I thought it would be. Of course, I was just a kid then. But the eeriness was still there. The walls were built of Huge dark stones which added to the spookiness. As I entered the jailer's room, I saw a couple of convicts being handcuffed and taken away. They looked at me as if they were ready to commit another crime.

"So Chander, ready to step into your father's shoes?"

"Honestly sir, I want to thank you from my heart first but also I shall confess that I have no idea what my father did in the jail. What did he do?"

"Ahem. Well, let me put it bluntly. Your father was a hangman. He helped executing convicts. He put them to death."

For a moment, my world turned upside down. I was shocked, aghast and disturbed. So many things came to my mind. My father's behaviour which I now undertood. His reluctance and apprehensions.

"You okay son?", asked the jailer.

"Sir, I think I shall return and let you know"

The walk back home on the muddy path was a mammoth task. With so much running through my mind, I cared the least for the puddles that had formed. By the time, I reached home I had soiled my pants. I just sat in a corner and wondered what to do.

'JALLAD'

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It had been three years since I had been a hangman. I had killed many with these very hands. They wept, they pleaded even though they were guilty and yet I had no choice but to do what I had to. I had become insane. I had the license to kill they said and laughed, the guards in the jail. Every journey back home was a journey of guilt. The pangs of conscience were unbearable. Noone would talk to me in the colony. Things had come back to square one, the day I had said yes to the jailer. Kids called me the boogey-man. Some called me 'Jallad' and some called me the 'Ruthless Murderer of Tibbar'. Tibbar was the place where the jail was located. Girls shyed away from me. But I did not stop, I kept killing them.

'The Terrorist of Kupwara'

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Tibbar was on the border of India and Pakistan and many convicts brought to the Gurdaspur Jail were captured terrorists. Many notorios and many not so notorious. They were beaten everyday. Some were beaten to death. As a hangman, I know for a fact that all the executions I have done have not been legal.Some are killed and reported to media as died due to stress. Some are beaten to death and then hanged and later the bodies thrown back into their cells. They are the suicide cases by the way.

A young terrorist was beaten the same way. A young boy forced into becoming a terrorist. He was beaten to death almost. He did not reveal any information about his terrorist ring because he actually did not know anything. He would cry at nights and the wailing would be heard across cells. One fine day, I was summoned by the jailer. He told me that they had planned the execution of the Kupwara terrorist and it would happen at 12.30 am midnight. I never questioned him. At 9.30 pm I went this cell. I heard a brawl. They had stripped him naked and were battering him with a fat stick. He was bleeding and I knew would soon collapse.

After finishing their merciless assault, the guards left, leaving the almost-dying terrorist. I helped him take a bath and helped him change his clothes. I whispered into his years about the midnight plan. He stated weeping with whatever energy he had. He held my feet and shouted that he was innocent. For once I found my heart melting and I think I my eyes did become wet for a second.

At around 12.15, he came into the courtyard with the jailer and two cards. I covered his head with the black hood. He was crying and shouting loud that he wanted to see his mom and younger sister one last time. It was then for a second that I realized that I was the Satan from hell without doubt. I pulled the lever and down he went.

Nemesis

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Thats my story. Nothing much at all. I am an ordinary man in an extraordinary profession. By the way, only yesterday I got to know that I am suffering from Tuberculosis and I am in my last stages of life. Its been 20 years as a hangman. I have killed many and now its come around for me. My jail mates tell me that no hangman has died a normal death. I went to the jailer yesterday and told him that I had a wish. I told him that I wanted to be hanged as well. He smiled and said that all Hangmen of Tibbar had asked for the same till date. He said it was guilt.

V.V.Vikram