The Corpse in Question!

“Dai… daaaaa…iiii, hey…,” before the policeman could complete his “watch out,” the spatter of blood started making dribbly drip formations on the front wiper pane of the tanker that slid on to the road-side into a gulch, squealing its way to the chronic grind of its rear-wheels, heaving loads of slush and grass and grime on nowhere in particular. Had anyone stood to the rear of the tanker, one would have been bathed in it.

The cleaner leaned out of the left door and suddenly found that his ground contact with the earth was fast losing as the lorry was slowly careened to its right side. Interlaced with attempts to heave himself on to the left side – the higher side up – of the tanker, the man occupying the driver seat was desperately flailing his one hand while trying to dislodge his other from the steering wheel. He was jabbering inchoately at the cleaner for help as the latter forgot all sense of humanity, the sole need occupying his consciousness being that of saving himself before the tanker slid into the steep the other side and he fell back over the driver and god couldn’t knew on what else. He didn’t want to wake up with a broken spine.

Into this chaos ran the policeman and a couple of passers-by, dislodging themselves out of their falling cycles on the fly! The moped under the front wheels of the tanker was still party to a fast revolving backwheel as its engine sputtered to death. What was left of the petrol in the little tank was seeping out into vapours. An economy model LG in its fading steel grey glory weakly smiled through its faded plastic dust-proof cover couture and a voice was desperately trying to reach out a few "Hellos". A single blotch of mushy red mole adorned it where the hash key had been… the mobile phone was a proper sight of true blood-relation to the hand that held it a few seconds back. The hand belonged to the young man, whose death would eternally change several lives across continents and islands. One of the passers-by on the bicycle would ultimately bring about a permanent static posture in the dark corner of the pooja room of the woman to whom the dead youth was the younger son. The corpse in context would further convince a certain Bhattar of life’s inexorability and vindicate his dedication to God.

“Who listens? Tell me… who listens? What havoc these cheap BSNLs and Reliance’s are causing to this country. Every son of a bitch and mongrel has these instruments perpetually glued to their fucking ear, one hand on the steering wheel, mind not on the road! And I have to bail out these bloody bodies out from under spinning wheels, lose sleep, run behind hospitals and smelly mortuaries and get cursed for bringing news to the families!”

The policeman was prattling to himself, no one to empathise and envy the situation he has been suddenly stuffed into by the turn of events on that wobbly tarmac Kodaivasal outer road. “Hanh… go go… ennappa crowd! Fucking curious buggers… all here to witness Houdini act. But request to come to station for witness… you’ll all fade into thin air. Go go… Hey, who’s it who dislodged the phone off the body’s hand? Do you want to get involved into this muck because they found your fingerprints on the stupid agent of Yama?,” he screamed at one of the gathered crowd who was helping get the phone out more than the body, referring to the phone as Yama’s agent. Probably the person was trying to find information about the deceased to inform his family. But this surely was nobody’s day. The policeman turned with a start as the radio on his motorbike, parked 50 meters away from the chaos crackled. He hurried to attend to it. Harried would more be the word as he was confused and torn between cleaning the mess and attending the call, having to usher this news and its sleepless consequences on him when his higher-ups filed the FIR.

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