Anonymous – A True Story

A mysterious character – a shadow, not an ally, walking in the darkness like Shehanshah; yet not your enemy. Just a person; working in mysterious ways. No don’t christen him like God. He is very much tangible human specie. Just a peculiar man working in ordinary circumstances!

His life is a silent movie not that he is dumb neither is he socially dormant. Sometimes he is just off the hook.
He is a full time worker in a small franchise. This job for him was like the old filamentous bulb; in a decrepit quarry, with no assurance whether it would sustain the darkness or not.
But he knows; he will sustain it all…

Questions, contempt and anger. The rumours. The ghosts of the gone by past which still come back to haunt him. He lives where a blacksmith beats the rods into sheets, where seethes and smoulders pig iron in a cauldron over a furnace.

There stands; nearby, a lone man. His eye shows fear and thus drips a drop of sweat from his forehead, disturbing the silence and the rhythm of the clanking – when iron struck iron!! It’s not an area for evening walks.
The stinking piles of plastics, faeces: what more and what not. It was an aesthetic pain.

This is not the age of ascetics: face smeared with ash, who walks around singing stories but the time when school going kids walk with knives; stabbing recklessly seldom without reason, often with reasons as naïve as or even a verbal abuse.

His reason…no one knew.

One day he walked down the same path, aiming for his destination but landing in a prison.
The news broadcasted revealed the murder of his wife. The body had been disfigured and identification difficult. Circumstantial evidences were against him. The odds were high. He was arrested.
Drug trafficking and murder charges were pressed against him.

He had entered his shack and called out to his wife. He went to the clay oven and saw that spoons and knives had fallen off the broken shelf. He put them back. His wife was not at home. She had put rice to boil so sat down to cut some vegetables to put into the porridge.

It was the scream of a woman. He turns in a hurry; cuts his finger; blood dripping.
But there was no one. He ran outside and hid himself in the darkness of the night.

Then came the deadly sirens… Cops everywhere.. Arms at their disposition.. Ammunition plenty.. Last thing he remembered was him being thrown into the dark dungeon. He is old now. He is still serving life time imprisonment. Still unaware of the reason: reason for being in this place. He just knew he was framed. His wife was murdered. His appeal unheard..

But now with all his years gone by and just a few days left in his account he preferred it in there. He sighed as he knew injustice was done and it would be until the government stopped depending on circumstantial proofs.
Years later, a lawyer, looking through the testimonies and court judgements saw through. Certain facts that went unnoticed.. Certain pieces that were to be put together.. When placed unravelled a picture which showed how an innocent man was framed.

But this changed nothing. The lawyer went on to fight the case on hand closing the file which could release an innocent man from imprisonment. His case was closed indeed. This is what he told me in an interview. When asked his name he said, “My name is Anonymous. “

Cherry Agarwal