The stench of death was overpowering. Soham and Ahmed stood at a distance covering their mouths and noses. The sultry air around the mortuary reeked of it clogging their nostrils and stifling them. The cloying odour of formalin floated in the hot sticky air as a strong reminder of where they stood. The two men wrinkled their nose and looked the other way. Like always, they would wait here till Idris called for them.
They watched silently as the older man walked up to the office. Age had slackened his pace but not his resolve. He would walk this path everyday with the same slow stoic stance.
He was a man of average height. His elongated oval face was covered with a white beard that hung around his chin like a wad of cotton. His skin was tanned with hours of working in the sun. Deep lines crisscrossed his aged face. Though his eyes were sunk back into their sockets and looked tired with grief, yet they had a peculiar shine as it looked out on to the world with a purpose.
Idris adjusted his skull cap on his head as he shuffled into the small office where a single man sat at a desk. A large standing fan whirred with a deep groan next to him providing the only source of air in the stuffy room. The small single window was covered with a wired mesh to prevent mosquitoes and helped to fill the room with a bleak patch of light.
“Saab” Idris addressed Kulkarni with deference to indicate his presence.
Kulkarni, the administrative clerk of the morgue, looked up at him and gave him a brief smile.
“Come Chacha, we have two for you today.”
For the first time since he had entered the place, Idris smiled. A weak watery smile that spread across his face and lightened his grim expression.
As he spoke, Kulkarni walked up to the door calling out to his assistant.
“Abdul!”
A short bald man came waddling towards Kulkarni. Noticing Idris his face broke out into a toothy grin revealing betel stained dentures.
“Hand over the two bodies to Chacha and update the register, will you?” Kulkarni said returning to his desk as he spoke.
Abdul nodded and beckoned Idris to follow him as he led him to the next room. As soon as they did so, a strong pungent odour hit the nostrils with its overwhelming presence. The formalin used on the inhabitants of the room was strong enough to make anyone feel nauseous and ready to throw up. However, the two men walked ahead unperturbed.
The room was a much bigger one than Kulkarni’s office and was filled with rows of metal cabinets built along the wall. It had no windows and was dark despite the bright sunlight outside. Abdul switched on the light. The naked bulb hanging from the ceiling filled the room in a dull yellow glow.
Jangling the keys Abdul walked up to one of the cabinets with a register and checked the number card on one of the drawers matching it with the one in his book. Satisfied, he pulled it out from the slot and unlocked the drawer. Pulling out the drawer he let out a shrill whistle. As if on cue, four men came running carrying four stretchers and lifted the body shrouded in a white cloth and placed the corpse on it.
“And the other one?” said Idris.
Abdul nodded and checked his list once again and moved to another cabinet. Pulling out the drawer, he asked his men to take out the corpse and place it on another stretcher. One by one they stepped out into the sunlight Idris followed by the men carrying the stretchers and Abdul bringing in the rear.
Idris led the men to the waiting van. Soham and Ahmed walked up hurriedly to open the doors and helped the men place the bodies and take out the stretchers.
“Allah Hafiz Chacha” said Abdul with a smile.
Idris nodded and got into the van. Soham got behind the wheel and Ahmed sat in the seat next to him as they drove off.
“To the cemetery first Chacha?” asked Soham
“Yes” said Idris.
The road was bumpy and the van jumped frequently as Soham drove rashly over the potholes. Idris had dozed off when a sudden jerk shook him awake. He was about to tap on the glass door to ask Soham to drive carefully when his hands froze.
The shroud from one of the corpses had slipped in the commotion and the face was peering out at him.
Idris felt his heart skip a beat.
“Was it him then?”
He looked so alike. The same square jaw, the thick dark eyebrows, the deep sunken eyes which he had inherited from his father, the thin lips set in a straight line.
Rahil, his first born.
25-year-old Rahil had got a job at a chemical factory at Sultanpur. Feroza, Idris’ wife had objected.
“Why can’t you work here?” she had complained.
“Ammi it is a good paying job and we need the money too” Rahil had argued.
Idris had convinced Feroza and Rahil had left for Sultanpur soon.
Then the riots had broken out. It was a strange time. Idris at first could not make sense of what was happening. He had been living in the area forever. This was his home. He knew no other place he could call home. Suddenly, he was made to feel like an outsider.
Then the violence increased. The sound of gunshots kept them awake at night. Feroza would keep a bag packed and ready with their life’s savings and held her two younger sons close to her all night.
They had no news of Rahil. For days they thirsted to hear something from him. They had heard riots had taken an ugly form in Sultanpur and just hoped Rahil was safe.
As days went by with no news of Rahil, Feroza began to get anxious. She became hysteric as she was sure something was not right. As soon as the riots came under control, Idris travelled to Sultanpur to find out about Rahil. Nobody could give him any lead. It was as if his son had simply disappeared. The police were hassled with the growing number of missing persons and shooed away any new complaints. Desperate, anxious and lost, Idris would spend his days at the Police station with the hope that somebody would come up with some news.
It was only after a whole month that Idris’ worst fears were confirmed. The Police informed him that Rahil had been killed in the mob violence in the riots. But the next part was even worse.
The police were unable to trace his body.
Nobody knew where the incident had happened. All they could give him were his clothes soaked in his young innocent blood.
Idris still remembered the day his son was born. He had been so happy at the sight of his small body, his tiny fingers, and his writhing wrinkled face that he had wondered if there could be anything more beautiful or precious in the world. It tore him apart to imagine that the same face may have been mauled by animals as his body lay unclaimed on some road, or even that it would lay bloated and decomposed as it floated on the Gomti where it might have been thrown as an unknown corpse.
Feroza never forgave him for allowing him to leave home. She never was the same again often going into violent hysterics as she wailed for her lost son.
Idris had to do something to keep his sanity in place.
Even several years later Idris was in hope that somewhere his son’s body lay waiting for him to put him to his eternal rest.
Another lurch shifted the shroud further down. Idris knelt to look closely at the face that lay still and rotting before him. The stench was overpowering as the chemical had started to wear off its effect. There was a thick gash near his throat where the blood had dried creating an ugly wound. The face had started to swell.
Idris sighed closing his eyes as a silent tear slipped down his cheek. His lips moved slowly uttering a prayer. Maybe not his, but the boy did belong to some father who like him was searching for his son.
Idris would end his search. Like he had been doing for so many other parents. He would honour their children with the dignity that his son never got. Maybe that was what Rahil would want him to do as well. Probably, it is through them that he is seeking his own liberation.
Idris readjusted the shroud covering the face and placed his hand on the boy’s head gently stroking his hard brittle hair.
“I know it has been a long night my son, but your Abba is here and he will now put you to sleep.”
The van trundled on, and Idris knew he did indeed have a long journey ahead of him.
This is based on the real life story of Mohammad Shareef, also known as Last rites Samaritan and Saviour of the dead, who was conferred the Padma Shri awards in 2021 for his exemplary work for performing last rites for thousands of unclaimed bodies. You can read his whole story here.
Cover photo credits RODNAE Productions from Pexels.
