The Nemesis: Part Two Of Manoranjan Byapari’s ‘Runaway Boy’ Explores Story Of Hunger And Politics

The Nemesis by Manoranjan Byapari is the second part to The Runaway Boy, winner of the Kalinga literature. This novel is a compelling portrait of a youth negotiating the streets of Calcutta, looking to seize a life that is constantly denied to him.

The second part of this trilogy takes us into the late 1960s and early 1970s when the rumblings of liberation grew louder in East Pakistan and refugees came pouring into India, seeking asylum in the camps of West Bengal. Amidst this bloody battle, we find a twenty-something Jibon in Calcutta, driven to rage by hunger, inequity and a naïve, contagious nationalistic fervour.

Here's an excerpt from Manoranjan Byapari's The Nemesis

Every night in Calcutta now was black as pitch. Every night, fear seized people’s hearts. At this time, it was only those who were helpless, recourseless and weak—the cannon fodder of the battle for life—were on the streets. These were people who were ever slaves to hunger. Some of them pedalled rickshaws with their skinny legs, some ran tea-shops with walls made of pieces of matting, some were petty employees of a small factory.

Those returning home after work, prayed to their respective deities—Oh Lord, may I reach my destination without mishap! Nowadays, as soon as night descended, a group of trained soldiers from the West Bengal Armed Police descended on the city streets like mad dogs. Their fingers rested on the triggers of automatic weapons. The common people were mere targets in their eyes and consciousness. They only needed a pretext to murder people, spraying them with bullets.

Three boys, all of whom were less than sixteen years old, were stencilling an image of Mao Tse-tung on a wall. They were shot to bits for the crime. What else could offer the deathly entertainment that killing people entailed? This was a special kind of carnal pleasure to savour.

Five youths were walking ahead cautiously, trying to find their way in the terrifying darkness. All five of them were hungry. Each of them had a paper packet with muri and telebhaja in their hands. As they walked, they took a bit of muri from the packet and chewed it. Looking at them, one could see they were labouring folk—someone rode a rickshaw, someone repaired handpumps, someone sold firewood. Although they belonged to the weaker section of society, there was no weakness in their legs. They were strong and unfaltering, as if each step of theirs would shatter the earth beneath their feet. Their eyes gleamed like those of an enraged tiger out on a hunt.

They were proceeding towards the place where they would find Mr Pinaki Sen. Information had been received from reliable sources that he was now at his lathe workshop. He went there at this time every day to take stock of the day’s work. Eight or ten mistris, or mechanics, worked in this workshop. The workshop still fabricated the same items they used to earlier.

However, owing to the political compulsions of the changed situation, they had to make some other items too, like pipe-guns, or single-shot guns, also known as chhakka. The members of his party’s AG, i.e. action group, needed these badly. This factory supplied arms throughout Jadavpur, and also in south Bengal. Pinaki Sen was the owner of this arms factory. The five youths were going to visit him.

They were walking, but not together. There were three people on the pavement on the left side of the road, and two on the pavement on the right. They each kept a distance of at least twenty feet between one another. They had been instructed to proceed in that manner. So that if the person ahead fell into any danger, the one behind him would be alerted to that and could take appropriate action.

The five wayfarers had begun their journey at the squatter colony along the railway track in Salampur. They walked for about fifteen minutes along the rail track, turned right at the level-crossing, and went past the intersection with the road at the left that headed towards the railway station. They then took the road between the TB Hospital and Jadavpur University, and reached Raja Subodh Chandra Mullick Road. They entered a narrow lane where large vehicles could not ply; only cycle rickshaws and the occasional taxi entered it. The lane was completely deserted. There were no lights there either.

The households living on both sides seemed to be somnolent in some unknown terror. It was as if everyone behind the fastened doors and windows was dead. After all, it was a terribly dangerous time. The doors and windows wouldn’t open even if someone was killed at the doorstep. That was what people in middle-class neighbourhoods were like. The five youths walked through the lane and headed towards a triangular junction. There was a small teashop there, run by a Bihari. Two young men sat at the shop and kept watch over the area. There was fear of the police, and of attacks by people from the rival political party. After all, a war was going on. They could not afford to underestimate the enemy.

And so, the watch. Pinaki Sen was the local supremo. The responsibility for his safety was among the essential tasks of his party. The two people keeping watch observed the five youths walking through the lane. The secret radar of their sixth sense signalled to them—this could be something out of the ordinary. The five people were walking separately. Their steps were cautious, and there was the same kind of paper packet in everyone’s hand! Why was that! Why? They were unable to decide whether or not they should run and inform Pinaki-da to be careful.

Extracted with permission from The Nemesis by Manoranjan Byapari, published in English by Eka, an imprint of Westland Books. You can also join SheThePeople’s Book club on Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram.

Suggested Reading: No-Good Husbands, Self-Made Widows And Murder In Parini Shroff’s The Bandit Queens