Aftermath of Confrontation: Nepalese Workers Clash with Contractor, Leading to Police Raid

The contractor was distributing wages by counting heads, and the topic of old dues immediately came up. The contractor pulled out crumpled pieces of paper from this pocket and that pocket, pretending to check the accounts. Then he said, "The accounts are clear. No one is owed a single paisa, right Kapil?"

Looking towards his nephew, the uncle was momentarily stunned.

Bhisma Raj stepped forward. A wave of discontented voices rose with his footsteps—

"Contractor Sir, I am owed 50 rupees."

"Mine is 40 rupees."

"Mine is 30."

"And mine too."

The contractor flinched. Oh! A swarm of agitated wasps was buzzing around him. They seemed ready to sting him at any moment. Who threw a stone into the wasp nest? The contractor glared at Kapil with a hostile look.

"Get back, you bastards!" the contractor roared in a fierce manner, "I don't owe anyone a single paisa."

"Swallowing the earnings of our sweat, and then threatening us?" a young porter named Likhe burst out. Heated up, he moved toward the contractor.

The contractor's fist struck Likhe's chest. Likhe fell onto the gravelly ground.

"In anger! You resort to violence just for asking for a settled account?" Bhisma Raj's patience snapped, his voice solid as a hammer striking a rock.

The contractor looked at Bhisma Raj sharply. The man looked formidable, with eyes that seemed ready to swallow him whole.

"Who is this brute?" the contractor asked, turning to Kapil.

"My nephew."

"Hmm," the contractor growled, "This fellow seems to be getting too bold, you son of a bitch!"

"Should one not dare to speak up for one's rights?" Bhisma Raj retorted with a hiss in response to the growl.

"Yes," the contractor snapped back, pushing his point, "You insolent fellow is challenging me today!"

"What did you call me, thief?"

"Whatever you heard, that's what I said, you insolent fellow."

"Insolent fellow?" A fire of rage began to burn fiercely within Bhisma Raj—you devour the sweat of the laborers, and when asked for wages, you call us insolent? Overwhelmed by rage, Bhisma Raj became blind. His powerful punch landed on the contractor's shoulder with lightning speed.

"A blow for a blow, an insult for an insult!"

The contractor was defeated. Falling backward, he roared in such a way that the nearby hillocks and vegetation trembled. The uncle's spirit fled upon seeing the nephew's feat. Oh, the nephew has gone too far! Now, now, now...

The truck driver and the cleaner lifted him up. Blood stained his cut lip. Roaring like a wounded tigress, he shouted, "Kapil the cook! Who did you bring here, your grandfather?"

"This is your death!" Bhisma Raj replied.

"You son of a bitch, you hooligan," the contractor said, grinding his teeth, "You murderer! If I don't skin you alive, don't call me Badri Narayan, son of Zimdar Krishnaprasad."

"Don't talk too much. Otherwise, you will be cut down by my hands."

"He is a radical," the contractor cried, "He is a subversive element against the King's regime. Yes, he is an anti-national element!"

"You said it right. I have silenced one or two like you already. Now it's your turn!"

"Nephew," the uncle whispered cautiously, "The action was wrong. Tell me, what will be the consequence now?"

Bhisma Raj was thrown from the height of excitement onto the ground of reality. The contractor was before him, blood oozing from his lips. Huh, was the action contrary to the party line? Did the punch land in the wrong place?

The uncle and nephew were heading towards the shelter. Evening was approaching.

"The action was wrong, Comrade!" Kapil said in a slightly displeased tone.

"It wasn't wrong," Bhisma Raj insisted stubbornly. "The action was right. The only issue is that the style was a bit off."

The two men walked away silently, their opinions differing. Kapil was frustrated. How could he contain a leader who did not adhere to the rules he himself set? The life of a commander is invaluable. How was he supposed to take responsibility for his security now? Before they reached home, a squad of police carrying rifles might descend upon them. Contractor Badri Narayan was not a simple cheat. He didn't need anyone's permission to enter the CDO's office. What a mess this has turned into?

"The action was wrong, Comrade!"

"The action was right. The style is irrelevant. Tell me, a wolf is pouncing on a lamb right before our eyes. Is it fitting for a revolutionary warrior to just stand and watch?"

"And the result of the action?"

"The result will be good."

"What will be good?"

"What will be good is that, Uncle, soon that cheating contractor will be killed by my hands. Comrade, a new struggle like the Jhapa movement will erupt here."

"A struggle erupting just because one person gets agitated?"

"Why alone? All those who have been cheated, looted, oppressed, and suppressed will follow our footsteps."

Kapil became certain—the nephew could not be stopped by any trick now. He decided that the shelter's time was up. The commander was reckless. If possible, the police squad would soon arrive, firing and creating terror. And then?

"Comrade, perhaps it would be wise to cross the border to save your life! Otherwise..."

"I won't go. Bhisma Raj is not a deserter. A commander never abandons the front, do you understand? Bhisma Raj is not a traitor who flees across the border."

Kapil was defeated. Bhisma Raj, the District Commander, walked ahead, and the simple soldier Kapil followed behind. They walked together, but their conversation had ceased. Bhisma Raj was lost in his fervor, while Kapil imagined disaster. As they reached the shelter, they resumed their separate activities. Bhisma Raj was filled with a strange enthusiasm, as if some extraordinary power was flowing into him. He bathed and cleaned himself. Then he filled two earthen pots with water from a bucket. Oh my goodness, the nephew has changed today! The aunt, who was about to cook rice and vegetables on the stove, was overjoyed.

Before going to sleep, Kapil packed up all the anti-government documents. Red Book, party circulars, articles by Charu Majumdar, red newspapers, etc. And he earnestly requested Commander Bhisma Raj to do the same.

"Are you too scared, Uncle?"

"It's not fear, Comrade, it's about security. This is a matter of party discipline."

"Ah, there is no need to be afraid, nothing will happen."

Kapil went to sleep. He felt like his leader was a burden. He didn't hold the key to that burden. So he slept restlessly. Bhisma Raj, who usually fell asleep instantly, couldn't sleep tonight. He turned over, then turned back. He got up and lit a Bidi. The waves of impulse surging in his mind were beyond his control. He took out a Khukuri from his bag, placed the naked blade under his pillow, and stretched out on the bed.

Meanwhile, a different storm was raging in Kapil's mind. The police squad would definitely come. Yes, it would come sooner or later. Bhisma Raj heard his advice with one ear and let it out the other. What kind of person is he? Is he senseless? Or is he heartless? Kapil got up and looked out the shuttered window into the dense darkness, trying to gauge the atmosphere. It was dead quiet outside. Beneath the layers of that silence, was he hearing some unpleasant sound from afar, some ominous sign? His heart rate increased.

"Kaili's father," his wife Ramamaya expressed her apprehension, "What has happened to you today? You keep getting up and lying down. Are you not feeling well?"

Kapil lay down. The gusts of his breath touched his wife's restless ears.

"Tell me, what is wrong with you?"

"The situation is not good, Kaili's mother. If I get arrested, don't panic. These two little ones are entrusted to your care."

Ramamaya became anxious. She tried to say something, but her voice failed. Only her lips moved slightly. She hid her face on her husband's chest and started sobbing. Kapil stroked his wife's forehead, patted her back, and tried to calm her distress. But his wife began to cry. Kapil got up and went to the room where Bhisma Raj was sleeping. The kerosene lamp was flickering dimly. Bhisma Raj was quietly smoking a Bidi. With a glance, he asked his uncle, "Why are you here?"

Kapil pleaded again, "Let's cross the border. The great Lenin himself said—take one step forward and two steps back when the opportunity demands it."

"Comrade Uncle! The tiger of the jungle is one thing, but the tiger in my heart has taken my breath away?"

Impatiently, Kapil snapped, "Comrade, this is about being cautious."

Bhisma Raj flicked his index finger over the shining blade of the Khukuri. With an expression of 'whom to cut, whom to cut,' he brandished the Khukuri in the air.

"Comrade, we will strike back at those who attack us."

"Doesn't that require strength to strike back? Can a pebble clash with a cliff just like that?"

"We will raise the weapons, and the people will give support," Bhisma Raj's speech tape started playing, "Do you understand, Uncle? We will selectively strike against the murderous feudal lords. With every blow, the music of guerrilla warfare will resonate. The reverberation of that music will awaken the sleeping masses one by one."

Kapil turned and went outside. It must have been two in the morning. A kick struck the door outside. Then a 'Dyang' sound of a gun firing. The door burst open, and five policemen with torches rushed upstairs.

"Seditious one, Bhisma Raj! Raise your hands if you want to save your life."

Bhisma Raj sat up. His hand mechanically reached for the handle of the Khukuri.

"Put the Khukuri on the floor!" the police officer threatened.

Bhisma Raj saw two gun barrels aimed at him from the ladder. He placed the Khukuri on the floor.

"Are you Bhisma Raj, the leader of the Jhapa terrorists?"

"I am."

"Now it's your turn to die, you understand, you son of a bitch! A life for a life!"

The police descended upon Bhisma Raj like bears. Someone punched his short hair, someone else trampled his back with a boot.

"Don't touch me," Bhisma Raj said, struggling to sit up, "I am the voice of the people."

"You are the voice of thugs."

"Watch your mouth."

"Son of a bitch, now you will die!"

"Listen, you bastard, the reign of your masters will not last forever in this country. Your turn will also come one day."

They dragged both the uncle and nephew outside, hitting them. Ramamaya, trembling, stood at the door. She held two small children in her arms. The younger one was busy suckling milk. The older one clung tightly to his mother, staring at his father. They tightly bound Bhisma Raj and Kapil with the same rope, putting loops on their necks. Ramamaya stood watching, as they dragged, shoved, kicked, and cursed the uncle-nephew duo while pulling them along. She sank onto the doorstep. A mournful cry escaped her lips— "Help, help!"

"We are justice fighters. Don't beat us, you bastards," Bhisma Raj cried out.

The cries rising from the pool of unbearable pain tore through the atmosphere. Ramamaya's wail mixed with it. Both children cried out in distress.

"Don't touch me, I beg you, don't touch me!" Ramamaya shrieked.

Kapil, drenched in blood, realized with horror: the brutes were beginning to assault his wife forcibly. He slumped onto Bhisma Raj's back, as if collapsing. Bhisma Raj tried to support him. But both his hands were tied; how could he offer support? The helpless commander could only watch his fallen soldier.

To be continued...